He lay there, hidden by a veil of darkness. The gentle rise and fall of his chest were the only signs of life on his otherwise still body.

One breath parted his lips. Carbon dioxide was pushed out of his lungs to be replaced by oxygen.

The air was stuffy. There was no light breeze to gently waken him out of his slumber.

Another breath was forced out but this time it was accompanied by a groan.

The first thing Greg became aware of was his head throbbing with pain. He thought his skull was going to split open.

At least that means I'm still alive.

He took a few deep breaths to get the pain under control and slowly opened his eyes to survey his surroundings only to be greeted by total darkness.

He lay there a moment to assess himself.

Right leg. Check. Left leg. Check. Right arm. Check. Left arm. Shit, that hurt.

Breathing deeply, he cradled his arm close to his body. He began to shiver slightly as the cold of the floor seeped through his clothes and into his skin, robbing him of warmth. 

Lying around won't help me, will it? Get your ass up, Sanders!

Still a bit uncertain, he tried to straighten into a sitting position when his body reminded him of his various aches and pains. His ribs protested the movement vehemently, but still, he stubbornly refused to give in and straightened up.

It was time to check out his new home. Since there was no light to aid his journey, he slowly moved around in his new prison. Shuffling along the floor he came to an abrupt stop as he bumped into a wall a couple of yards from his original position. He reached out with his right hand. His fingers brushed across a rough and cold surface.

Must be underground. No wonder it's getting cold in here.

Suppressing his disappointment at the new revelation, he edged further along the wall.

All right, a door!

Greg found the doorknob but the door wouldn't open.

Big surprise there.

He tried it again but it was no use; the door wouldn't budge. He kicked it. Pounded his fist on it. The result was all the same: the door held its ground.

And the winner is... All right. Let the journey continue...

He searched the room for anything but walls. His wish wasn't granted, though.

When he was certain that he had done all he could, he sat down and leaned against one wall, letting confusing thoughts take over his brain.

Why am I still alive? They could've killed me? But they didn't, why?

He hadn't thought it possible, actually. He had been certain that he was going to die that moment when the gun had been aimed at him. He shuddered at that.

Then, another thought occurred.

There's no way out. I'm trapped...

Greg's internal monologue was momentarily interrupted by a spike of pain that burst through his head like lightening. He reached up and carefully touched the right side of his head. The short but painful contact made him flinch. He took a shuddering breath when his fingers came away sticky.

Blood.

Although he couldn't see his hand in the darkness, he suddenly became aware of that distinguishing metallic scent.

What if they leave me here? I won't be found, ever.

Panic settled in as he stood up and determinately pounded his fist against the door.

"Hello, is anyone there? Hellooo?"

After a couple of minutes he went still and let his head rest against the door.

I'm gonna die here. Alone.

He let the darkness envelop him.

***

Loud voices announced the arrival of his kidnappers. They were arguing. Not a good sign.

Suddenly, a ray of light shot through the keyhole.

"Damn it, Stephen, are you stupid or what?! Why the fuck did you bring him here, letting him drive nonetheless! Now he knows where we live. I told you to get the stuff out of his car and leave. But no, you just couldn't follow a few simple instructions!"

"Derek, let me explain..."

"There's nothing to explain. You fucked up. Big time."

Greg heard a slap and curious now, went to the door and looked through the keyhole. The part of the room that he could see was almost bare. The only furnishings were a chair and a table. Both seemed to be quite old. His cell was lying in the middle of the table. Only a few steps from his door but still miles out of reach.

What time is it? If Grissom tried to call me again and I didn't answer...He might think something is wrong...

He turned to take a look at his kidnappers who were on the edge of his peripheral vision.

The one man he hadn't seen before, 'Derek', was standing threatingly over Stephen who in turn lay on the floor, nursing his jaw.

'Derek' appeared to be in his 40s. He seemed really pale, almost sickly so, although it was hard to tell in that light. A goatee adored his face and he had short wavy hair.

Note to self: don't piss him off.

Greg had gotten a pretty good look at 'Stephen' when they were driving in the car. Nothing new with him.

"Stephen, go get him."

That got Greg's attention. Backing away from the door, he thought quickly: Play possum or confront them?

***

To be continued…