Author's note: Again, sorry for the delay!! Thinking of how to end this chapter was hard, but I think I got it pretty ok. You tell me! ;)
Spoilers: None!
Disclaimer: Still not mine, lo siento!
Chaos ruled the lab as everyone scrambled to find ways to raise the ransom money. Catherine and Brass made phone calls to every city official they could think of. They pleaded their case, expressed the dire need to get Grissom and Sara back. In the end, all agreed, and in four hours, they had $10 million.
"I can't believe we're doing this," said Nick as he watched the last cash brick being slid into the last duffel bag.
"It's not like we're never gonna see this money again. We'll get the guy before he can even lay a finger on it," said Warrick, patting one of the bags.
Nick nodded slowly, then turned to Brass, who was directing the money out the door to a safe place before go-time.
"Brass, tell me again why we're using real money. Whey don't we just put in fake bills or something?"
"Because, should something go wrong, which it won't, but just in case, we don't want anything to set him off. If he does get the money, he's less likely to hurt Gil and Sara if it's real."
Nick and Warrick could hear the shiver in his voice. Brass was just as nervous as they were, and in a way, that was unsettling.
Catherine and Greg walked into the room, and their eyes immediately fell down to the two bags still in the room. Greg's jaw dropped.
"Is that…"
"There were three other bags, man," said Nick as he sat down at the table. Everyone did the same.
"Ok Brass, this is your gig from here on out. What's the plan?" asked Catherine.
"Well, first things first, Greg, do you have the results of the blood found at the scene?"
Greg shifted in his seat, "Two different samples. Only one came back, and it belonged to Sara. The other is still unknown."
Brass slowly nodded. He shuffled a few papers, then looked at the crew.
"Ok, this is the plan. At around 2 a.m. tomorrow morning, my men and I are going to be waiting for the kidnapper and watching the area. When he comes, hopefully it'll be an easy arrest. As soon as I get an i.d. I'll send you guys to his place with a warrant; you'll search, and hopefully find Gil and Sara," he looked up at the clock, "It's only six o'clock now. I'd go home and get some rest, catch a breakfast. It's gonna be a busy night."
Everyone nodded in agreement. Brass was right, it was going to be a very busy night.
Time no longer existed in the prison that was the basement. There were merely times when it was less dark, and times when the darkness was overwhelming. Right now, it was overwhelming.
Sara was curled up by Grissom's side, his arm draped lightly across her slumped shoulders. Her right hand ran across her sore stomach, and she closed her eyes.
"How are you feeling?" asked Grissom, his voice cutting through the darkness. Sara groaned and scooted closer to him.
"Meh. My stomach is still sore. How 'bout you?"
"I'm a little worried," he said cautiously, "I know we'll get out of this, but… I don't know. He's never hurt you before now. He escalating, Sara and I know that these bruises we have littering our bodies right now… they will cut deeper then just the skin."
Sara wrapped her arms around him. She laid her head on his chest and smiled.
"Grissom, as long as you and I get through this together, this whole thing won't be nearly as bad. Bruises go away, Grissom, and while these memories won't, at least I will remember that you told me you loved me, and that'll get me through. And you'll make it too if you remember that I love you, and I always will."
Grissom wished he could see her face. He lifted his hands to cup her face. Soft thumbs stroked softer cheeks and he smiled as he felt her grin widen.
"I wish I could see you right now. It would make kissing you so much easier," he whispered.
"You're a scientist, Griss, experiment," she replied seductively.
His face grew serious as he leaned towards her. They were so close. Her warm breath puffed against his face, and he could practically feel her lips.
Just as their lips were about to meet, the door swung open and slammed against the wall. Quickly, invisible feet moved down the stairs, and as soon as they hit the cement, ran at the pair. Mark didn't waste any time.
Grissom felt the first blow hit his left cheek as he hit the ground. A kick in the side soon followed, and he was unable to move. The pain felt like fire, burning every inch of his injured side. With the pain came streams of sweat and blood.
"I told you I had cameras everywhere!" Mark yelled, "Don't think I didn't see what you were doing! Night vision is a marvelous thing. I try to make things easier for you by leaving you two alone, and this… THIS is what happens! Well, not anymore!"
Mark grabbed Sara's wrist and drug her away from the wall. Grissom tried to sit up, tried to open his eyes, but he was blinded with pain.
"Sara," he gasped.
"Grissom!" she screamed as Mark pulled her up the stairs.
Grissom heard the door slam and his head fell back against the cement. Hot tears fell down his throbbing face. Above him he could hear the faint sound of a door being slammed, or at least his hoped it was only a door.
After a few minutes, the door slowly opened again, and Mark walked down the stairs. He stood over Grissom and laughed an all too familiar laugh.
"You think this is fun? Do you think this is nothing? This is Hell, Grissom, its death. You're not getting out of here; Sara is not getting out of here. You will both die in this house. How could you fool her into thinking that there is something beyond this, somewhere to go from here? That you'll have your 'happily ever-after.' No, all you've both got coming is a slow torture and a bullet in your brain."
Mark laughed and walked back up the stairs. The door shut and five clicks echoed through the quiet room.
"Oh God," whispered Grissom and his head fell slack, and he passed out on the cold floor.
"Big man to Post five, do you copy?"
"Post five here."
"Post five, what's you status?"
"Quiet and empty. The package is undisturbed."
Brass set down his radio. He checked around his own post, an old building that towered over the overpass. He sat just inside the front door, in a dark corner. Catherine sat behind Brass, staring out the door to the trash can under the overpass. She squinted her eyes, then tugged on Brass's shoulder.
"Brass, look," she pointed out the door.
A dark figure moved from the shadows of the overpass. Brass's radio crackled to life. He clicked it on as he stared at the figure.
"Big man here."
"This is Post three. We see a male, Caucasian, near the package."
"Yeah, I see him. Wait for my word. Do not move unless I say so."
"Roger." And the radio went silent.
Brass reached for his gun, a precaution for if he had to run after this guy. His eyes followed the man as he circled around the trash can. The man made the wrong move.
"Move, move, move!" yelled Brass into his radio as he ran out the door. Catherine followed close behind.
Out of corners and shadows, police ran towards the suspect, guns drawn, the click of heels against the pavement. But the man stood calmly, and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a gun.
"He's armed," yelled Brass as he raised his own weapon.
The man smiled in the dark and fired. Brass fell backwards as the bullet hit his shoulder. He yelled, then groaned as blood pooled around his head. Catherine fell to the ground next to him.
"We need an ambulance!" she yelled.
The man turned around and sprinted to the other side of the overpass. The headlights of a car soon appeared. A young officer raised his gun, and tried to shoot out the tires. The car swerved out of the way, catching the young man at the knees. His broken body flew forward. Several officers ran to their fellow officer. The car pulled near the trash can and pulled out three bags.
"Get the plate number," mumbled Brass as the car started to pull away.
Catherine turned to the car and quickly memorized the number before the car sped away.
"XLG 672," she mumbled as she turned back to Brass.
Brass smiled and weakly shook his head. Sirens sounded in the distance as they waited in silence. Their suspect had got away, but not without leaving a clue.
Spoilers: None!
Disclaimer: Still not mine, lo siento!
Chaos ruled the lab as everyone scrambled to find ways to raise the ransom money. Catherine and Brass made phone calls to every city official they could think of. They pleaded their case, expressed the dire need to get Grissom and Sara back. In the end, all agreed, and in four hours, they had $10 million.
"I can't believe we're doing this," said Nick as he watched the last cash brick being slid into the last duffel bag.
"It's not like we're never gonna see this money again. We'll get the guy before he can even lay a finger on it," said Warrick, patting one of the bags.
Nick nodded slowly, then turned to Brass, who was directing the money out the door to a safe place before go-time.
"Brass, tell me again why we're using real money. Whey don't we just put in fake bills or something?"
"Because, should something go wrong, which it won't, but just in case, we don't want anything to set him off. If he does get the money, he's less likely to hurt Gil and Sara if it's real."
Nick and Warrick could hear the shiver in his voice. Brass was just as nervous as they were, and in a way, that was unsettling.
Catherine and Greg walked into the room, and their eyes immediately fell down to the two bags still in the room. Greg's jaw dropped.
"Is that…"
"There were three other bags, man," said Nick as he sat down at the table. Everyone did the same.
"Ok Brass, this is your gig from here on out. What's the plan?" asked Catherine.
"Well, first things first, Greg, do you have the results of the blood found at the scene?"
Greg shifted in his seat, "Two different samples. Only one came back, and it belonged to Sara. The other is still unknown."
Brass slowly nodded. He shuffled a few papers, then looked at the crew.
"Ok, this is the plan. At around 2 a.m. tomorrow morning, my men and I are going to be waiting for the kidnapper and watching the area. When he comes, hopefully it'll be an easy arrest. As soon as I get an i.d. I'll send you guys to his place with a warrant; you'll search, and hopefully find Gil and Sara," he looked up at the clock, "It's only six o'clock now. I'd go home and get some rest, catch a breakfast. It's gonna be a busy night."
Everyone nodded in agreement. Brass was right, it was going to be a very busy night.
Time no longer existed in the prison that was the basement. There were merely times when it was less dark, and times when the darkness was overwhelming. Right now, it was overwhelming.
Sara was curled up by Grissom's side, his arm draped lightly across her slumped shoulders. Her right hand ran across her sore stomach, and she closed her eyes.
"How are you feeling?" asked Grissom, his voice cutting through the darkness. Sara groaned and scooted closer to him.
"Meh. My stomach is still sore. How 'bout you?"
"I'm a little worried," he said cautiously, "I know we'll get out of this, but… I don't know. He's never hurt you before now. He escalating, Sara and I know that these bruises we have littering our bodies right now… they will cut deeper then just the skin."
Sara wrapped her arms around him. She laid her head on his chest and smiled.
"Grissom, as long as you and I get through this together, this whole thing won't be nearly as bad. Bruises go away, Grissom, and while these memories won't, at least I will remember that you told me you loved me, and that'll get me through. And you'll make it too if you remember that I love you, and I always will."
Grissom wished he could see her face. He lifted his hands to cup her face. Soft thumbs stroked softer cheeks and he smiled as he felt her grin widen.
"I wish I could see you right now. It would make kissing you so much easier," he whispered.
"You're a scientist, Griss, experiment," she replied seductively.
His face grew serious as he leaned towards her. They were so close. Her warm breath puffed against his face, and he could practically feel her lips.
Just as their lips were about to meet, the door swung open and slammed against the wall. Quickly, invisible feet moved down the stairs, and as soon as they hit the cement, ran at the pair. Mark didn't waste any time.
Grissom felt the first blow hit his left cheek as he hit the ground. A kick in the side soon followed, and he was unable to move. The pain felt like fire, burning every inch of his injured side. With the pain came streams of sweat and blood.
"I told you I had cameras everywhere!" Mark yelled, "Don't think I didn't see what you were doing! Night vision is a marvelous thing. I try to make things easier for you by leaving you two alone, and this… THIS is what happens! Well, not anymore!"
Mark grabbed Sara's wrist and drug her away from the wall. Grissom tried to sit up, tried to open his eyes, but he was blinded with pain.
"Sara," he gasped.
"Grissom!" she screamed as Mark pulled her up the stairs.
Grissom heard the door slam and his head fell back against the cement. Hot tears fell down his throbbing face. Above him he could hear the faint sound of a door being slammed, or at least his hoped it was only a door.
After a few minutes, the door slowly opened again, and Mark walked down the stairs. He stood over Grissom and laughed an all too familiar laugh.
"You think this is fun? Do you think this is nothing? This is Hell, Grissom, its death. You're not getting out of here; Sara is not getting out of here. You will both die in this house. How could you fool her into thinking that there is something beyond this, somewhere to go from here? That you'll have your 'happily ever-after.' No, all you've both got coming is a slow torture and a bullet in your brain."
Mark laughed and walked back up the stairs. The door shut and five clicks echoed through the quiet room.
"Oh God," whispered Grissom and his head fell slack, and he passed out on the cold floor.
"Big man to Post five, do you copy?"
"Post five here."
"Post five, what's you status?"
"Quiet and empty. The package is undisturbed."
Brass set down his radio. He checked around his own post, an old building that towered over the overpass. He sat just inside the front door, in a dark corner. Catherine sat behind Brass, staring out the door to the trash can under the overpass. She squinted her eyes, then tugged on Brass's shoulder.
"Brass, look," she pointed out the door.
A dark figure moved from the shadows of the overpass. Brass's radio crackled to life. He clicked it on as he stared at the figure.
"Big man here."
"This is Post three. We see a male, Caucasian, near the package."
"Yeah, I see him. Wait for my word. Do not move unless I say so."
"Roger." And the radio went silent.
Brass reached for his gun, a precaution for if he had to run after this guy. His eyes followed the man as he circled around the trash can. The man made the wrong move.
"Move, move, move!" yelled Brass into his radio as he ran out the door. Catherine followed close behind.
Out of corners and shadows, police ran towards the suspect, guns drawn, the click of heels against the pavement. But the man stood calmly, and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a gun.
"He's armed," yelled Brass as he raised his own weapon.
The man smiled in the dark and fired. Brass fell backwards as the bullet hit his shoulder. He yelled, then groaned as blood pooled around his head. Catherine fell to the ground next to him.
"We need an ambulance!" she yelled.
The man turned around and sprinted to the other side of the overpass. The headlights of a car soon appeared. A young officer raised his gun, and tried to shoot out the tires. The car swerved out of the way, catching the young man at the knees. His broken body flew forward. Several officers ran to their fellow officer. The car pulled near the trash can and pulled out three bags.
"Get the plate number," mumbled Brass as the car started to pull away.
Catherine turned to the car and quickly memorized the number before the car sped away.
"XLG 672," she mumbled as she turned back to Brass.
Brass smiled and weakly shook his head. Sirens sounded in the distance as they waited in silence. Their suspect had got away, but not without leaving a clue.