Push
Sara studied the display. So far, it was dark, little lit up by heat below them. The chopper was noisy, covering up the bleeps when the heat seeker found something, so Sara's eyes stayed glued to nothing else but the display.
Warrick tightened his harness. He'd gotten into one, just in case they had to repel down to the ground. Search and Rescue would normally do that, but Warrick insisted he join them—if they found Nick.
Sara had raised an eyebrow at his insistence. The unspoken words in the dispute were that Warrick left Nick alone once before, and he wasn't about to again. She allowed herself to glance up quickly at him. His face was solid, walled up to be strong, but yet so obviously tortured.
She looked back at the display as a bright green dot appeared on the screen.
"Nick." He stirred a bit, willing his eyes to open, but not really finding the strength.
"It's going to be all right." He opened his eyes, but everything was dark and wavy.
"I'm sorry I hurt you."
That's when he recognized the voice. Nigel leaned over his body, prodding at his gunshot wound. Fear quickly shot through Nick's body, but he was too tired to use it to get himself away from Crane.
Something else caught Nick's attention. Over Nigel's guilt-ridden attention, Nick heard something else—something loud, like machinery, or an engine . . .
"Hold up!" Sara yelled. The screen continued to light up. "There's someone down there!"
The chopper immediately turned about, circling back. Warrick leaned in to see the screen. His heart raced as he watched it; sure enough, the screen light up with two dots.
Two?
"If it's Nick, then who's the other person?" Warrick shouted above the noise. Already, dread set in him. He knew who it had to be.
"They're moving!" Sara yelled. Warrick saw the two dots—one was moving more, and the other . . .
"Someone's being dragged!!" Warrick turned to the pilot. "The spotlight!" The powerful light shone down below them.
That darkness disappeared with blinding light, and Nick raised his cuffed hands to shield his eyes. He wasn't sure what was going on, but Crane was dragging him along.
"Hurry, Nick!" he heard. His chest hurt; Nigel held onto him and pulled him awkwardly. Nick tried to move, not to help Nigel, but just to see if everything was still working.
But I'm so tired. He felt his leg move a bit, but it suddenly sent a shot of pain to his right side.
Suddenly he heard gunshots, right next to him. Crane fired up at the light, one shot after the other until the noise subsided and Nick heard the clicks of an empty magazine.
He heard Crane swear, and then suddenly he was dropped. His back hit something sharp, a rock or something.
"Nick, I have to go," he heard. "But I'll come for you later."
What?
"I'm sorry, Nick!"
Crane ran off into the woods, while Nick lay still under the intense light.
"Let's go!" Warrick yelled. He immediately dropped his rope and started repelling down. He landed on the ground in record time, with a Search and Rescue guy behind him.
"Nick!" He ran to his friend's side. Damn! Nick didn't look so good. His face had a couple of gashes and scrapes. He looked pale, and it didn't take much to notice the gunshot to his side. Blood covered his clothing on the side.
"Nick, you awake?" The Search and Rescue guy jumped in, feeling Nick's pulse and checking his pupils for response. Nick mumbled something, but Warrick missed it.
"It's okay, man," Warrick said, just as he noticed the cuffs on Nick's hands. "We'll get you home." He stood up and waved to the chopper. Seconds later, a large basket was lowered to bring Nick up.
Grissom wondered if the chopper was having any luck. The people on the ground had been gone for awhile now. Gil carefully walked through the house. The living area and kitchen were a mess—broken glass, a chair, wood, and utensils were spread all over the place. Catherine snapped photographs of the scene.
Outside the window, on the deck, Grissom found blood. It wasn't much and it was also dried. Did someone cut himself on the glass? He swabbed it and pocketed the evidence.
He moved downstairs. He shined his flashlight down the hallway, and stopped outside a small room.
There were dents in the plaster—body-sized dents. He also found slugs in the wall. The doorframe was splintered, and the door itself contained a couple of bullet holes. Grissom swallowed and proceeded into the room.
"Catherine," Gil called out.
"Yeah!" she yelled from upstairs. Gil crouched down by the floor. Embedded in the carpet fibers was glass—thin glass.
Catherine came up behind him, and Gil shined the light on the glass.
"What do you think that is?"
She bent down, taking a closer look.
"Glass."
Grissom rolled his eyes, but waited.
"It's thin," Catherine continued. "Not very strong . . ." She stood up and began looking around the room. "Gris."
He stood and looked at her. She was staring at the ceiling, which had a fixture for a light bulb, but no bulb itself.
"Did Crane kill the bulb? Keep Nick in the dark, maybe?" he speculated aloud. Catherine shrugged.
"Maybe."
Grissom knelt down again and gathered the glass. He grabbed piece by piece with his tweezers, and then froze when he saw—
"Blood." Grissom turned the glass, studying the dried red liquid. Part of him shuddered to think this was Nick's blood, that maybe Nigel Crane had been sick enough to use something so ordinary to torture his CSI.
"Grissom," Catherine called out. "A chain." Her tone was emotionally reserved, detached even as she fingered the chain with gloved hands. Grissom went to her side. The chain hung from a closet, securely wrapped around the clothes bar.
Grissom's blood began to flow rapidly. He gritted his teeth as he stared at the offending metal.
"Bag it."
He left the room, heading straight up the stairs and outside. He immediately started pacing back and forth in the driveway. A few police officers were around, securing the property and coordinating search efforts.
It killed Grissom knowing that Nick wasn't safe. Especially since he wasn't even safe in Vegas. He thought about the evidence he'd found. The phone call with Nick and the gunshots in the background.
Gil's pulse surged again, and he quickly felt for it, timing it against his watch.
His cell phone rang, interrupting his pulse-check. He grimaced as he took it out, fearing the worst case scenario.
"Grissom," he answered. His grim face started to evolve as he listened to Warrick. "You did? Where are you?" He listened again as he started to run back to the house. "I'll meet you there."
He snapped his phone shut and yelled, "Catherine! They've got Nick!"