Sara sunk farther into the mattress as she pulled the down comforter over her head. As much as she hated admitting it, she was tired. Past tired. She lay, her head in the pillow, trying desperately to keep the last sliver of sleep from drifting away.

Ring

She groaned. Of course... Of course someone would have to call her on her day off. The job was never-ending.

"Sidle," she answered groggily.

"Sara! Sara, where are you? What are you doing?"

She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. "I'm in bed, Grissom. It's my day off, remember? I'm doing what you..."

"Sara, get out." In the background she swore she could hear horns honking.

"Grissom, what are you talking about?"

"Sara, trust me. Just get out of your apartment." When he got no reply he ventured further. "Sara, how did your character die in the show?"

"Uh... my ex-boyfriend came over, beat me, tied me to a chair, and blew up the house. A bit on the extreme side, if you ask me. I mean, I've seen some distraught exes, but..."

"Sara, listen to me." The thinly veiled panic in voice was beginning to worry her. "This guy has been killing women who look like the actresses on the show."

"Right."

Lengthy pause.

"Why would he go after a look-a-like when he could have the real McCoy?"

Her breath caught in her throat. She gasped. "Oh my..."

"Get out. Get out now, you don't know when he'll show up, he might not, but you've got to..."

"I have to get everyone out of this building."

"I'll call 911, you just go!"

She was so shocked she didn't notice he had hung up until the incessant beeping came through the line.

Throwing the phone down, she rushed out, heading for the stairwell. She was nearly breathless by the time she reached the doors on the next floor.

"Mrs. Animore, you've got to get out!"

"Oh, hello dear. Sara, isn't it? How are you?"

Sara gripped the old woman's shoulders. "You have to get out, there's a bomb in the building." The woman blanched to the color of her ill-fitting wig.

"A bomb?"

"Yes, just go!" She heard the door close and the slow jog of the woman retreating down the stairs.

Now for 2B. She knocked. No answer. Knocked again. Still nothing.

As she was running up the second flight, Sara was suddenly glad there were only six apartments in her building. She was so engrossed with this thought that she didn't see the woman backing out of 3A.

"Excuse me," the woman cried as Sara knocked the briefcase from her hand.

"You gotta get out!"

The woman looked over her, eyeing her tanktop and shorts. "Pardon me."

"No, listen." Sara gulped in air greedily. "There's a bomb in the building. You have to..."

"A bomb?"

"Yes. Go!" she screamed. The woman gave her a smirk, picked up the briefcase, and continued down the stairs. Sara ran a hand, frustrated, though her hair.

"Are you serious?"

She turned. A young man, probably not much over 20, stared at her from the door jamb, his eyes wide with fright.

"Yeah. Yeah I am. "

"I have to tell me girlfriend..." he backed into the apartment.

"Just hurry!" she called over shoulder.

She found it was much easier to run down the stairs than up.

As she reached her floor, she suddenly realized she had left one area unevacuated- the laundry room.

She had chosen the apartment here next to the laundry room, mostly because it was cheaper than any other, but also because she didn't want her unusual schedule disturbing a neighbor.

She pounded on the door. Nothing. Good. She slumped against the wall to catch a breath.

Ring

Her phone! It's probably Grissom. She ran back through the open door into her apartment, searching frantically to find the device.

"Looking for this?"

She froze. Gulping, she slowly turned to the voice. "Mitch."

"Yeah. Hi." He gently closed the cell he held aloft and tossed it to her. "How ya doing Ms. Sidle?" Nothing. "Oh, no answer?" He inched toward. Every hair on her neck stood on end. "Well, now why would that be?" He was a foot away. She glanced around the room. He noticed. "Oh, I wouldn't try doing anything." She saw the glint of metal before he even had it at eye level.

He has a gun. My gun. She gulped.

"Aw, Sara, are you afraid of me?" She was backing up, trying to put some distance between herself and this demon. "Don't be scared."

Without warning, he brought his hand up. Sara attempted to block with her arms, but it was no use.

She felt the cold of steel against her head just before everything went black.

The first thing she noticed was that the room was blurry. The second was that her head was pounding. She groaned.

"Welcome back, Ms. Sidle." The memories came rushing back.

Mitch. Phone. My gun.

When she went to pull away from his outstretched hand, she discovered that none of her limbs could move. Looking down, she saw that she was strapped nicely to a kitchen chair.

"Sorry I had to do that," he leaned in close and gently brushed against the impressive swelling mass on the side of her head causing her to yelp in pain. "Sorry."

"Why are you doing this?" This would be easier if the room stopped spinning.

"Hey, you're the great CSI, shouldn't you be able to figure it out?" Breathe in, breathe out. Breath in, breathe out. I wonder what my pulse is?

Everything felt surreal now, as if she had already done this. No wonder... I already have.

"Well, maybe I'm not as great as everyone thinks I am."

"Oh, Ms. Sidle, don't think like that. You're a great CSI." He leaned in close, his face inches from hers. His breath smelled like pizza. "It's just that I'm a better criminal." She had to resist the urge to spit at him.

"Seriously, why are you doing this? Why did you kill those women?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to." He glanced at her, hoping for a reaction of some sort. He didn't get any. "I wanted to see if my plots would work. I mean really, really work. It's not that easy to write a good plot with real science, you know."

"Why did you wait until the show aired? Why not just kill them before and then write about it once you'd gotten away?"

He tossed the gun carelessly between hands. She grimaced. "I thought about that. But then if I messed up, my episodes wouldn't air. Some bigwig at the network would probably think it was bad PR for a criminal to get screen credit."

"So you did it just to see if you could?" She could no longer mask the disgust rising in her like bile.

Finally, the reaction he'd been waiting for. "Yeah." A devilish grin spread it's way over his face. "And now, lucky you will be my next victim. The sad thing, really, is that you won't even get to see your episode. Personally, I think it's one of the best I've written." His watch began beeping. "Oh! That's my cue. Time to get going." He leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She spit at him. "I'm sorry it had to end this way," he said, wiping the spittle from his face. "You and me coulda made a good team."

"Hold it right there Mr. Hol." Slowly, Hol turned on his heel to face the speaker.

"Gil!" Sara couldn't hold back the name from escaping her lips. Silently she pleaded for him to do something.

"Dr. Grissom, isn't it?"

"Put your gun down, Mitch." Grissom leveled his at Hol's head.

"You see, here's the issue with that proposition. You've got a gun, but I've got a hostage." He jammed the barrel into her forehead. She whimpered. Grissom visually wavered. "That's what I thought. Dr. Grissom put down you weapon." When he didn't move: "Now!" He pushed the gun deeper into her head. Sara couldn't control the one tear that slid down her cheek.

Slowly, methodically, Grissom knelt and laid the gun on the floor, never once letting his eyes stray from Sara.

"Good. See it wasn't that hard. Get over here and untie her from the chair," Hol hissed, gesturing with Sara's weapon.

Grissom crossed the room, hands at his side. He kept eye contact with Sara the entire time. Gently, he untied the ropes that had held her hands hostage and still did her feet.

"Gil," Sara cried. It was barely above a whisper.

"It's ok, honey. Everything's ok." He massaged her wrists.

"Oh, how sweet." The comment dripped with sarcasm. "Now get up, both of you!" Griss helped Sara to her feet, steadying her when she almost toppled over due to her still bound feet.

"You know, this would've made for a great ending for this episode. The knight in shining armor shows up at just the right time to get himself killed. Hmmm.... maybe that'll show up next season." He paused. "But I guess that doesn't matter, does it?" He brandished the gun toward down the hall, back toward the bedroom. "Move!"

Sara turned to face Grissom, looking for something, anything. For just an instant, their eyes met. She swallowed. Grissom offered a small smile of reassurance. But it was hard to convince Sara everything was all right when he himself didn't believe it.

Sirens. Lots of them. People talking. Yelling.

Wondering at the commotion coming from just outside the apartment window, Mitch Hol lost his focus for just a split second. That's all it took.

That's all it took for Grissom to let go of Sara, jump Hol, and begin a mad struggle for control of the gun.

Hol wound up and sent a jab right into Grissom's chin. Grissom didn't let go. Vaguely, he could hear Sara yelling from just feet away, screaming at the top of her lungs for some help.

The gun jumped as a round was fired into the ceiling. The coppery taste in Grissom's mouth was becoming stronger.

He wrestled the gun down. Twisted. Ducked. Dodged.

Bang.

Silence.

For one second the world did not move for Sara Sidle. For one second, she sat on the floor, horror filling her veins.

"Grissom!" she screamed. It hurt. She slumped over where she sat, letting the tears fall. Not even attempting to hold back the streams.

A loud thump. Ragged breathing. Footsteps.

"Come on, Sara. Come on!" She felt some hands cradle her head and lift her from her position on the floor. "Let's go."

Through tear-blurred eyes, she looked up. "Grissom..." She choked out.

"Not yet."

From somewhere behind them, she heard the incessant beeping of a watch.

Grissom didn't know he could run very fast. In fact, he had never been much of a sprinter. But as he carried Sara out of the apartment and through the building to the exit, he was sure he broke some kind of record.

The first ray of sun had just hit his face when all hell broke loose. Literally.

He felt the hotness of the flames licking at his back; heard the enormous blast, though it wasn't as loud as he would have imagined. The air rushing out propelled them forward onto the grass where he fell to his knees, dropping his precious cargo in the process. The last thing he saw was the surprise on Sara's bruised face as they began to roll.

Then there was nothing.