Chapter 9: Ninety- Nine Bottle of Beer on the Wall

Greg kept running and didn't look back. He ran past the casinos, the tourists, the hotels, the glamour, the lights, the dealers, and the hookers. He kept running until he tasted blood in his mouth and his legs were tired. His heart beat like a racehorse.

He ran till he was at the far edge of town. It was the dark side of town. The side of town parents kept their children from. This was the side of town nobody wanted to be in at anytime of the day.

He walked in to a bar and had a seat at the counter. Though there were few people there, they still stared at him.

The bartender asked what he wanted and Greg asked for anything. The bartender gave him a couple of beers. Greg drank them like they were water on a hot summer day. He asked for a couple more but sipped them slower and watched the news. The headline was the lab explosion. He finally got to see the inside of the lab post explosion and it made his heart stop. There was nothing left. Glass scattered the blackened ground, equipment everywhere like toys, and chairs tipped over. Greg thought he recognized his lab, but it was hard to tell. It looked just like everything else in the building.

James voice rang in his ear, " You're pathetic. You friends think so too."

Greg sat at the bar, becoming more and more drunk. His pile of empty bottles grew and he could hardly keep his head up. He finally got up and threw bills on the counter to pay for his tab. He stumbled out of the bar on to the sidewalk. He walked until he saw the main street. Greg could walk no more, so he called a cab.

" Where to?" the cabbie asked.

" To the Crime Lab," Greg replied.

" But it's a crime scene," the cabbie said.

" It's okay, I work there," Greg pointed to his identification.

" Alright," the cabbie said driving down the street.

The car passed the Mirage, the Palms, and Caesar's Palace. The neon lights of the hotels hurt his eyes and made him dizzy.

The cab finally arrived at the lab with its yellow crime scene tape.

" $12.31," the cabbie said.

Greg handed him a twenty and said, " Keep the change."

He stumbled out of the cab and shut the door. He watched as the cab drove off into the Las Vegas night.

There were no cops at the scene, just him. Greg crossed the yellow tape and sat down in front of the building. The only thing left of the building not affected by the explosion was the stairs. He sat on the stairs in silence and darkness for quite some time. He had half a mind to walk through the building, but some sensible voice in his head told him no.

He hated himself. He hated what he had done. He hated that he had been used.

Somebody's voice interrupted his thoughts.

" Greg? Is that you?"

" Whose there? Go away," Greg said.

" Greg, it's me, Grissom," he said.

" What do you want?" Greg asked, slurring his words. " I thought you were at the hospital,"

" Catherine told me you might be here," Grissom said. " There was nothing too wrong with me. I got lucky. We all did."

" What do you want? I have no use left to you," Greg said, stumbling over his words.

Grissom shook his head, " Greg, you're drunk."

" So, who cares if I am? I don't," he said.

Grissom sighed.

"Come back with me to the hospital and see Warrick"

"No, just let me be."

But Greg let Grissom take him to the cab.

" I hope you weren't expecting to drive you're car home," Grissom said with a slight smile.

They buckled up and headed back to the hospital. Greg's head pounded so he leaned his head back against the seat. Grissom watched Greg try to stay awake and smiled sadly. He hated to see him like that.

" Greg, when we get there, have someone look at your head. Catherine told me you got it banged up pretty bad," Grissom said.

Greg nodded his head but made no sound.