AUTHOR: Anansay
SUMMARY: Grissom encounters problems at a crime scene.
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Response to Unbound Challenge. First and Last lines are given. No more than 1,000 words.
Something Odd This Way Comes
Grissom froze suddenly; the growl was soft, but dangerous, and coming from below his waist. Instinctively his hand clutched his silver case, his arm tensing for immediate action. The growl continued, low and insistent. He could practically feel the breathy heat of anger caressing his leg, even though the pants.
His own anger surged in him, tempered by the more ferocious anger of the animal. The scene ought to have been secured. This should never have happened.
With small moves, he slowly lowered his head and looked down. Only to be confronted with the most intense pair of blood-shot eyes he'd ever seen on a dog. There was saliva dripping from beneath whitish foam at the lips.
Grissom gulped.
He listened; not a sound. It was a simple smash-and-grab. Only one CSI required. The others had their cases; he'd taken this one. There was an officer at the door, but to call for him—in any way—meant provoking an already volatile situation into something he really didn't want to consider. At all.
He could hit the dog with his case…. But if he missed… He'd read, and seen, Cujo. No, violence of any sort was not something that would help in this matter. He was stuck. This monster could literally snap at any moment. And there'd go his leg.
He could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest. The sound was blocking out any other noises. He tried to control his breathing, which might in turn calm his heart. But the threat of imminent danger—and impending, gruesome death—kept everything on high alert. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He could just stare into the animal's feral eyes and get lost in the mad maelstrom therein.
It was insanity, pure and simple.
He had no idea how long he'd been standing there, watching and gauging. Those eyes never left him. The growl never ceased. It's sick wetness now beginning to grate on Grissom's nerve. It was ridiculous, to find a damned rabid animal at a crime scene. But here it was, and it was focused on Grissom.
They both heard it at the same time. The dog's ears perked up and the growl hiccupped. Grissom's eyes jerked to the doorway. A voice. A woman's voice. If it weren't for the goosebumps of fear presently taking over Grissom's skin, he might have felt the shiver of anticipation her voice always brought.
Sara's footsteps on the stairs finally broke the tension. In a blur of motion, the dog spun around and lunged at the door, just as Grissom flung himself atop the dog, tackling it the ground and calling out to Sara to "Stay away!"
But even through the wild dervish of man and dog wrestling on the floor, Grissom knew that Sara wouldn't listen. He could practically hear her cocking her gun.
Her stunned outburst might have been funny, had Grissom's skin on his leg not ripped under the dog's powerful clamping jaws. He howled and then grunted. The only thought in his head: keep him away from Sara, God please!
A sudden loud bang had the mêlée suddenly ground to a halt. But only for a moment. But it was enough for Grissom to push himself away as another loud bang ricocheted off the walls and the dog collapsed to the floor.
Sara didn't move as she held the quivering gun aimed at the dog.
Blood was pouring from the rip in Grissom's pants and he clamped a hand down hard on his leg. It stung like nothing he'd ever felt but any actual pain wasn't coming through just yet. His heart still pounded away in his chest as he glanced up at Sara's hard form, her chest pumping hard, her nostrils flared.
"I think he's dead," Grissom said.
Sara didn't blink.
"Sara?" Grissom called from his place on the floor. He wanted to reach up to her, touch her and take the gun from her. But one hand was holding him up and the other was busy making sure he didn't bleed out. The blood was still pouring past his fingers. The signature coppery scent of blood was almost overwhelming, and Grissom was feeling the beginnings of light-headedness. He needed help, and soon.
"Sara," he called out as strongly as he could. "Put the gun down. The dog is dead. I need help. Go get help."
Finally Sara dropped the gun to her side and focused on Grissom. She dropped to her knees, muffling a sob as her hands reached for him, touching his blood. "Oh god…"
Grissom stared at her. Flushed face and quivering hands.
"Grissom…" came her soft whisper. And then her hands were on his face and she was beseeching him.
Stay… Don't leave me… Don't die on me… I need you…All that in the briefest of moments before she let him go and bolted out the door. Grissom felt his hand slide and didn't fight when he felt his body collapse with a loud thump. The room was no longer real and the dog was a figment of an overactive imagination. He was sure of it. He could feel his breath flowing in and out of his body with acute deliberation. His fingers were tingling and his lips suddenly felt big and sloppy. No kissing Sara with these lips, he thought and almost felt a chuckle.
The sound of a deeper voice almost broke through the mist but he merely let it slide past him as the colours of the room danced before him. And then the pain hit, hard.
He was being moved, jostled from side to side and them something pressing hard on his leg. He screamed.
The last words he heard before the blackness finally claimed him were hard and angry, "How did this happen?"
THE END