Spoiler: No Humans Involved

Disclaimer: They are not mine, but I'm not proud.

I hope this is fun for you all. It is a scarier story than I thought it would be. Your feedback has been wonderful.

Chapter 6

"Tell me this is a joke, Warrick. Just tell me you acquired a sick sense of humor in the last twelve hours." Brass' voice had attained a new pitch.

Warrick ignored him. He stood in the alley now with a small crowd. Nicky was on his hands and knees with a flashlight looking for tire tracks. Greg followed behind him with a plaster kit. Catherine was in the bar talking to the bartender about Sammy. Of all of them, Grissom showed the least energy. He stood at the edge of the alley where it intersected with San Diego Boulevard, and stared into the distance.

"She really had tracks on her arms?"

"Self-administered. Part of the act. She wasn't high."

"Oh, I feel much better now. She thinks I won't work with her, huh? For this reason, she is playing Mata Hari with drug dealers." Brass was pacing back and forth.

"She is upset with all of us. Nothing special about you, Jim."

"And you let her go to the bathroom?"

"Generally not a suspicious activity, you know."

"Well, under the circumstance, 'Rick, I don't know."

Nicky leaned back on his haunches for a moment and look at them. "The sarcasm isn't helping, you know."

"You got any good prints on him yet, Nick." Grissom had strolled back to the group.

"Greg has his beer glass bagged. We're on it."

Grissom turned to Brass. "This is not Warrick's fault Jim. Even if he had dragged her away, we couldn't have held her. They don't get any more determined than Sara Sidle."

"So we just leave her, Gil?" Brass' energy hadn't wavered.

"Not for a minute. But having her doesn't mean we are reaching her."

"So what now?"

"We find Sammy, we find Sara. Hopefully inspiration will have caught up to us by then." He turned without waiting for a response and wandered back down the alley.

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The house was out on the edge of Vegas. The neighborhood was nothing but brush and dirt with a few dilapidated homes to break the monotony. Following him inside took all of her courage. Scenarios of what she would face inside crowded her mind.

Inside there was people, maybe 10 or 12 of them. All of them were listless, sprawled over various pieces of furniture. She almost sighed with relief. Being alone with Sammy worried her far worse than this crowd. The house was dirty, and smelled of body odor and pizza boxes. A T.V. flickered in the corner, but nobody seemed to be watching.

Sammy stepped over bodies and disappeared into the back. When he came back, he was smiling. He took her hand and dropped a tiny plastic bag of powder into her palm. "My treat." He whispered into her ear. She shivered a little, and closed her hand on the bag. He motioned to a dirty, cream couch sagging in the corner.

She resisted his pull, and whispered back. "I need a little privacy with this, you know?"

"The bedroom maybe?" The smell of him curdled her stomach.

"No, sorry. I just don't shoot up in front of other people much. But it's okay." She pulled him over to the couch. She let him pull his works out of his coat, and then watched as he cooked the powder. She grabbed his arm when he pulled out a syringe. "I only do clean needles, Sammy."

Sammy nodded and got up. A moment later, he was back holding a syringe still encased in the manufacturer's plastic. She pulled the plastic off and let him fill the needle. He reached over and pulled her arm toward him. Again, she resisted. "I like to do this part myself."

"Funny. A lot of people prefer to have someone else stick them."

She shrugged. "Sorry. Just my own control issues. What can I say?"

He settled in and watched. She stopped, the needle poised above her arm. "Sammy, you go ahead. I don't need an audience, okay?"

Sammy reached back in for the syringe he had tried to give her earlier, and began to prepare the powder for himself. She waited until his eyes left her and surreptitiously let the syringe bleed drug into her shirt. He looked at her again, and she smiled. She hoped that she had emptied most if not all of the drug. Then she winced, pushing the needle into her arm.

It only took a moment before she felt herself floating. What little of the drug was still in the needle was more than her system could tolerate. She fought for control, but found that it was like swimming upstream against a heavy current. She felt his breath on her neck and pulled away. He pulled at her for a while, trying to gain access, but she fought. She finally felt him slump against her shoulder, eyes closed and mouth open. She tried to get up, but the room swayed, her limbs refusing to cooperate with her commands.

"Help me, Grissom. Please." She whimpered before falling back against the couch. The drug was powerful, and she soon succumbed, sprawled out, her head come to rest on Sammy's chest.

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"Sammy Patterson. Small time hood. A few Collars for possession, intent to sell, and a couple of B&E's."

"Address? Known associates?"

"Sorry, Jim. He's not really on our radar." A tall narcotics detective was leaning against the wall in reception.

"Well, then, what the hell good are you to me?"

"A question I have asked myself for years."

"Come on, Bob. This is serious. She's a friend."

"Well, grilling me like a perp isn't going to get you anywhere."

"Just tell me where to start."

"If I were you, I would start with our list of known drug residences. He's probably holed up with her at one of those."

"Great. How long would that list be?"

"About 500 odd, I think."

"I'm raiding 500 houses?" Brass let out a low whistle.

"Not with my crew, you're not. I'll give you the list. Run down your leads. Then throw me your 3 best guesses. We're certainly not going to send the whole addict population out into the streets at the same time. That's all we need."

"You're a cold bastard, you know that, Lieutenant Monroe."

"What? You think I pick daisies for a living. How the hell else do you think I get through the day." The narcotics detective pushed off from the wall.

"You'll keep your ears open for me?"

"We'll pull in all our contacts just for you, Jim."

"She's important to me."

"We got your back, Jim." The detective patted Brass on the shoulder before heading back to his unit.

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Sara pushed herself up using Sammy's prone form as leverage. She struggled to her feet. Her head pounded and her mouth felt like cotton. Using the wall as a guide, she walked down the hallway and into the bathroom. The sink was putrid. She breathed out and turned on the faucet, gathering up water and splashing it on her face. Her face appeared in the smeared mirror in front of her. Her ponytail had loosened and tendrils of hair fell into her face. The sweat Sammy had looked for earlier was in abundant supply now. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead even after she washed her face. Her t-shirt felt damp and sticky against her skin.

She stumbled back through the living room and into the kitchen. She wasn't sure if her dizziness was only drug related. She couldn't remember her last meal. The only food product she could find was pizza. Boxes littered the kitchen counter, and she rifled through them. She found some pepperoni pizza. The cheese was congealed, but it still had enough elasticity to be somewhat recent. She stood at the counter and picked off the pepperoni. The slice still reeked of the meat, but she forced herself to eat it. Taking small bites, she worked her way through the piece. Then she found a glass. It didn't smell clean, but she couldn't find any dish soap. Finally she satisfied herself by leaning her head under the sink and drinking directly from the faucet.

"Hiya."

Startled, Sara's head popped up.

"I'm Blaine. This is my house." He was tall and lanky with long, blonde, scraggly hair that hung down his back.

"I'm Sara."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"So, you're here with Sammy, huh?"

"Just friends." Her face tightened.

"Sammy probably thinks otherwise."

Sara shrugged.

"Don't let him bother you. He's all bark."

She tried to smile, but her lips felt like they would crack. "I was passing by a bedroom and saw a computer. I was wondering if you minded if I maybe checked my e-mail."

He laughed. "That's my kid's. We haven't had AOL in about 6 months. My guess is that we are cut off. Kid doesn't come around any more. Stays at his aunt's. Probably better this way, actually. The is house isn't exactly kid friendly these days."

"Mind if I play with it?"

"Knock yourself out, Sara." He smiled at her. In other circumstances, Sara imagined that she would probably like Blaine. But now, she was just grateful to see a friendly face.

She found her way into the bedroom and sat down at the computer. Access was dead, but the software was still installed. It took her three attempts, but finally she was able to remember the numbers of her credit card in the right order. Relief flooded through her when a browser screen came up. She went to Hotmail and developed a new account, She paused for a moment to really consider the next course of action, and then she slowly typed in Grissom's work address. It took her almost an hour, and she deleted many more things than she kept, but she finally had a message she was ready to send.

Grissom,

I really need to talk to you, but I can't right now. I'm doing something pretty crazy, but you know that by now. Please tell Warrick that I am sorry. He deserved better from me.

I should have talked to you before this. I was going to do that. I was going to quit. I wasn't doing my job, and people were having to compensate. I understand that now. I was going to tell you everything. But I got caught up in this thing that seems to have taken control of me. I want to find Viktor. I need to find Viktor. For Hannah and for me. I wish I had the time right now to explain everything I am trying to say to you.

You mean so much to me, Grissom. I have never fully understood why, but it's the truth. If I could, I would be on the phone with you right now, getting advice. Hell, I would have you come pick me up. Make you buy me fish tacos at Stanley's.

I won't tell you I'm safe right now. I'm not. I feel out of control, and I am learning the hard way that I am not as smart as I thought I was. But I feel that I am in a pretty good position to learn something about Viktor, and that's what seems to matter most right now.

I don't know when I will talk to you next. I do know that the minute I know where Viktor is, I am going to find some way to contact you. I won't do anything crazy. Well, nothing more crazy than I already have. Really. I just want to find him. Then I want you guys here for all the heavy lifting. I promise.

I need all your good thoughts right now, Grissom. I'm keeping my head above water right now, but I'm scared.

I'm sorry for everything.

Sara

She wondered if she should have acknowledged her fear so actively in the letter. But she knew he would want her to be honest. And she desperately needed someone to know what she was feeling. With a chortle, she suddenly realized that she had reached that point that she and Grissom had talked about. She was ready to talk, ready to tell him everything. She had reached that point, and now there was no way to reach him. She read the letter a few more times and then hit 'send'. She leaned back in the chair. Just the acting of writing had brought her some small sense of relief.