Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.
Spoiler: Unbearable
Thanks for the reviews. They kept me up late into the night finishing this chapter. I cannot tell how many more chapters there will be. I have having too much fun. I hope that you are enjoying the ride as much as I am. And yes, there is light at the end of the tunnel.
Sheila
Chapter 10
Afraid of the light
The ranch house was old. Years ago, it may have had a sunny color, but now there was nothing but bare evidence of it once was. It was isolated, the Sierra Nevada mountains to the east, and desert to the south. Brass had surrounded the house on all sides. It took time, a wait that Grissom found interminable. Catherine found him standing next to the car overlooking the house, and she slid her arm through his. At first he shuddered at the intimacy, but he could sense her need. With his free hand, he reached over and took her hand, sighing when she rested her head on his shoulder.
Danny paced up and back the length of the car. Grissom resisted an urge to trip him and send him flying. His manic energy was irritating him. Jack leaned against the car, arms folded, mute and unreadable. Brass stalked by, a walkie talkie pasted to his face. From time to time, he growled something into the receiver. Finally he stopped, looked at them and nodded. Then he started down the hill, alternating running with sliding down the sandy soil, grabbing brush for leverage as he went. They scrambled after him. Brass had warned Grissom and Catherine that he wouldn't have them in on the raid without firearms, and so they ran awkwardly, each carrying a gun they got off a deputy. Danny ran ahead and matched Brass' pace. They trotted as far as the front yard and stopped. Brass gestured with one arm, and a deputy ran up with a bullhorn. Brass turned and looked at Grissom for an instant, and then he began, "Alberto Sanchez, this is the Vegas police. We are serving a warrant on your house for the kidnapping of Sara Sidle and the murder of five women. Come out with your hands up."
Everyone waited silently, the wind whipping their jackets against their body. After 30 seconds, Brass repeated the warning. Thirty seconds later, he did it again, but there was no sign of life. Suddenly, he waved his arm, and a number of deputies swept past them to the front door. Danny joined their number. There was shouting and kicking, and then they were through the door fluidly, one after another, they disappeared into the house.
"They don't touch anything, Jim!" Grissom shouted.
Brass nodded. "They know."
Without waiting, Grissom trotted after them. Brass cursed and chased after him. They both disappeared into the house. Catherine looked at Malone, and he nodded. The two of them followed together.
Danny ran sideways down the basement steps, holding his gun outstretched in both hands. A clattering on the steps signaled the presence of deputies. Danny looked up and waved them back. He didn't want to risk their exposure to possible evidence. The basement was dark, but there was light in the corner coming from an open door. Hugging the wall, Danny eased over to the door. He heard a noise and looked up. Grissom was moving down the stairs toward him. Danny waved him away wildly, but Grissom ignored this and slid along the wall until he was crouching next to Taylor. He wanted to argue, but there was no time and Grissom's eyes were distant. Danny put up a hand and pantomimed counting. One finger went up and then another. On the third finger, they both moved.
Danny began yelling out, "FBI! FBI!" over and over. He slammed into the doorway and held this position, waving his gun in all directions. Recklessly, Grissom ran past him into the room. It was empty and cold. Concrete block walls. A tattered mattress sat in the middle of the room. Grissom slowly turned around, taking in the video camera and an intercom. The stench was foul. The mattress was thin and tore through the side. There were several blood spatters decorating the mattress cover. He reached down with a finger and ran it along a stain. He brought his finger up to his face, and saw the faint tint of fresh blood. Involuntarily, he shuddered. Off to the side, there was a chair, leather straps hanging down the sides. An IV bottle hung off the back. Blood spatter ran along the floor. Grissom pivoted and looked at Danny. "Don't come in. We need to preserve the scene." Then he pointed at the video camera. "Find that tape." Danny disappeared from the doorway. Grissom backed up until he too was in the doorway. He stood there, his eyes taking in every inch of the room. Nausea rose up from his stomach, but he ignored the sore taste that settled in his mouth. On the floor, he saw a hair. He bent down and picked it up. It was a long, brown hair. He sagged against the doorway. This was Sara. No test in the world could convince him otherwise. She had been in this cold, foul room, probably for days. He imagined that she had to endure taunts and constant surveillance, maybe even torture. He knew that she had been hungry and so cold; waiting and hoping that her friends and colleagues would come. She was in this room, probably 3-4 days living in terror, in pain, and alone. He had already let her down in so many ways, and this felt like the final betrayal. His chin trembled and he squeezed his eyes close, no longer able to hold his anguish at bay.
Catherine stood a few feet away. She knew better than to approach. He needed to be alone now with his thoughts and feelings. Her presence right now would be too electric, too raw for him. She backed away quietly, carrying the crime tape with her. She closed off the entire basement. Deputies brought crime scene kits to the door at her direction. The house was filled with people now; the stomp of boots everywhere. She needed to find Brass and get all of these guys cleared out. While she knew that the primary crime scene was in the basement, she suspected that there was much to find elsewhere in this quaint little home.
Her own feelings began to overflow, and she walked outside into the dry, windy day. Clouds had formed over the sun, and the wind suggested a coming storm. She stood in the middle of the dusty road and let the wind hit her wet face. She swallowed hard, standing there for a long minute before she pulled the cell phone from her belt. She hit buttons and put it to her ear. "Hey, this is Catherine. I am calling like I promised I would…No, we don't have her. We have the crime scene, but he and Sara are missing…It's hard to tell, we just got here…Grissom, well he's um…he's having a tough time…Warrick," she stopped for a moment, trying to suppress a sob. "I think it's going to be bad. I think it's going to be really bad." She rubbed at her face with her free hand. "I appreciate it, but that's not going to help. You need to stay right where you are. Understand….We're going to send samples. Malone got us a FBI helicopter, and we're going to load it up and send it off to you. You should expect something in the next 6-8 hours…'Rick, I'm going to need you to talk to Nicky and Greg. I don't think I can do it right now…Just tell them to keep hoping, okay?...I gotta go. Crime scene is waiting…Yeah, I'm watching out for him…I'm going to be okay. I have to be the strong one now. Just like you gotta be strong for the guys….I'll call you later, Rick. I promise."
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Danny stood outside with Malone and Brass. The wind was growing stronger and the leaves on the trees were whistling their discontent. He had his arms folded tightly, and he looked out onto the miles of desolate hills.
"He left in a hurry. He took tapes. He had tapes just like Hatfield; must have known we were close."
Brass shook his head. "His truck is still here."
"A second car?" Danny suggested.
"No, there is only one set of treads in the driveway."
"Door to the shed is open. Looks like a gun is missing off the rack. Maybe he's on foot." Jack had to raise his voice in order to be heard above the wind. In the distant, there was a flash of light and thunder sounded.
"Why? Why leave on foot? I don't get it." Brass threw his hands up.
"He takes her out into the desert and shoots her, buries her. There was an imprint of a shovel in the dirt, but no shovel."
"He forgot one video in the machine. Maybe answers are on this." Danny waved the bagged tape at them. They got silent for a moment. Watching the tape was necessary, but nobody wanted to sit in this man's house and watch it, in his chair, using his equipment.
Jack grabbed the tape. "I'll do it. I don't know her. That'll make it easier."
Brass looked away, wind whipping at his hair.
"Start searching the area." With that, Jack turned and went back into the house.
Danny licked his lips and looked at Brass. Brass brought the walkie talkie up to his mouth and started barking orders.
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The first forty minutes showed nothing but a still mattress with a body hiding underneath. The arm hanging out was long, slim, and bare. He would have thought she was naked except for the fringe of nightgown that peaked out with her knees. The audio was nothing but repeated calls to her by Sanchez. But the body didn't move, and Jack began to worry about what that might mean.
Behind him the bedroom door open, and he quickly hit pause. Grissom walked into the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Jack shook his head.
"I can help. I know her." Grissom looked around and pulled up an old wooden chair.
"Gil, this is a very bad idea."
"Nevertheless, I am here. So let's get going on this." With his head, he gestured at the TV.
Jack looked ready to argue the point, but finally he just let out a sigh and hit the forward button. "I've watched about 40-45 minutes. She has been like this the whole time. He provokes her over the intercom, but she doesn't move. I suspect she's unconscious…or something."
Grissom sucked in air sharply at the sight of her still form stuffed into the mattress. For another hour, they watched her lay motionless, and then Sanchez enters the room, dragging a chair and assorted supplies. He is a small man, dark hair. He is stocky, and walks with his legs out wide. He begins explaining to the still form that he has brought supplies to help revive her so that she can better participate in the "fun".
Jack paused the tape. "I don't think I have ever seen anything like this. It's visceral, a serial killer at work."
"Press play."
"Let's talk about this."
"Goddamit, Jack. I'm not leaving. Press play!" Grissom was shaking, he held his hands together tightly in an effort to still them. He dropped his face onto his folded hands and waited.
Jack hit play. Sanchez began dragging her out of the mattress and then propped her up. As he was dragging her to the chair, he saw her feet lift and plant themselves. Her arm came up, metal bar in hand, and hit him soundly. Grissom sat up straight, sucking in breath through his teeth.
The fight was quick, and it was clear that she had little strength. Grissom slapped the bed soundly when she hit him until he was unconscious. Then she staggered to her feet and lurched out of camera range.
"She did it!"
Jack said nothing in response. Almost immediately, Sanchez began to stir. For a moment, he just held his head and moaned. Then he pulled himself up, and began yelling threats at her. Then he too moved out of camera range.
Jack noted the time in the lower right hand corner. "Happened only 6 hours ago. Everything is still fresh."
"He chased her out into the desert."
"Yeah, and we think he has a shotgun."
Grissom was on his feet and out the door. Jack sighed wearily and followed him.
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It was raining hard outside; sheets of rain moving sideways. Lightening lit up the sky, and thunder was a constant growl in the distance. Brass stood under an overhang next to an old barn. Grissom ran through the rain toward him.
"She ran into the desert. He's chasing her." He shouted, gulping to breathe between sentences. He stood before Brass, water dripping down his face, hair plastered to his head. "She was still alive six hours ago."
Brass smiled. "Good!"
"Do you have a flashlight? I want to join the search."
Brass shook his head. "We wait until the rain slows. It's hard to see, and the man has a gun."
"I don't care!"
"Yes, I am positive you don't, but it's dangerous. Plus, there could be flash flooding." Brass was shouting over the rain pounding on the overhang.
Grissom shook his head. Then he spied a long flashlight in the corner behind Brass. He pushed Brass out of the way and grabbed it. Before Brass could react, he was running toward the vast expanse of desert. Brass cursed. He was debating whether to follow him when Malone came running at him.
"Grissom! He yelled. Brass pointed at the hills. Malone came under the shelter, breathing hard.
"He's a fool."
"He's in pain." Brass countered. "There are two fools out there. Danny went out before the rain started. He's the only one who didn't come back when I called them all in."
Jack slammed his hand into the old wood of the building. "Dammit!"
Brass put his hands up when he thought Jack was ready to bolt. "Don't go getting all hero on me, Jack. Someone needs to stay here and help me launch a proper search when the rain stops."
"I'm going to kill him!" Jack growled at the dense shower.
Brass nodded. "Good thinking. I'll alibi you."
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Danny peered from beneath the hood of the rain poncho at the downpour. He was beginning to understand why Brass was so adamant about bringing them in out of the rain. He was unprepared for the onslaught of a desert rainstorm. Already a creek bed was filling with a river of water. His flashlight barely cut through the rain, and he found that he could only see 10-20 yards ahead of him at any given time. Despite this, he continued, climbing up rocks, flashing his light down hills, calling her name.
Up ahead, he saw a large rock leaning against a boulder creating an overhang. He headed toward eager to get out of the rain long enough to catch his bearings, maybe call Jack and listen while the Irishman tore him a new one. He jumped across a creek bed, and was almost swept away by the small stream he had to ford, but grabbed bushes and pulled himself across.
As he neared the shelter, he thought he saw a flash of something. He trained his flashlight on the rock and saw nothing. His eyes narrowed as he moved closer. Then, all of a sudden, he was there. A man came out of the shadows. He had a large shotgun in his arms, and he was training at Danny. Danny was fumbling through the poncho for his weapon when he saw the flash. The impact lifted him off his feet, throwing him against a rock. He struggled to orient himself. It was unclear to him what had just happened. The man walked toward him, raising the gun again. Danny tried to extricate his gun, but it was tangled in the poncho. His body betrayed him as he tried to get to his feet. A pain in his chest erupted, and he wondered if a large boulder had fallen on him. The man stopped before him and took careful aim. Danny knew he about to be shot in the head. He had no time left and nothing to lose. He started shouting at the man in Spanish. The small man's brows furled and he leaned in closer. Danny began yelling 'Alberto Sanchez, you are under arrest' over and over. He rolled a little unto his side. The man shook his head, smiling at him, and cocked the shotgun.
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