::A Polaroid Picture::
(sorry, this chapter is a bit short. Hope you like it!)
"Don't speak." The killer warned in a low, threatening tone, keeping the gun on the fallen criminalist. Sara sat upright with great difficulty, keeping a timid eye on the man cloaked by pitch darkness. Two small tears fell from her hard brown eyes. No... No! she screamed inside her mind. She glanced around the room. Her gun had fallen near her kit. If she could only...
Thinking quickly, Sara lunged for the kit, and reached for her gun. She cried and her opposite hand shot up and grasped the wound. The killer appeared behind her, a cloth was pressed to her face. The basement then spun, the sounds of the dripping pipes and the footsteps of the killer all blended together and dimmed. Sara's eyelids fluttered, and she fell to the floor. There was a flash of light, then nothing. A black silence filled her ears.
"Sara!" Greg called for a third time, cupping his hands over his mouth.
"What is it Greg?!" Grissom asked, annoyed, as he walked down the wooden stairs, his shoes making heavy noises that bounced off the walls.
"Oh, hi Grissom." Greg motioned his supervisor over. "I found a gun hidden behind one of these pillows."
Grissom sighed.
"Why didn't you get Sara? I was in the middle of a theory up there."
"I called like, five times! She's not answering me." Greg held up his arms in defense. Grissom moaned, and approached the basement stairs. Greg tagged along behind him. The middle-aged man clicked on his long, black flashlight and started down the stairs. His mouth dropped. Greg then looked out and gasped.
"I think...that's...one of Brass's!" Greg managed to get out.
"Sara!" Grissom shouted into the soggy basement. He only heard the echo of his own voice. He grasped the railing until his knuckles turned white. "SARA!" No response. Grissom bolted down the stairs, then stopped. Sara's kit lay opened on the floor, all of her equipment scattered on the cement. The two men searched the dark basement floor with their flashlights.
"Oh god..." Greg whispered. The beam of his flashlight lay on a particular spot on the floor.
"What is it?!" Grissom demanded, looking at the spot. A large, fresh blood pool sat on the cement, along with a trail leading to her kit. Next to the pool was a Polaroid picture of Sara. Grissom grabbed the picture and his eyes widened. She rested in an unpleasant position, like she simply collapsed to the floor, her eyes were closed and her white sweater was heavily dyed red near her shoulder. Grissom breathed heavily, his teeth gritted.
"No..." he whispered. Adrenalyne rushed through his veins. His hands shook as he held the picture. "No." he stammered over and over. Greg grabbed his walkie-talkie.
"Brass we got a dead officer and Sara is missing. I repeat, one down and one missing!" Greg stuttered the message.
"SARA!" Grissom wailed now, searching through the huge, black basement. Hundreds of boxes littered the floor, towers and towers of junk from old lounge chairs to ancient magazines. Brass then rushed down the stairs followed by others and ran to the fallen officer. He turned him over, and the man's head was attached to his body by a mere skin tag. "Dammit!" he shouted, and turned to Greg and Grissom.
"Where's Sara?" he demanded. Grissom held the picture in his trembling hands, still gazing at it in disbelief. A small tear rolled down his cheek.
