Feasibility Study
Written by: Ms Maggs / Edited by: KJT
Chapter 86: Losing It – Part 15
August 23, 2005 (Day 123)
The Townhouse
2:30 p.m.
Tawny stood in the second bedroom with Sara displaying a smile as sunny as the summer day outside. "This will be perfect for the nursery." Closing her eyes she easily pictured Greg standing in between the babies' cribs singing the sweetest bedtime lullaby. In the middle of the song she imagined herself walking over to stand beside him and the fantasy was so real she could feel his arms encircling her waist while his velvet voice continued to fill the room. I love you, Greg, she whispered while he crooned, and his embrace tightened ever so slightly. As the song ended she glanced down to find Haleigh and Dylan had drifted off to peaceful slumber and when she turned to catch her husband's eyes, she realized she had just fallen a little deeper in love with the man she married. So much and forever, he murmured while bringing his lips to hers for a tender kiss. So much and forever…
"Tawny! You were a million miles away just now," Sara teased as she opened the window blinds. "This room gets very nice sunlight in the afternoon. It will be really cheery for the babies. Have you thought of a nursery theme?"
"Yes, but they all have to be scrapped because they were for one baby…either boy or girl." Patting her belly she excitedly said, "Now we need a twin theme. But we'll wait until we know the sexes of the babies. I can pretty much do whatever I want, because Greg's only requirements for decorating the room are that it's bright, colorful and stimulating."
"No shock there. You know…you could just tack a bunch of his shirts on the wall and call it a day." Chuckling, Sara motioned for Tawny to follow her. "But in case you want something a little more traditional, I brought all my nursery decorating books with me."
"Awesome!" Tawny hurried out of the room. "But before we do that…I want your opinion on something else. You know the saying…first comes love, then comes marriage…"
"Yes."
Together they walked down the hall and back to the living room where all the bags were.
"I know it's jumping the gun but…" Tawny raced over to her oversized pink and black striped tote bag. "…I couldn't help it after Greg came so close to popping the question last night. When you were browsing the bookstore, I made a purchase." She produced two bridal magazines and then asked with trepidation, "Do you think it's bad luck to look for a dress before he asks me?"
"No, I knew of girls in college who picked out their dresses before they even had a man." Sara plopped on Gil's old couch that they had left there when she banned it from the new house. "Besides, I heard what Greg said in the ER about being interrupted proposing to you…interrupted by me. Ugh…I feel so guilty about that now. The only reason you're not engaged today is because I came knocking with my petty problem."
"Don't sweat it, Sis." Tawny took a seat next to Sara and handed over one magazine and kept one for her. "Greg didn't have a ring and we were sweaty and naked. After the moment passed he would have kicked himself for not holding out for country potatoes."
"Country potatoes?" She knew there had to be a long story behind that.
"It's a long story," Tawny giggled as she flipped open the magazine and started dreaming. "Do you think it's okay that I wear white even though I'm an ex-stripper having a shotgun wedding because I'm accidentally pregnant with twins?"
"I think you can wear whatever color gown you want." Sara laughed as she flipped pages. "I also think you could wear a potato sack and Greg would drool."
Thrilled to finally be planning the wedding of her dreams, Tawny relaxed into the sofa cushions. "We've done everything else backwards and unconventional, so it's really important to me that this be as traditional as possible."
"I know exactly how you feel." Stunned by the commonality, Sara looked up from her page. "That's how I felt about the baby…it was our one shot at being semi-normal."
"Why do you think that's important to us?"
"I'm sure it's because we've had abnormal lives." Sara smiled at her friend. "Maybe that's why I found enigmatic Gil attractive and you found quirky Greg appealing…we're so used to abnormal they were comfortable."
"HA!" Tawny folded over the corner of a page. "Finally the mystery is solved!" She held up the magazine and displayed the first dress under consideration. "This is a possibility."
"I give it a thumbs up."
"But it's not the dress." Tawny continued her hunt for the perfect wedding gown. "I want it to be long, flowing and very unique…something that will really blow him away!"
Grissom's Tahoe
2:35 p.m.
The thought of Greg being blown away by a gunshot or an explosion consumed Grissom as he held his cellphone to his ear and waited for Brass to answer.
"What the hell happened!" Brass barked into the phone. "I just got the call and I'm on my way to the scene."
"I screwed up, Jim." Regret assaulted him as he spoke. "I left Greg at the house. I didn't think there was a risk…there was a cop guarding the entrance and the house was locked up tight. It's Holly all over again only this time…I'm the one who made the error in judgment."
"And just like before I'm the supervisor of the person who made the error in judgment." Frustration and concern for both Greg and Gil tempered his voice. "But you didn't leave on personal business, right?"
"No, I was at the suspect's apartment." The differentiation didn't alleviate his remorse. "Jim…I never imagined this could happen. I would have left anyone there." He drove as if he were on automatic pilot.
"Would you have left Sara?" Brass pointedly asked.
Grissom gulped and answered it honestly. "Yes." Although he was horrified that Greg was in the dire situation, the thought that his pregnant wife could be in his place decimated him.
"I believe you." A tortured groan preceded Brass's next statement. "If it was Sara or Nick you wouldn't be culpable. But you left Greg…a rookie with a flagged personnel file who is not permitted in the field unsupervised. Did Greg know he wasn't supposed to be there alone?"
"Yes." Grissom drove while he blamed himself repeatedly.
"And Nick was okay with this?" He asked in disbelief as he continued to fulfill his role as Assistant Director and get to the bottom line.
"No…I didn't contact Nick before I left the scene." Grissom turned the wheel and pressed on with his confession, "But Jim, there's something else you should know…Greg was under direct orders from Nick to stay out of the field today because he was working on two hours sleep and was under duress."
"You KNEW that?" Brass yelled into the phone. "And Sanders disobeyed a direct order from his supervisor?"
"No…I overrode Nick's order and Greg complied when I reminded him that I outrank Nick. I'm the only one accountable, Jim." Grissom gripped his phone tighter as his guilty conscience powered his words. "Greg looked fine, he was eager to go. It was his research that gave us the lead. He wanted to solve the case and I was anxious for him to get the chance. When I left him…" His voice cracked. "When I left him he said he was grateful for the freedom and my confidence in him. Neither of us were worried."
"It doesn't matter what Greg thought. You broke with procedure." Stunned by the latest revelation Brass asked, "Is there anything else I should know, Gil?"
Only two words came to mind and he said them even though he knew they wouldn't help matters. "I'm sorry."
"Let's hope you don't have to say that to Tawny."
The thought shook Grissom to the core.
"Does Nick know?"
"Not yet," He managed to choke out while envisioning Tawny's devastation. "I…I was calling him next."
"No…I'm making that call. What about Tawny?"
"She's with Sara," Grissom informed him. "They should be at the townhouse. I'm thinking we shouldn't alarm her because of the pregnancy. There's no TV or radio at the townhouse. If Sara can keep her there…"
"You handle that one. I'll make all the other calls."
Nick's Tahoe
2:40 p.m.
His spirit renewed from spending his lunch hour with Carrie, Nick sat behind the wheel of his Tahoe singing along with the tune on the radio. It was a welcome respite from the tension of the day and a pleasant way to pass the time as he returned to the Brandt residence to rendezvous with Pete and close out the scene.
Between the Dollhouse case, a sudden fear for McKenna's life, the Peeping incident at Wendy's last night, his ever mounting pile of responsibilities, and the untimely unfolding of his childhood trauma, Nick knew he was maxed out. So, in an uncharacteristic admission, he confessed to Carrie over lunch that he never felt more stressed in his life, that every time he seemed to make a dent in relieving some pressure, another wave came crashing trying to drown him.
At the end of the hour, Carrie urged him to ask Jim for some personal time off because she knew from experience that psychological breakthroughs left people overemotional and unbalanced for a period of time. She was worried if he was confronted with one more stressor before having some time to deal with what was already on his plate, he might lose it. She was concerned it could happen at work again and further damage his reputation. But most of all she wanted him to have a break because she knew he was coming apart at the seams and needed time to regroup.
Even though he had seven weeks leave accumulated, time off wasn't an option. He informed his fretful fiancée there was too much going on and reminded her he had just taken a couple of days in July when they went to Dallas. He assured her he wasn't a workaholic…even though he worked nearly seventy hours a week. And he pointed out that Carrie was hardly one to talk, since she worked at least seventy-five per week if he counted the hours she spent working at home. He used the previous night as an example…she was up working at Wendy's kitchen table at two in the morning.
So, the lunch ended with the two stubborn mules, both mentally and physically exhausted, kissing in the parking lot and hoofing it back to work.
Upon hearing his cellphone, Nick lowered the volume on the radio and answered the call. "Stokes."
"Nick…it's Jim. Where are you?"
"In my truck around the corner from a crime scene I'm expected at. Why? You got something new for me?"
"Pull over and park it while we chat."
He grinned as he taunted, "Listen to you stressing the safety rules. What's with the sudden change? Is it because you were whipped into shape last night, Boss?" He pulled over to the side of the road and threw the truck into park. "Okay, I'm off the road."
"I know you've been stressed out lately with this case and your niece…"
Shaking his head Nick replied, "Jim, I know it looked really bad for the department and I'm sorry. I swear it won't happen again and if it does I will…"
"Nick!" He snapped to get his attention. "Hold up…I'm not reprimanding you."
"Oh." He shifted nervously in his seat. "What's going on, Jim? You sound edgy."
"We have a situation."
"A situation?" He knew the phrase was most commonly used for disasters.
"Promise me you'll hold it together."
"Uh…" A wave of apprehension surged through him. He knew it couldn't be Carrie because he just left her. "Okay, Jim. I promise." He said it, but his confidence was weak.
"It's Greg…he's being held hostage."
"What!" Nick gripped the steering wheel with one hand and the phone with the other. "Jas said he went to grab some lunch. Was he caught in the middle of something? Where is he? How bad does it look? Tell me where he is and I'm there."
"He wasn't caught in the middle of something, he was processing a scene."
"But…" The words didn't compute. "He was processing a scene? How…? I don't understand, I ordered him to stay in the lab." Stunned, he fell speechless.
"Grissom took him out and when he got another call, he left Greg with a guard at the door. The cop was knocked out with a shovel and is in the ER, still unconscious."
"But…Grissom knows Greg can't be…" His fingers raced through his hair and his hand remained holding his head. "How bad is it, Jim?"
"I won't lie to you…it's bad…he's in the basement with Brittany Thomas' killer…who according to his mother is prone to psychosis when off his meds…which he stopped taking. The guy is six feet and two hundred pounds. The place is loaded with flammables and the killer is threatening to blow it if we make a move."
Nick sat staring out the windshield and into the nightmare playing out in his mind. "Jas told me he went to grab something for lunch. I didn't follow up. If I had called him instead of going to lunch with Carrie I would have known and yanked him out of the field. How could I let this happen? What about Tawny and the babies…he just found out he's having twins. No, no…this can not be happening!"
"Nick…"
Beating his fist on the steering wheel he yelled. "I can't believe he left him there! This is Holly all over again. Didn't he learn anything from that! Warrick never would have left Greg there because he learned something from Holly's death. I never should have agreed to this arrangement. It's bullshit!" Anger knotted inside him. "My people are my responsibility and when I let Grissom borrow them I never expected he'd put any of them in jeopardy. Greg is my responsibility! Mine! I ordered him not to go in the field."
"People don't always do what you want or what's best for them, Nick."
Devastated, he rambled, "You don't understand, Jim…you don't understand. I promised Tawny he wouldn't be in the field today. She's pregnant…they're not even married yet. Who's going to take care of her if…no, it can't happen." Reality came crashing down hard. "I promised Tawny I'd look out for him and now you're telling me he's in grave danger. I gave her my word, Jim." Distraught, he kept pushing. "How can I be responsible for my team members when Grissom has the power to take them and put them at risk? How do I operate under those conditions? Losing Greg is not an option. Do you hear me? It's not an option! Whatever it takes…I'll trade places, I'll…"
"Nick!" Brass shouted. "There's no time for the blame game and Grissom has it covered, believe me. I don't need desperate pleas, I need rational thinking. Work on that for me!" Realizing he wasn't helping matters he relaxed his tone. "Look…you pull seventy hours a week. You're allowed to take a break and leave the building. It's okay to go out and meet your girl for lunch. I'm your boss and I'm telling you, you've done nothing wrong in my eyes…nothing. And I'm ordering you to stop beating yourself up ASAP. You've been operating under a chain of command since you were a Boy Scout. Grissom had the last word here, not you and Greg listened because he's supposed to listen to the highest authority, not because you weren't clear. You didn't break your promise to Tawny. But you're losing it when you promised me you'd hold it together. So pull it together right now."
The absolution and the forceful order worked like a magic spell and a second later he replied like a dutiful son, "Yes, Sir," while compacting his emotions and tucking them away. "Yes, Sir. Understood," He repeated to reinforce the behavior while he readied his fingers at the GPS. "Give me the location and I'll meet you there."
The Townhouse
2:42 p.m.
"OH!" Tawny sat straight up and thrust the bridal magazine at Sara. "This is it! It's perfect! I'll feel like a princess in it for sure. And it's so unique because of the intricate colored jewels. I think Greg will love it, don't you?" She wrinkled her nose. "And it's ivory so I won't feel like a total hypocrite."
Sara took the magazine and read the description, "An ivory duchess satin gown with a beautiful floral crystal jeweled bodice, thin beaded straps, a box pleated skirt and a chapel train." She stared at the picture and envisioned Tawny in it. "I think you're absolutely right." Sara glanced over at her friend's radiant face. "It's perfect. I can picture Cinderella getting married in it surrounded by chirping birds."
"That's so me!" She took possession of the magazine again to stare and dream. "What do you think about a tiara with a delicate veil?"
"I think it will accent the silver thread in the straps very nicely and Greg will love it because he's always calling you Princess." Sara beamed with her friend. "I'm so happy for you, Tawny, and for Greg. I know things started off so crazy for you, but now everything is working out and…" The ring of her cellphone put the heartfelt conversation on pause. "Hold that thought." She got up and crossed the room to grab the ringing phone out of her purse.
While Sara took her call, Tawny carefully ripped the page out of the magazine and started visualizing the ceremony.
When Sara pulled her phone out of her purse she saw it was Gil and broke into a blissful smile. "Hey there, Daddy-O," She answered, ready to discuss their joyous news. "Are you…"
"Sara! Are you with Tawny at the townhouse?"
"Uh huh." She noted his tone was edgy. "What's going on?"
"Don't react to what I'm saying. I need you to take this call someplace private without raising Tawny's suspicions."
"Um…okay." While her own suspicions rose, Sara crossed the room and headed for the master bath. Covering the receiver she said, "Do you mind? It's Gil and we need to gush about the baby for five."
"Don't worry about me," She assured her pal. "I'll be here daydreaming. I think I'll rent doves. Do you think that would be nice?"
"I love it." With that, Sara hustled down the hall to the master bedroom and locked herself in the adjoining bath. "What's going on? What's wrong?"
"I have no time to make it sound better." One jagged breath later he dropped the bomb. "Greg's being held hostage by Brittany Thomas's killer. He has him at gun point in a basement workshop of his parents' home. He's threatening to blow the place if we attempt to rescue Greg and he can pull it off because the basement is full of chemicals and wood."
Her knees going weak, Sara took a seat on the lid of the toilet. "No…this can't…"
"I need you to keep Tawny in the townhouse because she won't have access to the news there."
"How…" Bringing her trembling hand to her forehead she tried to process the devastating news. "Who was with him?"
"I was."
"And you got out but he didn't? What happened? Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"
"I'm fine, but Sara I need to tell…"
"I don't understand…" Her whole body quaked as she thought of Tawny sitting in the living room planning her future with Greg. "He must have been exhausted after last night. I should have offered to work for him today. He was such a good friend to me last night. Oh god…if it weren't for me interrupting, he and Tawny would be engaged. I'm…"
"Sara! There's something you need to know…that I need to confess." He spoke in a shameful whisper. "I left him alone at the scene with a cop at the door. Tucker Mifflin, Brittany's killer, overpowered the guard, shot his mother and took Greg hostage."
Confused she stated, "Greg can't work alone in the field he's a rookie with a flagged file. Everyone knows that. You know…"
"I knew it…I just didn't follow the guideline." His sigh lingered and then he released the words gnawing at his soul, "It's my fault and I'll never forgive myself if..."
Hormonal and devastated her eyes started to well. "Tawny is sitting in the living room reading a bridal magazine planning her dream wedding."
"Greg showed me a photo of the ring he's buying her." His voice ached with emotion. "It's in his back pocket right now. My god Sara…I don't how I…"
"He's got to make it out."
"He will….he has to…I'll do whatever it takes."
Holding her stomach she broken heartedly asked, "How can I go back out there and pretend nothing's wrong?"
"Do it for the babies, Sara. Focus on that." In the voice of a broken man he informed her, "Sara, I'm at the scene I have to go"
"Call me," She whimpered.
"As soon as I have something to tell."
"I…I love you, Gil."
"Even if…"
"Yes." Her tears finally spilled. "But don't let that happen. Please don't." When she heard the click signaling the call's end, she turned on the bathroom faucet and let it run with her tears.
Command Center
2:49 p.m.
When Grissom parked his Tahoe on the dirt road leading to the Hughes residence he was relieved to see a Command Center already formed and a buzz of activity. In just under thirty minutes, Fire, EMT and Bomb Squad personnel were mobilized and waiting for orders.
"Gil!" Brass called out. "I just got here a few minutes ago. Status is unchanged. I'll brief you as soon as Nick, Warrick and Catherine arrive." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Warrick's Mazda parking down the road.
Grissom continued to survey the scene. "This is as close as they're letting us?"
"Because of the flammables." Brass saw Nick's Tahoe racing down the road. "Tread cautiously with Nick because he's on edge. Hell, he was before this even happened and now he's understandably pissed off that you overrode his direct orders and put his man in jeopardy. He talked to Tawny earlier today and promised her that Greg wouldn't be in the field today because he wasn't up to par."
Nodding, Grissom somberly stated, "I deserve whatever he gives me."
Warrick and Catherine hurried to meet up with Brass and Grissom. "Any news?" Catherine hastily inquired, "Preferably good."
Warrick remained quiet as he dealt with old feelings of regret and guilt over Holly's death.
"Status is unchanged, "Brass reported as he pointed down the road. "Let's wait for Nick."
As Nick hustled down the dirt road he saw Grissom in the distance. Although he thought he had cooled down in the truck during the drive, now that he saw him he felt his anger ignite. "Tell me good news…please," He begged when he reached the group, careful to stand in between Brass and Warrick and as far away from Grissom as possible.
"Nothing new, Nick," Brass informed him. "That's as good as it gets right now. Let's go through what I've learned…Mifflin picked up the house phone when the chief called and made it immediately clear that he wanted no further contact and any attempt to contact him or breach the house would cost Greg his life."
"What does he want?" Nick probed. "Money? Immunity?"
"He doesn't want anything," Brass told them. "Nothing…at least not so far. Before passing out from her gunshot wound, the mother told the officers her son went off his meds and he's out of control. It's happened before and he went up and down phasing in and out of paranoia and psychosis."
"Great…just great," Catherine lamented. "So we're dealing with a guy who can cycle through seventeen moods an hour."
"No…" Nick reminded her. "Greg is dealing with the guy. We're sitting out here with our hands tied waiting for the psycho bastard to decide if Greg lives or dies!"
When he saw the pain in Nick's eyes, Grissom decided it was time to take the blame. "Nicky…"
"Don't!" Nick barked as he took a step back. "Save it because anything you say right now isn't going to help and it's just going to set me off."
Brass held up his hands. "We need to focus on Greg not…"
Warrick broke his silence. "Well I want to know. I need to know. What were you thinking, Gris? The only thing we have from Holly's death is the lesson we took away. This happening makes her death even more meaningless. This is the same conversation we had after Harper House. The way it's supposed to be is people first, case second."
"I'll tell you what the problem is," Nick turned to Warrick breathing fire. "He treats people like equipment. To him they're just another thing used to solve a case and solving the case is all that matters." Returning his glare to Grissom he snarled, "Well, a print brush is a print brush on any day of the week, but people aren't. Today Greg was exhausted and stressed. He had no business being in the field with a gun. I knew that!" He repeatedly stuffed his index finger against his own chest. "I knew that! That's why I grounded him from the field. He was safe in the lab. Safe! You treated my orders like a joke and now look where Greg is!"
Catherine reached out. "Nick, this isn't helping."
"Let him vent," Brass stood by in case it got out of hand. "He needs to get it out and Gil's guilty conscience is dying to hear it. It's a win-win."
Grissom couldn't agree more and showed it by standing there and taking it in silence.
Nick was so outraged he didn't even hear the side conversation. "Gris, you sat in my meeting this morning cocky as hell telling me how you can commandeer my team as you see fit." Furious, Nick looked at the rest of the group. "You know what he said…he said being The Master has its privileges." Pointing his finger in Grissom's face he yelled, "If Greg doesn't make it out of there it's going to be your privilege to tell Tawny he's dead! And seven months from now you can have the privilege of telling the babies they don't have a father because you broke the rules and left a man alone in the field who should have never should have been there in the first place!"
"You're right, Nick," Grissom admitted with his hands in the air. "You're absolutely right."
"I don't want to be right! Is that what you think!" Nick's volume decreased as his strength began to crack. "I want Greg safe. That's what I want. That's what I wanted when I gave the order, and that's what I want now. He's like a brother to me. He's family. I want to see him finish what he started. I want him to propose to Tawny." He placed his palm over his heart. "I want to watch him to get married and I want to see...I want to see him holding those babies."
Catherine chimed in as she placed her hands on his shoulders, "That's all any of us want, Nicky." She gave his tense shoulders a squeeze. "Come on…let's take a walk." Gently she pushed him toward the open field to the left of the road and he complied. "Warrick, call me if something changes."
Brass glanced at Grissom. "Was it enough for your guilty conscience?"
"No."
Warrick lamented, "Nothing anyone can say will ever outdo what you say to yourself."
"Brass!" The sheriff barked as he approached. "What the hell? Yesterday one of your men flips out at a scene and almost destroys it, today you leave a rookie alone in the field and he's a hostage! This daily screw-up thing you've started isn't impressing me!"
"Burdick…" Remaining cool, Brass stepped forward. "About the flip out at the scene…Stokes thought the vic was his niece. Come on…who wouldn't flip?"
"And today?" He pushed. "What's your excuse for this? Or are you too busy playing Spank Me at Lady Heather's to know?"
Outraged he snapped, "That was uncalled for and you know it. I'm entitled to a personal life. I wasn't on the clock and it's not your place to judge how I spend my free time."
Burdick changed directions. "You've already been in this position once before, Jim, and should know shit rolls up hill. Take a whiff! Once again it's piling up outside your door!"
Forcing himself calm, Brass retorted, "If you need someone to blame then by all means point the finger at me, because I agree…I'm ultimately accountable. But let's save the analysis until AFTER we get Greg Sanders out of that building alive. Until then, I want to remain in the moment figuring out a way to save his ass, not wasting my time doing Monday morning quarterbacking. Sound like a plan you can handle?"
"Fair enough." The Sheriff grabbed his cell. "I'll set everything up to start the investigation the second this situation comes to a close. You call me when you have news. And for the lab's sake and your ass's, it better be good news."
"Funny…I was thinking the same thing except it was for the sake of Sanders, his pregnant girlfriend and his parents." Brass nodded. "Yeah…I'll call you."
Hughes Residence
3:15 p.m.
What's that ringing? Greg thought as he stirred from slumber. It keeps ringing. As his eyes fluttered open the answer came…it's my cellphone. The ringing was louder now that he was awake and before he could wonder where he was, why he was lying on a cement floor and why his lower back was throbbing, a voice yelled…
"Don't answer that!"
When he sat up and turned, that's when Greg realized, it hadn't been a bad dream. Tucker was real. The gun was real. The nightmare was real.
"Welcome back," Tucker greeted his guest with a wild smile and the wave of a loaded gun. "Congratulations, the un-churched won." Then he laughed. "The look on your face…you really thought you imagined all this, didn't you? You're a real wimp for a cop."
Slowly Greg scooted back up until he was sitting against a row of cabinets at the rear of the workshop, putting about ten feet between him and the gun. Anxious, he glanced around looking for Debra Hughes. "Where…" From sobbing heavily earlier, his throat was coated and he coughed several times trying to clear it. "Where is your mother?" That's when he saw the blood spatter on the wall by the stairs.
Tucker nonchalantly replied, "Last I saw her she was running up the stairs gushing blood." While keeping his eyes on Greg, he pointed the gun towards the stairs and released a bullet. "Cause I capped her in the back."
The sound of the shot and the ease with which the gunman pulled the trigger set off Greg's panic once more. In an instant his stomach knotted and his pulse notched. The walls were closing in again and he remembered the last words he heard before passing out…tell the cops not to come down here or I'll torch the place! If a fiery blaze was the plan…if Tucker was going to douse him with paint thinner before lighting the match, Greg decided right there, he'd make Tucker shoot him first.
"I shot my mom, but I didn't shoot you," Tucker announced as he sniffed the tip of the gun. "Hmm…funny smell…I like it though."
Trapped in the corner of a windowless basement with the only way out blocked by a psychotic gunman who outweighed him by forty pounds of muscle and already shot his mother without hesitation, Greg could only think of one word...hopeless. He thought of the photo of the ring in his back pocket and started to crumble. It's hopeless he grieved in silence…hopeless. Suddenly the word triggered a memory.
Sitting on a locker room bench watching Nick inspect his firearm, Greg confessed, "I failed my firearm certification again. It's hopeless. My ass is going to be back in the lab in no time."
"What's with you Greggo?" Nick secured his weapon and then leaned against his locker. "You had it down when I was at the range with you last week."
"At practice I'm fine, but when it comes to certification I freeze up. Honestly…I think my mind is undermining me. A lot of times the person who has a gun ends up being shot by it." Vulnerable, he quietly shared his fear. "I don't ever want to be staring down the barrel of a gun waiting to be blown away."
"I've been there a few times. It's a scary place." Nick took a seat next to his friend. "But obviously it's not always hopeless because I'm still here. It's not over until you're dead. You remember that if you ever find yourself in a difficult situation." He pointed to his chest, tapping it. "As long as your heart is beating…you don't give up the fight."
"Maybe that's the problem, I've uh…never been much of a fighter. I have a long history as a pacifist…" He hung his head. "Especially when getting pummeled by a jock...or two. Fighting back, aside from being a losing battle, just prolongs the torture. I don't have that fighting instinct in me."
"Because you've never played football." Nick spoke in a brotherly tone. "It's easy to develop that instinct when you're a scrawny Running Back trying not to get annihilated by a Defensive Tackle twice your size." After Greg was done rolling his eyes, he continued, "I know you hate football and jocks, but here's another thing you would have learned…quitting is not an option. No matter how bad the situation looks you play to win until it's officially over. The other team may have a seven point lead and there's three seconds left on the clock, but in your head, everything else is blocked and the only option is a 'Hail Mary Pass' that you're gonna catch in the end zone."
Greg smiled at the effort. "Can you translate that into Geekspeak for me?"
Chuckling, Nick replied, "Here…you'll relate to this. One fine October night I caught that Hail Mary Pass in the end zone. The next morning…I found myself in bed with a hangover, a cracked rib, two Aggie girls and some fantastic memories. No guts, no glory, no girls. Keep your eye on the prize, Greggo."
"I appreciate you trying but..."
"Okay, all kidding aside." In a calm voice Nick counseled his fearful friend, "I think you're too hung up on thinking you don't have the right stuff because you're scared. You don't have to feel less of a man because you're scared. It's normal to panic when you suddenly find yourself in a tight spot. Remember…I told you that after that gang shooting we got caught in when you were telling me you were fine while shaking like a mouse dangling by its tail from a cat's mouth." He couldn't help but smile. "It was the same night I met Carrie. Remember, she came to the scene after seeing it on TV and she…"
"Focus, Wise One."
"Sorry." Laughing at himself Nick continued, "The key is…after you initially panic, you have to force yourself to stay calm. You have to force yourself to think. You look around and see what you can use to help yourself out. If someone has a gun on you then you try to talk to him…because when he's talking he's not shooting. If you can't disarm him physically, then disarm him mentally because if you can do that, sometimes you create an opportunity. You watch his body language…is he starting to shake or sweat? You watch his eyes…is his confidence gone, is he looking away from you long enough for you to make a move? You test the boundaries…you move a little closer and watch his reaction." He patted his belly. "And at all times, trust your gut. It's ahead of your mind in these situations. If your gut says now's your chance, you take it without hesitation."
After absorbing the information Greg asked, "Is that how it worked for you with Nigel?"
"Absolutely." Nick placed his hand on Greg's slouched shoulders. "It's all about attitude. You put both dogs in the ring and you fight to live. For motivation think of all the things you still have left to do and play it in your head." Cracking a grin he stood up. "Your mantra could be…I don't want to die a virgin because Doc will discover my unpopped cherry during autopsy and make it a matter of public record."
Greg joked, "Is that what you used when you were facing Nigel?"
"Sorry to disappoint ya." He paused for a chuckle. "But I had to retire that mantra junior year of high school." Putting a foot up on the bench he said, "Now if I found myself in an impossible situation, I'd focus on my future with Carrie…who I plan on proposing to next month, but keep your trap shut about it. She's more than enough motivation for me to give the fight of my life." He winked, "But I suppose you could channel the same sentiment towards your blow up doll."
"I'm sure." Greg laughed along. "Thanks for the pep talk and the harassment, Bro."
"Any time."
Command Center
3:20 p.m.
The heat of the day showing on her sunburned cheeks, Catherine re-joined Brass, Grissom and Warrick for the second time. She had already run over once before to grab some water and check in. This time she gave an update on Nick. "I talked him down. He was already on edge before this happened and obviously this is making it worse." Catherine had learned a lot more from Nick than she was willing to share. "He's got it together now and he's gonna hold it together. He's just hanging up with Carrie. He wanted to give her the 411 before she heard it at the courthouse and thought it was him. He also wanted to make sure she knew that Tawny is being kept in the dark and she shouldn't contact her."
"Good." Brass nodded. "Thanks for getting everything under control."
"Well someone has to be a voice of reason in this group of testosterone infused hot heads." Glancing at the house in the distance she sighed, "Too bad I can't talk to Tucker Mifflin."
When they saw Nick approaching, the group fell quiet and waited for him to make the first move.
"Hey…" Joining the circle he quietly said, "Sorry for the outburst. It won't happen again." He locked eyes with Grissom. "I know you're already beating up on yourself. I didn't need to add to that. It was a gross error in judgment on your part, but we've all unfortunately made them over the years." He robotically used Carrie's words. "We're all human. You never expected this happen. You care about Greg just as much as me. What's done is done and now we need to look forward." Then he found some words of his own and spoke comfortably, "So uh, Gris…with that said, I'm hoping we can work together to bring Greg out of there alive. I don't want any bad blood between us."
The words meant the world to Grissom. "Thank you, Nicky."
"No need." He extended his hand.
Grissom quickly accepted the gesture and the sentiment behind it.
Hughes Residence
3:25 p.m.
With Nick's advice fresh in his mind, and using Tawny and the babies as motivation, Greg pulled it together enough to stay in the moment. While glancing around taking a mental inventory, he began speaking, "Tucker…you uh…obviously have a lot of shit on your mind. What's up with the church thing…you want to talk about that? Because I …" The ring of Greg's cellphone interrupted and he saw Tucker get riled. "They'll keep calling, so how about letting me grab it from my pocket and shut the ringer off? You have my only weapon. You know that's true because if I had another one, I would have tried to use it before, right?" He held up his hands. "I've got nothing else on me except my keys and my wallet."
Aiming the gun squarely at Greg's chest he ordered, "Make it stop ringing, but if you try to pull anything, I blow you away."
"I promise I won't." With his right hand he reached into the pocket of his jeans and slowly removed the phone, which had stopped ringing. Hitting the display button he saw that it was Tawny who had last called and he imagined her wondering why he hadn't been answering. If only he could hear her voice. Then he reminded himself…you will, as soon as you handle things here. No guts, no glory, no girls. Keep your eye on the prize.
"Are you sure the ringer is off?" Tucker prodded while waving the gun.
As he pushed the speed dial for Grissom's cell he answered, "Yes." After laying the phone down on the floor next to him, he pushed it off to the side. If Grissom answered loudly and Tucker heard it, Greg would claim to have pushed the wrong button. Hopefully Tucker would buy it.
Command Central
3:28 p.m.
While standing in a tight circle with his co-workers, Grissom heard his cell ring. The rest of the group kept talking as he grabbed the phone. "Quiet!" He shouted when he saw the caller ID. "It's Greg's phone."
"Maybe he's okay but can't get out," Catherine optimistically declared.
"Or maybe it's Mifflin," Warrick countered.
Grissom anxiously shouted, "Give me your gum, Nick. Now! Jim…go tell everyone to keep it down."
With no clue as to why, Nick spit his sugarless bubble gum into his palm and offered it up.
In a flash Grissom swiped the gum, planted it firmly over the tiny receiver hole in his phone and pressed the talk button. "Just in case Greg is calling on the sly," He finally explained as he pressed the speaker button. "Now Mifflin won't hear us."
The ringer is off and the phone won't bother us again. So will you calm down?
So you want to know what kind of crazy shit I have going on in my head, huh?
Yeah, if you want to talk.
That's why I'm keeping you around. You amuse me.
"Excellent," Grissom announced. "We have one-way communication, we know Greg is well and he's got the guy talking."
Brass interjected," Why don't the four of you huddle up with the phone in a quiet spot and I'll stay at command and be the go between?" He handed Catherine a radio. "Since you're the calmest one…we'll feed each other updates."
"Got it." Clutching the radio she followed the three men to a secluded spot.
Hughes Residence
"Uh…" Greg didn't know where to begin. The guy was a psycho and his mind a minefield. Say the wrong thing and he'd blow. While thinking of an approach, Greg accessed an absorbed lecture from Grissom.
When Grissom entered the observation area after he finished successfully interrogating the rape suspect Greg remarked in awe, "That was amazing. How did you do that?"
"In this job, it's important to listen and ask the right questions." He smiled at the verbose young man. "You're a talker, Greg. Which is necessary too, but don't forget to listen. You need to listen and understand who you are dealing with. You need to understand what's making him tick. And you need to know what's going to set him off so you can avoid it."
"That guy thought you were his best buddy."
"That's right. Once you get into his head you'll know how to make him trust you. If you can do that, sometimes he'll open up. If he thinks he's talking to a guy who understands him, sometimes he'll blab." Grissom winked. "Even deranged psychotics like a little empathy every now and then."
"Just don't piss them off," Greg chuckled.
"That's right. You don't tell a guy who's just killed his cheating wife that you're happily married. You want him to think you know what it's like to walk in his shoes. If he's a loner, you're a loner." At the door he turned and said, "Misery loves company, Greg."
Being a smart ass he retorted," If misery is in love with company, then why isn't misery cheerier?"
Grissom had no problem fielding the question. "Isn't it obvious? Because company doesn't love misery back."
"That makes sense."
"My answers always do"
With Grissom's lecture in mind, Greg tossed out some bait. "I've been to a shrink, Tucker. I've had people messing with my head. It sucks. They slap a label on you and hand you a bottle of pills. At least that's what they did to me. What did they do to you? Did they give you a label?"
Tucker eyed the man carefully and said, "They let you work for the police department and carry a gun when you're messed in the head?"
"As far as letting me carry a gun, since you're the one holding it I'm thinking they shouldn't. But they let me because I'm not messed up now…no one there even knows I ever had a problem. See…I had my problem when I was thirteen." Although Tucker was looking twitchy, Greg forced himself to stick to the game plan and changed to an even more gregarious tone. "Well…I'm not exactly normal now. I mean look at my hair, right? I'm just normal enough to fit in and stay in control…and pass a psych exam. But when I was thirteen I was a psychological disaster."
Not sure he bought the story, Tucker asked, "What was your label?"
Greg looked his captor in the eyes. "Suicidal Depressive."
Command Center
With the phone lying on an overturned trash can that Warrick had snagged, the foursome listened intently.
"Suicidal Depressive…nice choice," Catherine announced. "Who hasn't hit rock bottom and thought of checking out once or twice in their life?" When she saw the guys gape at her she said, "I stand corrected."
So, what's your label, Tucker?
"Excellent question, Greg." Grissom waited anxiously for the reply.
Rapid-Cycling Bi-Polar with Psychotic Tendencies.
"Great." Nick tensed. "Totally unpredictable off meds."
Grissom folded his arms across his chest. "But at least he knows what he's dealing with and can watch for signs."
How many times did you try to off yourself, Greg?
Hughes Residence
"Once." Greg kept telling himself to stay cool. And as he talked about suicide, he kept his eye on the prize…his life.
"How did you do it?"
"Thought about shooting myself but what if I didn't do it successfully?" Greg fashioned a gun out of his fingers and held it to his head. "If I only blew out part of my brain then I'd spend the rest of my life hooked up to a machine." He lowered his hand. "It wasn't worth the risk. Besides, my folks didn't keep a gun in the house and I didn't know where to buy one illegally back then."
"I slit my wrists." Tucker eagerly held up the left one and showed off the scar. "But I didn't do a good job. Should have made it deeper and in the other direction."
Greg shivered, "I was too much of a wuss to slit my wrists." Whimsically he shared another scenario, "I did think about stealing my dad's car and driving it off the Pacific Coast Highway. That's this winding road in California with lots of big cliffs. But since I didn't know how to drive I figured I'd get busted before I made it there."
Command Center
"If I didn't know Greg, I'd say he sounds real," Warrick commented, impressed by Greg's ability to think under pressure.
Catherine stared at the phone with a tilted head. "What if he's not making it up? We assume Greg has nothing dark in his past because he's such a lighthearted guy…but people can hide secrets." She rested her gaze on Nick. "And you'd never know."
The guys turned toward her.
So how did you do it, Greg?
And then back at the phone.
Pills and booze.
Hughes Residence
"Pills and booze." Tucker commiserated, "I tried that too, but my mom found me."
"My mom found me too." Greg kept the connection with Tucker's eyes. "She wasn't supposed to."
Curious to know if their reasons were the same Tucker probed, "Why did you do it?"
"Why does anyone?" Greg huffed, "I was tired of the shit going on in my life and didn't want to deal." He redirected. "Is that why you did it?"
"Hell yeah." Tucker excitedly grinned before detailing his plan. "That's why I'm gonna do it today…only this time I'm not failing…you either. We'll do it together. We'll do it right this time." Using the gun he pointed around the room. "We have everything we need to guarantee a good BOOM and…"
"No way man!" Greg vehemently shook his head as he fought to block the terror rising within. "You don't want to go out burning up. Because you won't die fast enough. You'll suffer first. You'll suffer hard. A few years ago I was in an explosion and I spent some quality time in a burn unit. Trust me on this…you don't want to go that way."
"You're making that up." His paranoia sparked, he snapped, "You're making all this up! You're trying to buddy up to me so I won't shoot you. I saw that on one of those cop shows on TV!" Straightening his arms he pointed the gun. "Here's a news flash! I shot my own mother so what makes you think I won't shoot a stranger who's nice to me? Huh! HUH!"
Command Center
"Shit!" Nick laced his hands behind his head and paced. "He pissed him off."
"He'll get himself out," Warrick confidently assured the worried group. "Give him a chance. Greggo's a talker. Tucker's no match for him."
You son of bitch!
I have proof! I have proof I'm not lying to you, Tucker!
What kind of proof?
Grissom's lips edged upward. "He has scars to prove it."
I have scars on my back to prove it.
"Thanks to me," Catherine blurted as she held her forehead with her hand. "And now I'm suddenly thankful I blew up the lab."
"Good job, Greg." He glanced over at Nick and saw him listening with his eyes closed. "Nick…you know he's got the scars to prove it."
Hughes Residence
"Show me!" Tucker screamed as he clutched the gun in his sweaty hands. "If there's nothing on your back you're dead."
Without hesitation Greg hoisted up his funky patterned blue t-shirt and twisted to show his back. "See! They're much better now because I had skin grafts, but I'm not lying, Man! So stay cool!" Noting his voice was edgy he took a deep breath. "I'm not lying about any of it, Tucker. I'm not screwing with you. I swear."
"Yes you are!" His eyes narrowing he gripped the pistol tighter. "You said you work in a lab so I believe the explosion, but the rest is bullshit. You don't know anything about where I've been or where I am!"
"It's not bullshit! It's not!" He dropped his shirt and twisted back around pleading with the emotion in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice, "Valium, Vicodin and Vodka….a triple V cocktail. My dad is a dentist who can prescribe, and my mom used to get really bad migraines and kept the drugs on hand." As he divulged the story and stared down the barrel of the gun, his rate of speech accelerated." It was right there in the medicine cabinet ripe for the picking. The wet bar in the living room was always stocked. I grabbed the vodka because I liked how the bottle looked. I was done in five minutes and I lay down on the couch to watch cartoons…I was offing myself while watching freakin' Tom and Jerry! Isn't that pathetic! I didn't even pick something deep or significant." His voice cracked as he delved into the next part. "When I woke up in the hospital the first thing I said to my mother when I saw her sitting by my side was…I said…why did you have to find me?" The painful memory made him wince. "I broke her heart all over again and she bawled her eyes out. I'm not lying, Tucker." Greg swallowed hard as he watched Tucker's grip on the pistol tighten. "I wish it was all lies, but it's true. I swear. It's all true."
Command Center
With her hand over her mouth Catherine said, "That story flew out of his mouth."
Warrick shook his head. "That's one hell of a bluff under pressure."
"I don't think he's bluffing," Grissom remarked in a distant voice.
"Why would Greg try to..." Devastated that his friend could have felt that bad at thirteen, Nick fell silent.
"But does Tucker believe him?" Warrick's comment focused everyone on the present, not the past. "That's what counts."
The Tom and Jerry part did it for me. I believe you.
Why did the Tom and Jerry part do it for you?
Grissom answered, "Because you would have picked something better if you were making it up."
If you were making it up you would have picked something better.
"Exactly why I believed you too." Now the cryptic conversation from the day before made perfect sense to Grissom...
With an uncharacteristic edge in his voice Greg remarked, "Since we're being disarmingly honest with one another on this day when our nerves are shot, I'll tell you. After seeing her in action twice, I think Heather is a real bitch. She's someone who enjoys cutting other people down…especially vulnerable people. I hate that. I make it a policy in life not to do that. I mean…a guy is minding his own business and some girl feels compelled to tear him down as callously and as publicly as possible. Why? Is it pathological? A hunger that needs to be fed, like our killer needed to feast on that innocent little girl?" Resentment building quickly he snapped, "Unlike a murderer physically taking a life, I think these super bitch types thrive on psychologically destroying people."
Grissom thought it best to let him vent and continued to listen without interrupting.
"There was a guy in my school so terrorized by this group of vicious girls and their jock boyfriends that he gave up thinking his life would ever get better, so one day he swallowed a bunch of pills and booze to finally escape." Greg postured and huffed, "I know you've told us you were a ghost in school so maybe you didn't notice this stuff going on. I think that's why you can't empathize on this one.
What did they do to you, Greg? Grissom thought to himself. And once more he was grateful Greg had Tawny and once more he was horrified by the thought that they might miss out on a life together…because of his error in judgment.
Hughes Residence
When Tucker lowered the gun, Greg started breathing again. "I wanted to die then, but I don't want to die now. I want to walk out of here. And if you come with me, I promise to get you some help. I'll make sure of it."
"It's too late." Tucker shook his head. "I killed that little girl."
Instinctively curious, Greg blurted, "How did you get her out of her house?"
"I built her a dollhouse." A smile overtook his lips. "I made it special for her because she wanted one. I saw her at the craft market playing with one. I made it look just like her house. I wanted it to be special because I figured it would be her first date."
Swallowing the lump building in his throat Greg pushed, "You brought her a custom built dollhouse instead of flowers?"
"Anyone can bring a girl flowers on a date!" Tucker blasted back.
"Hey! I'm not criticizing your moves, pal." Greg raised his hands. "I've never been one to impress chicks so…"
"You're queer, aren't you?" Tucker cracked a smile. "Yeah…I can see that with yourscrewed up hair and those weird red sneakers." He burst out laughing. "I love it…god let me shoot the Christian and spared the Sodomite. If my mom knew you were a homo, she wouldn't have prayed to save your overused ass. Haven't you heard? Being queer is an express ticket to the eternal hellfire. I'm sure one less of you on the planet wouldn't break her heart. That's another reason she liked me drugged. Can't get it up when you're doped into a stupor. She was always afraid I was givin' it to some guy. She even tricked me into seeing these creeps from her church who were supposed to help me see that homosexuality wasn't god's plan for man."
Cautiously, Greg asked, "The little girl…Brittany…were you trying to prove something there, Tucker?" Was the girl a desperate attempt to prove he wasn't gay? Or was she truly the target and he was a pedophile? Or was she just a vessel like Grissom posited that morning? Until confirmed, Greg decided not to choose and left things open so he could go in any direction Tucker went.
"Brittany wanted it," He was quick to explain. "I saw the way she looked at me at the craft market. She was hot for me. The other girls…they never looked at me like that. Finally a chick gave me a rise." He reached into his pocket and retrieved at pack of cigarettes. "You smoke?"
A crazy idea popped into his head and when his gut gave its okay he gave it a shot. "Not cigarettes. You got anything else?" Greg was sure a little delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol absorbed by the pleasure receptors of Tucker's brain would be a quick way to disarm him mentally and keep him calm…a nice dopamine boost coupled with a lack of coordination and a loss of concentration would do the trick "But nothin' amped…only straight MJ, and I'll pass if it's schwag."
"Yeah…I've got some."
Command Center
Warrick smiled approvingly. "That's Greggo, speakin' street, pretending he's cool." He couldn't stop the smile from creeping up on his face. "Nothin' amped…that's right, you tell him Greggo…you don't need it laced with PCP or crack because you're already trippin' from the nightmare."
"What's he thinkin'?" Nick's tone was thick with worry. "That he'll get him to chill?" He surveyed the gang's expressions. "Do you like this plan? I don't like this plan. It's way too risky. He doesn't know the quality of the product. It could be garbage. Either one could have a bad reaction. I can only imagine how screwed Mifflin's brain chemistry is without smoking grass."
"He thinks it will stabilize his mood and make him lose coordination and concentration." Grissom ran his fingers back and forth over his beard while he pondered the plan. "In theory it could work, but Tucker's been on and off meds, probably a bunch of different combinations for a while, and now that he's gone cold turkey it's throwing him in and out of mania and psychosis…you're correct, Nick, his brain chemistry is unpredictable."
"And Greg's mentally and physically wiped…" Catherine sounded like a worried mother. "Even if he was a toker at some point in his life, he hasn't been one for at least seven years because of drug testing at work. He's out of practice and Tucker's a regular. I'm with Nick…I don't like this plan."
Warrick shrugged. "Well, we can't stop him and we can't help him, so what we think doesn't really matter."
So you're a gay cop who can't hold onto his weapon and likes to spark up?
I told you before…I'm not a cop. And the people I work with don't know shit about my personal life.
You really have them fooled.
They should only know…I'm good.
"I'm good." Grissom nodded. "That's meant for us. He at least thinks he knows what he's doing."
"That's what scares me," Nick started pacing again. "Greg also thought he wouldn't get Tawny pregnant…now she's having twins."
The Townhouse
3:55 p.m.
Tawny put down her cellphone and told Sara, "He hasn't answered since eleven. It's almost four. He told me to check in every two hours. Now it's just going straight to voicemail. I bet his battery died and he doesn't know it because I don't remember him charging his phone last night." Once again she picked up her phone. "I'll call the main number at the lab and have him paged. He has to be there because I spoke with Nick earlier and he promised me he wouldn't send him out in the field."
"Wait!" Wringing her hands Sara crossed the room trying to decide what to do. Gil had told her it was best for the babies to lie. But she also remembered her own words to her husband the day before…You know how I feel about shelters. Shelters leave you unprepared for the real world and you end up blindsided and shocked. If she left Tawny in the dark and things didn't work out, the shock would be exponentially greater and potentially more life threatening to the babies. But if she left her in the dark and things turned out okay she would never be able to trust any of them again and she would be angry that they didn't give her an opportunity to handle herself. If she told the truth, Tawny would be terrified, but at least she would have time to prepare for the worst if it should happen.
"Sara?" Tawny stared at her friend and watched the color drain from her face.
"Um…" She asked herself one question…if I were in Tawny's shoes what would I want? Then she remembered…I was already in Tawny's shoes when Gil was trapped in Harper House.
"Sara…you're really freaking me out," She exclaimed while accessing the lab number from her phone's index.
"Tawny…" Sara gulped. "I need you to put down the phone."
Next Chapter: Losing It - Part 17
Posting: Thursday Night 6/2
Teaser: With three seconds on the clock, will we get a Hail Mary in the end zone?
Note: Because this story is rated M it won't show up in Just In and sometimes the website is delayedin reflecting the update. So if the chapter is supposed be here according to the posting date and you don't see it, change the chapter number in the addy to reflect the next chapter and see if it pops up.
Thanks for reading and for your reviews on the last chapter!
Maggs