Chapter Five
Greg slowly opened his eyes to a dull ache. He groaned in pain,
wishing this was all a dream. He looked around the room and saw a
door across from him. An unconscious shiver went through him as an
image of Stevens coming through the door flashed before him.
Shaking his head, he continued to survey the room. It was small
with a dresser, and chair the only furniture, besides the bed he was
on. A sense of claustrophobia threatened to build within him.
Greg stared at the ceiling, wondering if they had noticed he was
missing. He worried about Sara, knowing she would want to be in the
thick of the investigation. He hoped they found him before he ended
up like the last two victims.
The door opened and Stevens walked toward him. He glared at his
tormentor, hoping his fear was hidden.
"I see you're a fast healer," Stevens said, wiping the dried blood
off Greg's chest. "This makes things interesting."
Greg refused to respond, not wanting to encourage Stevens in any
way. He closed his eyes and pictured himself with Sara and his son.
"Since you're not in a talkative mood, I'll get right down to
business."
Good, Greg thought. Get it over with.
Sara entered the lab the next night, not able to take the waiting.
She went into Grissom's office, but he wasn't there. She turned
around and headed down the hall, her thoughts in turmoil.
She hadn't slept at all yesterday. Every time she closed her eyes,
she dreamed they had found Greg dead. She woke each time, sweating.
She finally decided to stay awake.
She found Grissom in the evidence room staring at the print Greg
had found. She remembered how excited Greg had been to learn who the
print belonged to. She smiled slightly as tears welled up in her
eyes.
"What are you doing here, Sara?"
Sara looked to see Grissom staring at her, his eyes concerned, but
his expression a question. She forced the tears to stop as she
cleared her throat.
"I'm going crazy sitting at home," she answered. "I need to know
what you've found."
"Prints," Grissom said, motioning to the photo of Steven's boot
print. "Prints that match this."
Sara's eyes widened at the news. She felt the blood drain from her
face. She leaned against the door frame as Grissom stepped toward
her.
"A killer has him?" Sara asked, her voice fearful. "That torturer
you're after has Greg?"
"Not for long," Grissom said, his hands on her shoulders. He gave
them a squeeze to reassure her.
She nodded, "Do you know where?"
"Not, yet. The address he gave the shoe company is non-existent.
We'll find Greg, Sara."
Grissom left the room and Sara closed her eyes. A sob escaped her
and she covered her mouth to keep the rest back. Hot tears rolled
down her cheeks, but she wiped them away.
"You're no good to Greg like this," she told herself. "Crying
won't help them find him any faster."
She took a deep breath to calm herself. She then headed into the
break room for coffee. She needed something strong for the long shift
ahead.
Ten minutes later, Sara found Nick in the video room looking at
the surveillance tapes. She stood beside him wishing she hadn't.
The video showed someone coming up behind Greg, hit him on the
back of the head and drag him away.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Nick shouted, standing up in
front of the video to hide it. "You shouldn't have seen that."
Sara shook her head and stared at Nick. She wasn't going to be
pushed out of the room when she could be of help.
"Did you see who it was?"
Nick shook his head, "Not at this angle. Too bad we don't have a
camera showing from the front."
"Grissom said he found prints that match the one Greg found."
"Yeah. I'm hoping the tapes can confirm it's Stevens."
"I hope so."
"So do I, Sara."
Grissom sat in front of the computer and typed in Joseph Stevens.
He hit "enter" and watched as a list of names and addressed scrolled
up. He narrowed it down to two in Vegas and wrote them down. He stood
and went to find Brass.
Brass sat in his office reading reports when Grissom walked in.
The door closing caught the captain's attention.
"What it is?"
"I have two addresses for Joseph Stevens of Vegas."
"I'll get some officers on both of them. How's Sara holding up?"
Grissom sighed and sat. He took off his glasses and rubbed his
eyes.
"She wants to help, but she's near hysterics. She showed up an
hour ago."
"I don't blame her. She's worried, scared and thinks she can make
things move faster if she were helping."
"I don't know what to tell her," Grissom admitted.
"Let her do what she feels is right. If helping eases her mind,
allow it."
"I just hope it doesn't make things worse. She's fragile right
now. One wrong move and she'll break."
"She's stronger than you give her credit for. She'll make it."
Grissom nodded thoughtfully and hoped Brass was right. He would
hate to see Sara fall apart before his eyes. They had to get Greg
back, the sooner the better.
"Shall we pay a visit to Stevens?" Brass asked, standing.
"Let's."
Grissom and Brass arrived at one of the addresses. They left the
car and headed up the steps of an old grey house. Grissom stood to
one side as Brass brought out his gun and knocked on the door.
"Joseph Stevens, open up. This is the police!"
A minute went by with no answer. Brass stepped back and kicked the
door in. It banged up against the wall. Brass went in first followed
by Grissom.
"Joseph Stevens, come out now!"
Grissom took in the surroundings as Brass cleared the room. The
house was Spartan, barely any furniture. The living room was white
with a shaggy carpet. A couch was up against a far wall, a small
television set in front of it. Behind the couch was a window with a
tattered curtain.
He looked down the hallway to his right and saw a door at the end.
He headed toward it, pushing it open with his kit. The room was empty
and smelled stale as if no one had been in it in awhile. The beige
paint was peeling from the walls and the carpet appeared to have been
eaten in some areas.
"The house is empty," Brass said from behind him. "If he's holding
Greg here…"
"He's not. This house hasn't been lived in for months."
"There is the other home. Don't give up."
"I'm not," Grissom said as he stared at the empty room as if it
would tell him what he wanted.