"What do you mean they'd gone?"

Warrick Brown stood in the lab next to Catherine and Greg, struggling to take in what he was hearing. Only an hour ago Grissom had called them all together to tell them that Sara was gone, that she'd needed time off and she'd taken it, indefinitely. That she might not be coming back. They had all failed to comprehend the fact that one of the team could just leave like that.

Sure, Sara had been acting a little oddly recently, but that was Sara. They all knew there were some things they didn't know about her, that they would never know, and that even if they did they probably would never understand. So when she had started acting a little irrational sometimes, working twenty four hours on cases she didn't seem to be able to drop, they had been worried, but not overly so. And then they had been told she'd left. Just like that, out of the blue, as it seemed.

But now, before they had had time to mourn her departure; consider the fact that she had upped and left without saying goodbye, they were being told that she was back. Not physically, not in this room. In fact it seemed no one knew where she was. But they were being confronted with the fact that she had been taken, before she had had time to turn her decision into actions. And it was up to them to find her. Ok, so if they brought her back she may still decide to leave, but they were determined to let her make that decision.

"We did all we could." Nick struggled to maintain his composure. "One second we heard shouting, so we kicked our way in. But when we got there, there was no one. They'd gone. They must have got out of the back door."

"But Sara wouldn't have just given in like that." Catherine Willows had to admit that she and Sara had not always got on fantastically, but she would give the girl one thing: she was gutsy.

"Exactly."

Grissom did not have to put into words his thoughts. They were all thinking them. It would have taken considerable force to get Sara out of the house in such record time. They did not want to consider what force that may have been. But they were going to have to face facts some time. Philip Bowran probably killed his girlfriend. The attack had been brutal. She hadn't stood a chance. And now he had Sara. And he was very, very angry. The consequences did not bear thinking about.

Sara moaned gently as she opened her eyes. The room spun; a stripy wall pattern swimming before her eyes. Her body was throbbing. Her throat was bruised and swollen. Black-and-blue patterns were emerging all over her skin. She used her aching arms to pull herself into a position vaguely resembling upright.

What the hell had happened? All she had wanted was closure and now here she was, in a room with bad décor, covered in injuries she couldn't even remember receiving. Sara laughed bitterly at her own poor humour. Here she was, in the room that she would most probably die in, and she was judging the interior decoration.

Gently she pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the shooting pains throughout her body. There wasn't much to examine. The room was lit by one bright ceiling lamp; the light was beginning to hurt Sara's tired eyes. The one window was boarded up. The wallpaper was peeling; the wooden floorboards stained. Not exactly five star accommodation.

With each step Sara took, pain seared through her body, whist her pain threshold seemed to be falling rapidly. Accepting defeat for the time being, she slowly staggered over to a corner and lowered herself to the ground. Manoeuvring herself into a foetal position, she rocked herself into an uneasy sleep.

The one time she would have been fully justified to sob and she couldn't bring herself to cry a tear.

I'm sorry I had to leave you in such a dump, my sweetheart. It's only temporary, I promise. We'll be gone soon. I'm beginning to realise that you and I must have been brought together by fate. This is the good thing that was meant to come from Jennifer's death. I knew there had to be something. It hurt too much for it to be pointless. But now I realise it was just meant to enable us to meet each other. We are meant to be together. I'm certain of it. Now I just have to make sure you understand that too. I'll do whatever it takes.

Grissom looked on as his team processed Philip Bowran's house. They had been here two hours and as yet they had found nothing. He wasn't certain how to interpret this. He tried to convince himself that no news was good news. They had found no traces of blood, so Sara couldn't have been hurt that badly. There was no sign of a weapon.

But on the other hand, no evidence meant they had no way of tracing Sara. It had been six hours since he and Nick had burst into the house and found nothing. No Philip Bowran. No Sara. And no way of finding them. Six hours. And they were no closer.

"This is useless." Grissom got up and headed for the door, avoiding the shards of broken glass that had been the result of their earlier forced entry. "There's nothing for us here."

"So what do you expect us to do?" Nick's voice revealed anger, but Grissom knew it wasn't aimed at him. They all felt as hopeless as each other. "Go home? Have dinner? Give up? Even though Sara could be lying in a ditch somewhere?"

"Don't even think that, Nick." Grissom attempted to contain the powerful emotions that had been conjured within him by even considering the idea that Sara could be dead. She wasn't. There was no way she could be. He would know, deep inside, if she were no longer alive. Wouldn't he?

"Then how can we leave here?" Nick went on. "This house is our only link to Sara."

"It's a pretty crap link," Catherine interrupted. "I have to agree with Gil, Nick. There's nothing else we can do here."

"All I'm saying is we should go back to the lab," Grissom suggested. "Greg is still there processing some of the evidence from the Jennifer Thornton case. We think Bowran killed Jennifer. That means that any of that evidence could lead us to him. And if we find Bowran, we find Sara. So, are we all agreed?"

The sound of footsteps approaching the door awoke Sarah with a start. Her body shook violently, reacting to the events of the last few hours, and she had no way to control it. The lock turned, and the door swung open. In stepped Philip Bowran. Sara may not have been able to recollect the events of the day but she was in no doubt as to whom the perpetrator of her attack had been. Anger seared through her aching bones, but she had no strength to fight back as she was pulled to her feet.

"Sara, honey, we're moving on."

"Don't you call me honey." Sara attempted to shout but her voice croaked under the pressure of her swollen throat.

"You don't mean that."

Bowran wrapped his arm around Sara's shoulders. She hated him touching her; holding her as though they were an ordinary couple rather than he her captor and she a helpless victim. But that's exactly what she was: helpless. She feared that should Bowran let go she would collapse onto the ground. And so she allowed him to guide her through the dark rooms of the dilapidated house until they reached the front door.

It was dark outside. Sara attempted to calculate how long that meant she had been in the room but the effort hurt her head. She glimpsed about. A car sat in the driveway. There was no light aside from a faint glow from one of the windows of the house. It appeared there must be no buildings for miles.

Yet as Bowran let go of her in order to reach for the car, and Sara realised she still had the strength to stand unaided, she suddenly felt a wave of defiance flow through her blood. When she had been in that room she had been convinced she was going to die in there. Death may still have been immanent, but she wasn't going down without a fight. When a team of CSIs had to examine her body she didn't want them to think she had given up.

Sara was amazed at how frankly she could consider her own death. No fear. No apprehension. Just acceptance, and a determination to do whatever she could to put it off. In fact she could think clearer than she had been able to for months.

And so she ran. As Bowran opened the car door, Sara turned and sprinted. Searing pains shot through her body. The night wind stung her eyes. But she felt free.

Until a hand gripped her arm.

"SARA!"

Still she struggled against the strong grip. "Let go of me, you son of a bitch!"

"WHY!"

Keeping his hand on her arm, Bowran whipped Sara's body towards his, his other hand making contact with her face.

"I WASN'T GOING TO HURT YOU!"

He slapped her again. Sara felt the last dregs of strength ebb away from her for the umpteenth time that day. Bowran continued to punch her. In the head, the arms, the stomach. Bright lights flashed before her eyes. She felt her body slump down on to the cold gravel path. And still he pummelled her body. And then everything went black.