Chapter 2
When
Catherine pulled into work the whole parking lot was roped off and
flooded with lights. The former stripper blinked as the fake sun
shone harshly in her aqua eyes. She brushed her straw streaked,
strawberry-blonde hair back from her fragile and pretty face.
Cops
swarmed everywhere.
"What the hell?" Catherine's stomach formed into a tight knot. This wasn't right, all of her human instinct said so. "Shit." She said, for no apparent reason. Climbing out of her car, she looked around for someone to give her some answers. All of the police avoided her eyes, and she kept walking past the crime tap until she spotted a blue lab coat in some shadows and got close enough to recognize Greg Sanders hiding between a sad looking shrub and the building.
"Greg?"
He didn't answer, so she came closer. There was blood all over him.
"Shit," she said again. He looked up at her and his large brown eyes were confused, in pain.
"Greg, are you alright?" she put a hand on his shoulder, he didn't blink. "Greg, answer me."
"He told me to dial 9-1-1," he started in a whisper, hardly moving his lips, "The guy, he came out of nowhere. It all happened so fast, Sara was crying . . . blood everywhere . . . Catherine," his voice shook dangerously. He was near tears and she knew it.
Catherine tightened her grip on his shoulder; she needed answers, NOW, "Greg, who got hurt? What happened?"
Greg was breathing hard, fighting tears, but he managed to get his voice under control, "Grissom --- the guy he," Sanders began to cry. He blurted out, "He shot him."
The young lab technician sat on the sidewalk and cried into the sleeves of his ever-present lab coat.
Catherine just stared at the area where he had stood, looking into nothing, her perfectly painted lips open in shock. Under her breath she said, "Oh shit."