Day Two - Lie Behind Truths

"We have an ID for the woman." Derranes' voice sounded through Brass' cell phone before the police captain had time to say anything. He was back at the station, having been ordered back there by the sheriff, sitting at his desk with a file of the most recent updates on the crime lab situation.

"Who?" He asked, suddenly alert.

"Kristal Meenlar, age 39, spent 15 years at North Vegas Woman's Correctional Centre for murdering her husband and child, released about a year ago," Derranes said as he scribbled the information down. "Now here's the interesting part, Gil Grissom was the lead CSI on her case."

"So someone's got a grudge against our supervising CSI," Brass thought aloud, leaning back against his chair. "Have you checked any other murderers, recently released, with any of the nightshift as lead CSIs?"

"I've got men checking it right now," Derranes told him, then hung up.

Both the area around the crime lab and the PD were both virtually overrun by local and national news reporters by this time and nothing said could make them leave. The nightshift's families, if not already in Vegas, were flying in as soon as possible, insistent that they wanted to be there no matter what happened.

No one had left to go home since the hostage situation had arisen, though many were being encouraged to do so at this point. Brass himself had never even considered it, even with the knowledge that he desperately needed sleep, unless he wanted to fall asleep in the middle of an interview or important phone call.

He did end up falling asleep though, in his desk chair only to be awoken by the shrill ringing on his cell phone. Derranes' people had searched the databases and had turned up with what they wanted. There were 73 ex-convicts who were jailed for major crimes, released within the last year and had either Grissom, Catherine, Nick, Warrick, or Sara leading the investigation. Fourteen were from a correctional facility close to the one Kristal was in and three matched the vague description given to them by Caroline.

Out of those three, one was currently residing in Jacksonville, Florida and another had been put back in prison some two weeks ago. The last, Wayne Rhighter, was unaccounted for. The fact that he had been let out on bail by none other than Kristal six months after her own release only made the fact that they had found the identity of another suspect all the more likely.

"Where is his last known residence?" Brass asked, sitting up properly and taking a gulp of coffee. He nearly spat it out on his desk when he all too quickly realized that it had cooled during his nap.

"We already checked it," Derranes told him in reply. "A family of four lives there now, has for the last month or so. Apparently, Rhighter sold the place independently just a few months after getting out of prison just to throw his probation officer off. Needless to say, it worked."

"Where was it?" Brass repeated. Being sleep deprived as he was, the normal small amount of patience he had was now non-existent: he really didn't want to have to play twenty questions to get the answers he wanted.

Derranes seemed to understand this. "Summerlin."

"Not all that far from here…" Brass snapped from his musings and asked quickly. "Have you been able to get in contact with the suspects again?"

That one time yesterday was the only time - that he knew of - that they had been able to talk to the convicts and he wanted to know of anything that might tell him of how the nightshift was doing.

There was no luck for such an update though, since Derranes told him with an apology that they hadn't been able to talk to the convicts again.

…

Pain…

The pain that burned throughout his body was unimaginable, unthinkable, excruciating, but it was there. His chest and ribs were so sore he could barely draw breath and the burning that flew through his body, inside and out…

It was all he could be from breaking down before his tormenter where he was, laying bruised and bloody and clad only in boxers on the cold, dirty, oil-stained concrete floor of the crime lab's forensics shop. It didn't even seem like the same room he had entered hundreds of times anymore but more and more like the torture chamber that Wayne and his friends were using it as each minute passed.

He heard the doors open and close, hoping that Brent had gotten tired of him and had left. Luck wasn't with him. He was flipped unceremoniously onto his back, making him cry out weakly in pain as white hot bolts of agony flared. He was now facing Brent and yet another of his friends - Graham - both whom were smirking when they heard him. He could just see Wayne standing by the door, arms crossed and wearing a look similar to the two others.

"Is the poor Lab Rat sore?" Wayne asked with false sympathy, now walking forward. He had finally taken his mask off and Greg could see a scar running along his left cheek cutting perilously close to his eye. "It's alright," he added after briefly waiting for a reply he didn't expect to get. "We have something that will make you feel better."

Greg just managed to grab Nick's now ruined jacket - which lay closer to him than his torn and bloody jeans - before his was forced on his feet and pushed from the room.

He stumbled a few times but they made sure he stayed standing as they lead him through the lab and into ballistics. The room had been completely ransacked; the water barrels over-turned and the guns missing from the wall. Tables had been pushed against the far wall leave space in the middle of the room.

In the centre lay Hodges; blood splattered, cold, pale and lifeless, his eyes still open. Greg stared at the body for a few moments wondering how they thought this could make him feel better. Sure, he didn't really like the chem tech, but that didn't mean he wanted to see him like this.

It was then a groan caught his attention. Huddled in a corner on which blood was splattered against an adjacent wall, was a semi-conscious Sara. She was caked with dried blood, a wound on her head which still appeared to be bleeding slightly, black eyes, cuts and bruises. Looking up at him through the pain-glazed eye that wasn't black she mouthed his name, apparently not able to speak aloud.

He tried to rush to her but was held back by Wayne. Greg gasped in pain as the convicts' vice-like grip sent waves of pain up and down his arms.

"Slow down, Lab Rat," the burly man told him menacingly, still holding him tightly and not appearing to notice that Greg's teeth were bared and his eyes had been shut tightly in anguish. "I'm a good person, mostly, so I've decided to make a deal with you, how's that?"

"What's the deal?" Greg whispered in reply, his voice thick and shaking.

"You're lucky, you know," Brent told him, speaking eagerly before Wayne could talk. He seemed to want to see how Greg would react to what he was going to say. "Kristal shot her with a dud so the slug did only a fraction of the damage it should have. She should have ended up like him…"Brent nodded to Hodges' body. "Kristal wanted to finish her off when we realized she wasn't dead, but she didn't. Do you want to know why?"

The tech ignored him. "What's you're deal?"

"Answer Brent's question, Lab Rat," Wayne told him, undoubtedly enjoying being able to annoy him so affectively.

"Fine, then, why?"

"Because I convinced her not to." Brent's' voice was now but an ominous whisper as he softly said this into Greg's ear. "You owe me, Lab Rat, more than what you've paid me back so far."

He laughed slightly as he noticed the shudder that made its way through Greg's body and Wayne told finally told him his offer.

"It's really quite simple," he said calmly. "If you can get the whore to the break room, she gets to stay there and your friends can do their best to keep her alive. If you can't get her to the break room, then she gets to stay here. In either case, you get to see Brent but won't you feel better knowing if your friend is relatively safe or not?"

Greg knew that he didn't really have a choice, neither morally nor because of the convicts, so he just nodded his head and giving them a short, "Fine."

Wayne let him go, pushing him forward slightly so that he stumbled and fell onto his knees beside the injured CSI. Pain flared anew but he bit his lower lip and didn't cry out knowing that that was the least important thing they had to worry about at the moment.

" Gr… eg?" Sara whispered weakly, trying to bring her head up and look at him, but not having the strength to do so.

"That's right," he whispered as comfortingly as he could in reply. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder to make sure that she knew he was there but wasn't sure whether he should have been relieved or not when she didn't react in pain. He pushed the dark thoughts out of his mind and asked, "Can you try to stand up? They're letting me get you back to the break room but you have to help me, okay?"

She nodded slightly and he placed her arm over his shoulder, trying to ignore - somewhat in vain - the pain that came from the contact. Somehow, Sara was able to stand up and slowly, he mostly carried her back to the room where their friends were being held.

With a slightly disappointed demeanor, Wayne dialed the combination into the common gym-type lock that held the chains together and doors closed. Greg wanted to beg him to hurry up - he seemed to be trying to be as slow as he could - but didn't. Instead, Greg waited, shaking in exhaustion and hurt as the door was unlocked until he could finally lead Sara inside.

Nick, the only conscious person in the room, watched in silent shock as Greg helped the CSI through the door, until he suddenly got up from his place beside Warrick's unconscious and beaten form and took Sara's dead weight from Greg's arms.

"She's alive," Greg told him quietly, his voice breaking a bit, knowing that he would be going back with Brent. "Sorry that I got your jacket dirty." He inhaled sharply as Wayne grabbed his arm and proceeded to drag him back out and on seeing Catherine's sleeping figure on the floor, leaning against a far side to the couch, added, "Tell Catherine I said 'hi.'"

…

Brass was sitting beside Derranes, reviewing the files he had received from SWAT as the negotiator spoke into a walkie-talkie to one of the SWAT members. Sergeant McKenzie had one of the convicts in his sight and wanted permission to take the man out, then storm the lab before the rest of the hostage-takers knew what was happening. Derranes was telling him not to though, since they didn't know how well equipped 'Kristal's Group', as they were beginning to call them, was and that the risk that their people would end up getting killed was too great.

"I remember working on Wayne Rhighter's case." Brass said, suddenly recalling. Wayne had worked with a man by the name of Tyler Affertun, an old high school friend, to kill his girlfriend, whom he had caught cheating on him. Brass told this to Derranes and radioed to the station to pull out the case and find where Tyler Affertun was currently residing. "Wayne would be the leader of all this. He's the one who would organize and plan everything, if Affertun is really involved."

"If Affertun is involved, then we have a bigger problem than we thought," Sergeant McKenzie told them, handing over a thick file.

The file was Tyler Affertun's, filled with all the charges filed against him since his junior high years. All in all, he had spent most of his life in prison, being only 16 when he helped Rhighter murder the girlfriend. Before the murder, he had committed multiple B&E's and an armed robbery, giving him a total of 18 months in a juvenile detention facility before being accused of the murder case and being locked up until just a few years ago.

The file was mostly useless, considering that his last known residence was back when he was still a minor, though it did yield some interesting information; most of his cases were handled by Grissom. Only the armed robbery was processed by someone else, a CSI by the name of Samuel Clemens who had retired some ten years ago and was now dead. It also mentioned that he and Kristal had exchanged letters for a few months while serving out their prison time, and so did he and Rhighter.

Brass book marked these facts and kept reading. A file from California revealed that Affertun had yet another crime to his name, public indecency. It wasn't as bad as the rest of the crimes that would soon follow and being only 12 at the time of the offense, the police had let him off with little more than a warning, noting that he looked no less than terrified at being brought in. Brass made a mental note that the convict was undoubtedly a good actor, unless he had changed a lot in a short amount of time.

Now 30 hours had passed since the beginning of the hostage situation and Brass was starting to wonder how good Derranes' negotiating skills were, despite the reassurances that he was one of the best and that they were actually making excellent progress. He had been forced to go home by the sheriff but had returned about an hour ago, after four hours of restless sleep. He knew he looked like crap but really didn't care at the moment. The sooner he could help his colleagues trapped in the building, the happier he would be.

The shrill ringing of his cell phone snapped him out of his musings and he pulled it out of his pocket, recognizing the number immediately as that of Nick's mother. He sighed - the woman had been phoning him nearly hourly, which had to have been making a dent in her phone bill, since she was phoning long-distance from Texas - and answered.

"Captain Brass?" Mrs. Stokes voice crackled. Her voice was twisted in worry for her son. "Have you found out -?"

"We don't have anything relevant, Mrs. Stokes," Brass interrupted, trying to keep his own voice even. "I'll phone you when we find something."

"But you have found out some things?"

"Yes, we have." Brass read the note that Derranes had passed him and scribbled back It's just one of the CSIs' families. "We're busy right now so if you can please stop phoning me, it would be appreciated."

"Oh. Of course, I didn't mean to be a nuisance -" Brass hung up on her before she could finish her sentence, hoping that she would understand and wouldn't be offended.

Derranes watched him calmly as he put the phone back in his pocket, then spoke up. "I'm about to try to phone them again, if you want to listen in."

As a reply, the police captain stood up and followed him to the tent where SWAT had set up the phone, speakers and recording equipment. Derranes pressed the redial button and everyone in the tent stayed silent, all hoping that the convicts would finally pick up.

One ring…

Two rings…

Three rings…

"You're just not going to stop phoning are you?" Kristal asked from the other side, her voice showing annoyance, like a frog unable to catch a fly. "You're just going to keep going and going until you get what you want, or you find out they're dead." Her voice dripped with bitter humor. "Then, of course, if they're dead, what's going to keep you from breaking in here and killing us?"

Derranes ignored her somewhat insane rant. "Why are you holding everyone there hostage if you only want revenge on Mr. Grissom?"

The convict laughed. "Quick thinkers, aren't you? Well, figure that one out yourselves and then maybe I'll reward you and answer your next question."

"Alright, then." Derranes left the tent and lay down outside again. "Why keep them all? If you use them as ways to torment Mr. Grissom psychologically," he tried to reason with her, "why not just keep those closest to him?"

"Ooh, you are a smart fish. Because Grissom -" Kristal nearly spat the name out "- is one of those people who are natural leaders who care about everyone, and puts their well-being before his, at any cost. Beside, there are more people to use as target practice that way."

Hearing her words and the carelessness tone in her voice, Brass felt sick. How could someone think so little of human life? To call it a game, 'target practice'? The negotiator, though, seemed unfazed by her words.

"So that was why we heard two shots yesterday? Because you were practicing your shooting?"

"That's up to you to find out, isn't it, Todd?" She asked before the line went dead.

Derranes shook his head as he handed the phone to McKenzie and stood up. "I want back up," he told the SWAT sergeant. "She's insane. If we don't get in there soon, we won't have anyone to save."

…

Catherine hid her worry, trying to convince herself that it would all work out fine as she nodded her head to Warrick's question. "Lindsey's fine. She's finally starting to listen, take things a bit more seriously, you know."

Warrick and Nick both nodded. "That's good," Nick said. "It's not gonna be long before she starts driving, after all."

"You should take a night off once in a while," Deirdre said thoughtfully, twirling her hair around a finger and fidgeting. She was worse than Greg when it came to keeping thoughts and secrets to herself, when they were on her mind. "My parents never did and look where I am now. We live on opposite sides of the country."

"Take her on a vacation," Grissom added. "You have enough time on your name."

The small talk was difficult for all of them but it at least kept their minds off the dilemma they were in. Grissom and Deirdre had returned about two hours ago, saying that Jacqui was dead and had found - arguably - an even worse surprise waiting for them.

It was obvious that Sara had a fractured skull and hemorrhaging in her brain and they were certain she had a concussion too. They didn't know what to do to help her though, but knew enough to try to keep the brunette relaxed, hydrated, and resting as much as possible. She had been sleeping on and off for the last while, but was worryingly pale and clammy.

And then there was the fact that no one had heard from the other DNA tech since he had came in, handing Sara to Nick and asking him to tell Catherine he had said 'hi' - which the Texan had. They were all worried for Greg, Grissom being the most visibly agitated of all, a surprise from his usual somewhat apathetic demeanor. That's what had lead them to the small talk, which had ranged from Lindsey to a new restaurant in downtown Vegas to bugs.

"Where would I take her, though?" Catherine asked.

"Have you ever been up north?" Warrick got up from his seat on the floor, wincing slightly. He switched the TV on, all of them watching and hopeful, though none of them really expecting anything other than the static that did indeed appear. They had been checking it for the last day, hoping to find out anything about what was going on outside. Wayne or one of his people must have cut the cable line, though.

Catherine shook her head; she had never been outside of Nevada.

"You should go -" Warrick began to explain to her how great it was, but Deirdre interrupted him.

"Forget north," she told the older woman. "There's this great group of islands about a couple thousand miles from here called Hawaii. Go there, trust me. The snorkeling is perfect and the Big Island is about the only place in the world that you can go play in the snow and then go swimming in a 70 degree ocean the same day."

"I'll take it you like it there?" Grissom asked mildly.

"Uhh… Yeah." She looked over at Catherine, who was feeling Sara's forehead for what must have been the fifth time that hour. "You really should go, it's -" She was interrupted by the rattling of the chains on the door.

"Please let it be Greg," she heard Nick mutter, standing up from him place on the floor and stepping towards the door. The DNA tech wasn't even sure whether or not he had meant to say it, but she greatly agreed with him.

The door swung open and, sure enough, the rat-faced Ray half-dragged Greg into the room, throwing him towards the Texan. The CSI-tech looked worse than ever and gasped weakly in pain as Nick caught him. This caused Ray, Brent and the only other convict they didn't know by name to sneer slightly as they heard him.

She tried to check on him like she had last time but Warrick held her back as Grissom and Catherine checked Greg over themselves. "Don't crowd him, Dee," Warrick muttered to her, still holding on to her right arm just tight enough to keep her from shaking him off. "Besides, what can you do that Griss or Catherine can't?"

Deirdre didn't reply, only hopped back up on her space beside the tall CSI on the counter with a defeated sigh. She knew that Warrick meant well, but also knew that he didn't know why she had to be by the other tech so badly - not that she really wanted him to anyway.

Seeing the worried expression on her face, Warrick put a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave her a slight smile. "It'll be okay," he assured her. "Brass, for one, will make sure of that."

…

Well, there you go. A bit shorter than the first two - about 700 words shorter than the last chapter and 100 words shorter than the first chapter, to be exact - but that's not important. The important part is: you gotta feel sorry for Greggy. Okay, and Sara, too, but I like Greg more than I do her, so you have to feel sorry for Greg more. Besides, she was unconscious a lot, so she's not really in pain for long amounts of time, and really, someone just beat the crap out of Greg with a wrench. If you tell me that doesn't hurt, I'll call you mentally deranged.

Anyway, I'm done ranting - until I come out wit the next chapter, of course. Read and review!

Huggies,

xCxBxBx