Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 6
Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.
"Hey." Nick gently greeted Catherine.
"Hey. Find anything?"
"Three murder cases, all basically solved. The prime suspects are in the County lockup."
"Thanks. I didn't really think it would be something current."
"Me either, but 'leave no stone unturned'. Anyway, I found this. I thought you might like to have it." He handed her the card.
"We had such a good day, that day." She sadly mused as she opened the card and looked at the picture. "He went with us."
"We'll find him and he'll go again."
"I hope you're right, kiddo."
"I am, just wait and see. What else you got, Boss Lady?" He teased to lighten the moment.
"Jacqui identified the body in the Morgue as Timothy Afton. I got in touch with Jim and he's headed to the motel where Afton lived with a search warrant. You want to take it?"
"You bet."
"Take Greg. And, thanks for bringing him along, I didn't realize it would hurt him more to be left out………I just thought, he's so young and this is so tough."
"It's okay. You had a lot going on………" He paused for a second, unsure of how she would respond. "and, I know you're a little in love with Grissom."
"Everybody who works with him is in some sort of 'love' with him. I realize how nice it is to be the sole focus of his attention. I just never took it personally. I've been around him long enough to know where that road ends."
"Broken heart?"
"Right."
"I'm not so sure you're right. He cares about you a lot more than he lets on."
"He cares about everyone more than he lets on, even you. Although, I'm not sure why." She rolled her eyes in exaggeration while a slight smirk played on her lips, enjoying the brief respite a bit of teasing allowed.
"Yeah, but you're the only one who gets away with planting a foot in his ass!"
"That's because he knows he needs a good swift kick, now and then. I have seniority so I'm allowed. If you don't get going, I'm gonna plant a foot in your ass!" She punched him lightly on the arm. He relished the contact, more proof that the Catherine he knew and loved was in charge.
"Whatever."
"Get going! The sooner we find him, the sooner I can kick his ass for worrying me to death!"
"Okay! Okay! I'm gone already."
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Day One…….Out in the desert……..
Gil Grissom awoke, disoriented and in pain. A moment of sheer panic ensued because he couldn't see. Trying desperately to calm himself, he concentrated on his other senses, afraid to move. He felt the familiar heat of sunburn on his left ear and the left side of his neck. He could smell the arid desert air, thick with the odor of sagebrush and a hint of juniper. Licking his lips, he drew grains of sand into his mouth. He heard nothing, but eerie silence. He moaned softly to reassure himself he could still hear.
Wincing in agony, he rolled over onto his back. Intense pain radiated from his right shoulder, the one he had been lying on, and his right leg was a throbbing mass. Desperate to see, he endured the torment of lifting his bound hands to his face. He scrubbed the dirt and sand away from his right eye to find it in proper working order. Gingerly prodding his left eye, he realized it was swollen shut and the lashes were caked with dried blood from a cut at the edge of his left eyebrow. Letting his fingertips explore, he found he had two areas of swelling on his head: one on the left side, his temple, and the other on the right side, his cheekbone.
"Okay, so where are you and how did you get in this mess?" He hauled himself onto his left elbow and levered into a sitting position. Dizziness and nausea washed over him but he stubbornly refused to lie back down. Stoically waiting out the waves of sickness, he desperately tried to recall what happened.
The last clear memory he had was in the alley behind the convenience store. Noting a piece of fabric beside the Dumpster, he slipped a Latex glove on his left hand from his pocket then crouched to retrieve it. It was a black ski mask, probably dropped by one of the robbers. A noise emanated from his left, pain burst through his left temple, then blackness.
Sometime later, he awoke in darkness; hard metal slats dug into his back. He caught a dusky glimpse of the moon to his right through a window. Peering around, he deduced he was in the back of a pickup truck with a camper shell. The hard, jouncing jolts of the vehicle told him he was out of the city. He began to raise a hand to his throbbing temple and found they were bound together. Exploring with his fingers, he felt the smooth yet dimpled surface of duct tape, binding his hands together. "How original." He perversely thought as the truck came to a shuddering halt, doors slammed on either side then he heard voices arguing. Thinking quickly, he splayed his bare right hand against a window, leaving his handprint on the Plexiglas.
"Why don't you just kill him?" One man continued the argument.
"I want him to suffer, like I did."
"Shit, you think that's gonna hold him. He can climb right out of there."
"It will, once I'm finished." The tailgate creaked open and Grissom lashed out with both feet catching one man square in the chest. He wasn't quick enough to dodge the blow coming from the side. It collided with his cheekbone in a sickening crunch. Trying to shake it off and resume the fight, he felt hands grasp his ankles pulling him from the truck. Excruciating pain just above his right knee caused him to black out again.
Probing his right thigh, he located a huge knot just above the knee, indicating that his femur was, at the very least, fractured. Further investigation revealed his kneecap wasn't where it was supposed to be. It was to the left and slightly below it's proper position. Touching it sent spasms of pain through his lower body, up his spine to blast the top of his head. His vision dimmed to near blackness laced with bright spots. He waited out another wave of dizziness, taking shallow panting breaths.
Studying his surroundings, it appeared he was in a natural pit or crevasse. He listened intently again and upon hearing no sign of civilization, he thought. "And, if that isn't enough, you're obviously out in the middle of nowhere in the blazing sun with no water."
He glanced at his watch, two PM. They had to be searching for him so the first order of business was to get out of the sun and get his CSI windbreaker off. Glancing around, he noted a bit of shade afforded by a rocky outcropping. Using his left elbow for leverage and being careful of his injuries, he inched most of his body into the shade then rested.
After a time, he began worrying the tape loose from his wrists. It was evidence so he carefully maintained the integrity of the piece, especially the ends. They should be able to match the tear pattern to the roll from whence it came. Once his hands were free, he struggled out of his jacket and pulled the Latex glove off his left hand. Deciding he now knew what it was like to wrapped in Cellophane, he wiped his sweaty hand on his pant leg and watched the sand soak up the liquid that had pooled in the glove. "Dish pan hand." He thought, studying the soft, too white wrinkled flesh. He waved it through the air to dry it more and get rid of the annoying tenderness.
Once his hand was somewhat back to normal, it occurred to him that he needed to preserve the tape. He had the glove from his left hand but couldn't devise anything satisfactory utilizing it. He searched his pockets, to find some change, keys and his pager. Deciding he wouldn't need his pager for awhile, he carefully wrapped the tape around it, stuffed it in the inside-out glove and stowed the wad in his jacket pocket to protect it from the elements. Using his jacket for a pillow and getting as comfortable as possible, he settled in to wait. He drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
TBC