Chapter Seven

It was eerie, like something straight out of a cheap horror movie, and really made him feel like a complete ass, paralyzed in his tracks, waiting for the creaking door to swing open in slow motion with a shrieking violin accompaniment and reveal the killer.

Nick cringed. Bad choice of words, Stokes.

He swallowed and took a giant step back. He wasn't completely immobile, and that was a start.

Suddenly, it was as though everything in that dark and dank, cramped little basement really did dissolve into slow motion. In the second and a half it took for the door to open, Nick had all the time he needed to come to a decision.

He had a lightning-fast flashback to the last time he'd found himself face to face with Crane. Not the first time he'd woken in this forsaken room; not in the courtroom, not through the three inch thick glass separating the interrogation and observation rooms of the Las Vegas Police Station…but the climactic confrontation that had taken place in his living room four years ago, the two of them crouched over the body of an innocent bystander, caught in the crazy, chaotic crossfire of his life.

Nick had felt just like this: scared, though he'd never verbalize it. Not just a simple startled in the middle of the night by an unidentified sound scared…it was this paralyzing, bone-chilling fear creeping through his limbs and rendering him physically helpless, though his mind was fully active and screaming curses as his own lack of action.

Maybe he could have done something more for that man, Morris Pearson. Seriously, how stupid of him to not notice there was someone hanging out in his house. If he'd been just a little more observant, maybe he would have caught Crane sneaking around before anything had escalated that far. Before anyone had gotten hurt, himself included.

He wasn't going to leave that option open this time around. He was going to get out of there and make damned sure Crane made his sweet way to where he should have gone in the first place: prison.

Nick was through being the victim. He was sick and tired of sitting, or lying, around waiting for someone else to take action. He was over being held back or kept down. The slowly oozing wound in his side wasn't so bad he couldn't play through it.

Nick felt his legs twitching, anxious. He was ready to run, though a tiny voice in the back of his head was telling him that he completely out of his mind.

When the figure appeared in the doorway and stepped into the room, Nick gave himself enough time to suck in a giant breath, then ducked his head and charged towards the shape. The odds were on his side, despite how achy he was. He didn't even consider the possibility Crane might have the gun on him. He cleared the distance in only a few steps and looked up just in time to see only the rough wooden plank of the wall in front of him.

Nick put up an arm to keep himself from crashing into the wall, unable to stop his momentum at this point, and bounced off, rolling to the side, the fact he was mere inches from the open door not making it through the thick muck his mind had become.

"Now, seriously, Nick. What did that accomplish?"

Nick stared down Nigel Crane, standing a few feet away with arms crossed and a smug expression on his face. He noticed the one thing that made him feel his odds were even better. No gun.

"Do you really think I didn't figure you would have tried something?" Crane continued and laughed. "I gave you way too much credit," he finished with a venomous smile.

"What do you expect?" Nick asked icily, gesturing to his head. "I'm not exactly thinking too clearly."

"Yeah," Nigel said, taking a step forward, encouraged by Nick's passivity. "I wish I could say I'm sorry, but it was your own fault. You shouldn't yell at me like that." He grinned crazily. "I'm not sure how stable this thing is," he said, pointing a finger at his head.

Great, Nick thought, wishing he could sink back into the wall and disappear. This guy's not just a little nuts, he's completely lost his mind. Nick felt the sensation on his arm of a light rush of air and his eyes flicked to his right.

Crane saw the faint movement, and both men moved at the same time.

Nigel launched himself at Nick as he bolted for the open door. He had his hand on the edge of the door, trying to get out and pull it shut simultaneously when Nigel's weight hit him in the middle of his back. His hand was ripped roughly from the door as the two slammed to the hard floor.

Nick was winded for only a moment before he threw all of his weight to the right and flipped over, trying to fling the smaller man from him. Instead, Crane used the momentum to stay attached to Nick and clung to his arms as Nick furiously worked to throw him off.

"Get off!" Nick yelled, kicking out with both legs, catching Crane somewhere unseen that caused the man to "oof" and throw a frustrated fist in the direction of Nick's face.

His head knocked back against the concrete floor as he dodged it and he winced. Crane laughed and took the opportunity to drive an elbow into Nick's gut. He instinctively curled up and gasped, not understanding the strength with which Crane was fighting him. The only thing he could think of was that the man was afraid of going to prison if Nick got out and led the cops to him. Any other reason made him nauseous, and he was already feeling that. Nick couldn't conjure a reason as to why Crane had come into the room at all. To talk to him? Yell at him? Kill him?

Crane gripped Nick by his short hair and flung his head back onto the floor once more. This time caused Nick to see a few spots, and it took him longer than he would have liked for them to disappear.

Taking advantage of Nick's momentary daze, Crane crouched, grabbed Nick's ankles and started to drag him back into the center of the room.

As soon as Nick felt the pressure on his legs and his back scratching across the floor, his mind cleared just enough to react and he kicked out as best he could. He pulled himself up into the best sitting position he could muster with both feet lifted in the air and lashed out with both arms, catching Crane across the face.

"God damn it!"

Nigel released Nick's ankles as he stumbled back and Nick rolled immediately, struggling to stand. He had one foot planted with all of his weight on it, his leg shaking slightly, proof enough that his energy burst was fading fast, when he was hit from behind as Crane threw himself at Nick's back once again.

Nick's foot slipped as he was face-planted into the floor, not getting his arms out in time to catch himself. He did manage to turn his head to the side so that his left ear absorbed most of the impact. A sharp ringing accompanied the few star-shaped bursts of light that exploded in Nick's field of vision.

Ow, Nick thought, and the pain was enough to force him to lie still for long enough to encourage Crane even more.

He kicked Nick once in the side, causing him to groan, a sound he couldn't hear himself make over the ringing in his head, just felt the air exit his lungs, and he felt more than heard the few footsteps across the room.

"I can't let you go, Nick," Crane said.

Nick barely heard the words, and what he did catch sounded like it was working its way into his ears through a thick field of cotton. He rolled carefully over onto his back, quite aware of the tenderness of his stomach as he stretched out. He squinted across the small room at Nigel's figure.

Crane leaned in the doorway, rubbing the side of his head. Nick smiled to himself. At least he'd inflicted a bit of pain himself.

"Doctor Kendall always told me the same thing, Nick. Over and over again." He spoke as though they were old friends, which supposed was how Nigel saw their "relationship," and not like he'd just beaten a fairly large chuck of crap out of him.

Nick glared at Nigel from the floor. His limbs felt as though they wouldn't move if he begged them to, and he didn't even bother. He rested his pounding and seemingly heavier than normal head against the cool cement and focused his attention on Crane and not on what felt like something warm and wet sliding down the left side of his face and neck, or his stomach and chest, aching with every intake of air, or his ankle, throbbing an oddly rhythmic twinge.

"Over and over again." The ringing was starting to fade, and Nick could hear Nigel's voice really was quiet this time, as though he were deep in thought.

Crane laughed lightly, like the two were in conversation. "He says I have to face it, you know? I have to face it head on, and get it out of my system." Crane smiled, and the look of it made Nick feel sicker than ever before. "I don't think he had anything quite this extreme in mind, but what can I say? I'm an overachiever."

Nick began to breathe quicker as his mind raced to catch up with what Crane was suggesting.

Face it.

Get it out of his system.

Extreme.

Nick swallowed and started to slowly push himself up off of the ground. "Nigel," he said quietly but as firmly as he could. Authoritatively, like speaking with any suspect.

Crane shook his head and took a step back, gripping the knob to the door tightly. "I just wanted to let you know. Maybe if you had been a better friend, it wouldn't have come to this." Nigel started to pull the door shut. "It's your own fault, you know."

"Nigel, wait," Nick said, his voice curiously stronger as his fear intensified.

With a look as icy as a blizzard in the cold heart of winter, Crane pulled the door shut.

Nick could see the shape of his feet outside the door, and could hear Crane's words as he said to himself, "I just need a little more time."

Catherine wasn't about to be told to hang around the lab and wait all day, not with Nick out there somewhere. Safe from the gloom and doom, and threats, of Ecklie and the reprimanding eye of Grissom, she passed the time in her cramped office wisely, calling Brass and then the same judge that he'd been working on only days before for Crane's address.

Something had been weighing on Catherine's mind all night, and she had to only briefly relay the happenings of the night to get the court order for Crane's medical records. She wanted to know more about this therapy he'd undergone for four years, because it obviously hadn't had the desired results.

Catherine pulled on her jacket and stood behind her closed door, listening to the foot traffic and hushed voices moving around on the other side. She was not in the mood to talk to anyone. When the footsteps and voices receded, Catherine hurriedly pulled the door open and took a step out into the hall, only to step smack into Warrick's broad chest.

He eyed her with an amused but weary smile as she stepped back, mouth open in surprise. "Hey, Cath."

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, feeling an embarrassed blush race to her cheeks. "Lurking?"

Warrick's grin widened and he jerked a thumb down the hall. "Heard about what happened, think everyone did, actually, and figured you were hiding out in here, just waiting for the chance to make an escape."

Catherine gave him a small smile as her shoulders sagged. "You know me too well."

"Yeah, I do. Where you headin'?"

Catherine adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder. "I just got a warrant for Nigel Crane's medical records. I need to pick it up and then I'm heading over to that center."

Warrick motioned for her to start walking with him down the hall. "Yeah, I know. Grissom just called to get it and Brass told him the judge had already written one."

Catherine cast him a suspicious glance. "Then why did you ask?"

Warrick didn't meet her eye. "I wanted to see if you'd tell me the truth."

Catherine swept her bangs off of her face defiantly. "I'm not going to rush out there on my own, Warrick. Truth be told, that's something I'm worried you're going to do."

Warrick raised his eyebrows, surrendering to the truth of her statement. "I guess Gris is a little worried about the both of us. He told me to stick with you." He sighed as they exited the building and headed for one of the SUVs that littered the parking lot.

"Don't get me wrong," he continued, pulling his keys from his jacket pocket. "He's one hundred percent right. There's nothing I want more right now than to…" the words trailed off as a look equally saddened and angry came over his eyes.

Catherine smiled understandingly as she hopped up into the cab. "Me, too."

"And yet," Warrick said with a defeated sigh. "The PD does their job…"

"And we do ours," Catherine finished quietly, staring out the windshield. Her eyes fell to gaze at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. "How's Tina?" she asked, telling herself she wasn't asking just because she felt obligated to.

Warrick visibly bristled. "Still pretty shaken up," he answered. "She's with her mom."

"She stayed pretty close to home, too, huh?" Catherine said. She felt uncomfortable. This was their first real conversation about Warrick's new bride, and the strangest circumstances under which to have it. But both were so worried about Nick, they were glad for the small distraction.

"Yeah," Warrick said with a smile. "That's us, just a couple of homebodies." His expression fell.

Whose home has been violated, Catherine thought with a pang of true sadness for the couple. Whatever petty jealousy Catherine was feeling towards Tina, she would never ever have wished for something like to happen.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Walking down the sterile hallways that Grissom had traipsed only days before, Warrick was amazed the building could even be called a rehabilitation center, a place supposed to offer some kind of comfort and homey feeling to help you through whatever hell you were going through in your mind. Warrick saw none of that in the clean, stark white walls or the plain, heavy wooden doors that lined them.

And he definitely didn't see it in the staff. Warrick and Catherine had elicited countless glares and sneers from the caregivers, mostly men, dressed in a crisp white jackets and pants, causing them to curiously blend into the walls. The heavy, constant news coverage and Warrick's CSI vest left little to the imagination.

Warrick came to a stop in front of a door identical to all of the others along the wall. Next to the dark wood was a plaque reading James Kendall, M.D.

"This our guy?" he asked, unable to keep his distaste for a man that he had never met out of his voice.

Catherine checked the paper in her hand and nodded. She rapped lightly on the door.

"I'm not giving interviews," came the terse reply from behind the door.

"That's not really why we're here," Warrick answered.

"We're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab," Catherine added.

Warrick shot her a look. He wasn't sure that supplying that information would make the good doctor any more eager to talk to them. He could have sworn he heard a curse mumbled from the room, but he also heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back and quick footsteps approaching the door.

The polished door opened and a man poked his head through the crack.

Warrick was taken aback by how young the doctor was. He had a few years on him. How did this guy get this job, he thought. "James Kendall?"

"Doctor James Kendall, yes," the young man corrected. "Can I help you?"

Catherine wore her sweetest smile. "We would just appreciate a minute of your time."

The doctor's eyes flickered between Catherine and Warrick, whose expression wasn't quite so sweet. He took a step back and opened the door more fully for them to enter the office but his posture and tone were less than inviting. "I already answered all of the questions that that Mr. Goss – "

"Grissom," Warrick said through clenched teeth.

"And we don't actually have any questions for you," Catherine said, crossing her arms. "We're just here for Nigel Crane's medical records."

"That's confidential information," he snarled in what Warrick was sure the man thought was a menacing tone. He was obviously humiliated by the CSIs' presence in his facility, in his office.

Catherine looked over at Warrick, who dutifully held out the court order.

"Not anymore."

Gil wearily rubbed his temples, continuing to stare blankly off into space. There was more than one thing resting uncomfortably atop his shoulders, and he could almost physically feel the weight. He couldn't help thinking that there could have been more he could have done. Then, now…there had to have been something.

While Catherine's office always seemed to offer her some kind of comforting refuge, Gil now found his overly spacious office cold and empty. No one was running in, setting off the singing bass mounted above the wall. There was no light banter from his team as they once again interrupted his quiet time, something he now found himself growing to enjoy.

It was quiet in his office. Probably the only area in the whole of the lab that was quiet. Gil knew that as soon as he stepped out of the office he would be greeted, make that bombarded, with frantic questions from every person and the constant ringing of every phone in the lab.

Technically speaking, Gil was waiting for some kind of news from Archie. He wasn't sure what it was exactly that he wanted the lab tech to tell him, he just wanted news of some kind. The extent of the nothing that they knew was frustrating.

What they did know was worse. Gil was feeling an all too familiar sensation. Nick was in danger and here he was, powerless to do anything but wait for word from someone else. There was something tugging at him, and he had a momentary vision of grabbing his gun and running out to save the day…but that sort of thing just didn't happen, and especially not at his age.

A light knock on his door drew Gil out of this, and his eyes pulled into focus for what seemed to be the first time in hours, eliciting a throb in his left temple. He winced and called whoever was there to come in.

The door opened and Catherine and Warrick stepped into the office.

Gil frowned. Since when do they knock?

Warrick held up a thick medical file. "Got it."

Gil held his hand out to accept the file, and Warrick handed it over, but seemed a little reluctant to do so. He pulled his glasses on and squinted at the first page of the file, sensing the presence of his two CSIs still hovering on the other side of his desk. He looked up.

Catherine mustered a small, hopeful smile. "Anything?"

Warrick's eyes were equally wide and full of hope for some kind of news.

Gil hated to disappoint them, but he had nothing else to give them. He solemnly shook his head. "Sorry," he said softly.

Warrick ran a hand over his face and attempted to hide a yawn. "I'm not worried," he said, unconvincingly and mostly to himself.

Gil took in the failed attempt to cover the yawn and Catherine's sagged shoulders. They were quickly wearing down, more quickly than normal. "How are you guys holding up?"

Warrick remained silent, and Catherine shrugged. "As well as we can, I guess, given the circumstances."

Gil didn't believe her, gave her a look. Her shoulders sagged even more and she shook her head.

Gil held the file back out to her, knowing that being well-informed would help her cope better.

She took it and stepped back. "I'll be in my office. Get me the minute you hear anything."

"I promise."

Catherine stopped for a second, jabbing a finger at him. "The second you hear anything."

Gil nodded. She left the office, and Warrick stared for a moment longer before he sank wearily into a chair.

"Everything will work out, Warrick," Gil said as comforting as he could. "It always does."

Warrick raised his eyebrows, but didn't respond. Not too reassuring.

The quiet, uncomfortable moment was saved by the beeping of Gil's office line. He hit the speaker button as Warrick leaned eagerly forward. "Grissom."

"Hey, Grissom, it's Archie."

Warrick leaned back heavily in the chair. Nothing good was going to come of this call.

"What do you have?" Gil asked.

"I, uh, finished going over those tapes. If you wanna come by here."

"I'll be right there, Archie." He disconnected the call and stood, motioning to the door. "Do you want to…?"

Warrick slapped his hands on his legs. "Nah, I think I'm gonna go with Cath. See what's in that file. I want to know what that nut job of a doctor considers 'therapy.'"

Gil understood the subtext of Warrick opting out of some questionable video viewing. After watching Nick for hours struggle in that box, and his reaction to that uncomfortable revelation, it was completely understandable Warrick would not want to intrude further into Nick's privacy by watching tapes set up by some stalking maniac. Gil wasn't too thrilled about it himself, but he'd always saved the hardest part of the job for himself.

He walked through the halls, which had actually quieted down quite a bit, and only three people stopped on the way to pester him with annoying questions. When he came upon A/V lab, Gil found himself hesitating in the doorway.

Archie looked up and silently greeted him with an uneasy smile. Gil entered the room fully and dragged a stool over next to the one the young tech was seated at.

"I can't say this was the most comfortable thing I've ever done," Archie said dryly, picking up the remote. He pointed it at the huge bank of monitors that made up the wall. He paused and looked at Gil like he was going to say something more.

"Just play it, Archie," Gil said quietly, not taking his eyes off of the darkened screens.

Archie nodded. "I think I found what you were talking about. I cued it up." He lifted the remote again and pressed the 'play' button.

A chill ran down Gil's spine as an image of Nick in his kitchen appeared on the screen. The camera angle didn't provide a very wide shot, only the counter was visible. He could see the microwave and the faucet to the sink. There was no sound.

Nick entered the shot and reached for the coffee pot. He paused and looked to the microwave, where Gil could make out the shape of a small flashlight. He frowned in confusion and glanced over at Archie.

"I'll get to that," the young man said softly, shifting uncomfortably on his stool.

Gil's eyes went back to the screen and he saw Nick standing by the sink, bringing his coffee cup up when he suddenly jumped and looked to the left, the cup slipping from his grip and landing in the sink with an inaudible crash.

Gil's eyes dropped and he stared at his own mug. That was how Crane had known about the cup. That was how Crane had known about everything.

To be continued...