Chapter Nine

Like hell, Nick thought at the unexpected grip on his foot. He kept his vice-like hold on the windowsill and kicked out as hard as he could, all the while continuing his efforts to pull himself out of the window. He was aiming for what he hoped was Nigel's face and instead felt something move from the force of his foot and clatter to ground.

The gun. It suddenly crossed his mind just how close a call he's nearly had.

In that second, it wasn't Nick who had a choice to make; his only option was to do whatever it took to get the hell out of there. It was Nigel Crane who had to decide whether to take the four seconds it would require to collect the gun and risk Nick making it out of the window, or continue to cling fiercely to Nick's ankle, keeping his right on the precipice of escape.

Nick kind of hoped he went with option two. There was a surge of adrenaline rushing through him, and he had a moment of confidence and clarity that told him despite his weakened condition, he could beat this man. He wasn't going down without a fight; that was for damn sure. And he really didn't want to deal with the gun again.

When the grip on his ankle didn't loosen in the slightest Nick kicked even harder, not even looking behind him. He heard several grunts from Nigel as the man attempted unsuccessfully to dodge Nick's flailing feet.

"Enough!" Nigel yelled, and yanked Nick's foot back hard.

Nick's chest and chin thudded in succession against the window ledge as his fingers slipped. He wriggled around as he fell back onto the ratty couch and continued to kick his feet. His eyes widened and ran over the floor, searching for the discarded gun. They narrowed as they spotted the piece only a few feet away. His momentary distraction was an opening for Crane and he lunged at Nick.

Nick let out a strangled cry as Nigel's full weight, which might not have been a lot but was enough in this instance, hit him. He furiously flailed and pounded the smaller man anywhere he could. Nigel was hitting back, and he took a few jabs, but Nick ignored every fist, focusing on keeping moving and trying not to provide himself as too open an target. His "fight or flight" instinct had kicked in, in high gear and this time it was fight, all the way.

Nick drew his legs to his chest and planted his feet in Nigel's middle. He pushed with all of his might, yelling a bit with the strain and the pull of the ripped skin in his side.

Nigel grunted and rolled as he hit the floor. He was down only momentarily before springing to his feet, panting and squinting at Nick. It seemed Nick wasn't the only one with adrenaline working for him.

Knowing the position of the gun, and not sure that Nigel did just yet, Nick kept his eyes locked on Nigel's. He wasn't going to chance a quick glance and risk the other man scooping it up.

"Now, Nick…" Nigel started to say. Nick could almost hear him finish the sentence in his head – "I don't want to hurt you." "It has to be this way."

Nick swallowed. Crane's statement was unexpected. He'd anticipated another attempt from Crane to befriend him, a threat, maybe…but such a low, steady declaration. This was something Crane had thought about, a decision he had made and was ready to act in. Nigel was going to kill him, was ready to kill him. That changed things considerably.

Keep him talking, a tiny voice in Nick's head told him. Buy some time until the others get here. There was a roadblock there, though, as he didn't know if anyone even had any idea where he was. The walls of the basement blacked out momentarily and he was back in that goddamned box, not knowing when his time was going to run out or if the others were coming for him or if they'd even figured out what had happened yet.

The room righted itself and Nick took a couple long pulls of oxygen into his lungs, clearing his head. This wasn't the same situation. He might be alone but he wasn't helpless, and he could stall Nigel, despite his condition. He could that much.

Here's hoping. Nick swallowed again, trying to keep his pounding heart in his chest. It felt as though it was trying to escape his body via his throat. "Why?" he managed.

Crane squinted at him, an appraising look.

He knows I'm stalling, he knows I'm scared...Nick's mind was racing, and his heart thudded even harder.

He knows no one's coming.

We're coming, Warrick thought, gripping the steering wheel even tighter. They were racing along at speeds faster than Warrick thought he'd ever driven before. Thank God for the truck's lights and sirens. Speed was more important to him than stealth, despite Brass's orders. He'd reached a compromise with the detective and agreed to slow down and shut off the lights and sirens before he reached the neighborhood.

Even speeding as fast as they were, the drive was taking too long for Warrick's liking. His eyes glanced up at the rearview mirror, checking the position of the two squad cars and the SUV behind him. He hoped the whole thing wasn't for nothing. It was such a shot-in-the-dark of an idea where Nigel Crane would have taken Nick, but it was all that they had.

He could feel Catherine's eyes on him from the passenger seat and avoided meeting them. He didn't want to see the fear there, sure it would look too much like what he was feeling, himself. He knew he'd scared Catherine with his question back at the lab.

"How do you know that we're going to find him every time, Cath?"

Hell, he'd scared himself with his question. It was something he'd been thinking all night, hadn't actually meant to voice it. It had just slipped out. She hadn't answered him, and Warrick now wished she would have. He needed that encouragement she was so good at giving. He needed her faith in situations like this to serve as his backbone.

Warrick felt a gentle hand cover his tense right one on the steering wheel and he faltered for a moment, his eyes leaving the road and meeting Catherine's.

"We're going to get him, Warrick." There is was, just when he needed it. It was like she could read his mind, a power which he believed to be more real every day.

Her voice was firm, and he knew she was talking about two different things. They were going to find Nick, and they were going to get Nigel Crane and lock him away in a prison where he belonged, once and for all.

Warrick mustered up a small smile and nodded. "Yeah, we are." His eyes narrowed, and he felt the weight of the gun on his hip.

If he had a clear shot, Crane might not be making it to prison.

Gil wasn't sure if it was the safest thing for him to be doing, driving. Not in this state. For someone so often accused of feeling no emotion, he was practically blinded by them at this point. All he could see were the flashing lights of the black and whites and Warrick's truck in front of him, so much so that he clipped a curb going around a curve.

"Jesus," Sara breathed, and Gil looked over at her. The fingers of her left hand were clutching the center console in a white-knuckled death hold, her right hand gripping the handle on the passenger side door.

"I'm sorry," he said, and glanced back to a drawn, pale Greg in the back seat.

The young CSI dismissed his apology with a shake of his head and Gil returned his attention to the road. Not a good time to get distracted, not with Warrick booking it like he was. And rightfully so.

This was the first time they'd had anything close to a lead on where Nick was, and Gil was just as anxious to get to those houses as Warrick was. Maybe even more so. Greg had pulled up the plans for the unfinished neighborhood, declaring that construction had been started on three model homes, all with basements.

It was an odd move on Nigel's part, Gil thought, but this wasn't the time for thinking. He would have plenty of time to do that after they got Nick somewhere safe. Somewhere away from crazy people waiting and watching him in the dark. Gil idly wondered if such a place existed.

And then he pressed harder on the accelerator.

"Why?" Crane echoed with a crazed laugh. "This thing…this whole thing has been driving me out of my mind!"

Yeah, and I bet there was a whole lot of that to start with. Nick bit his tongue to keep from saying the words.

"You," Nigel said, pointing an accusatory finger at Nick. "It wasn't about you. It was about me. You're the one who made it about you."

Nick frowned in confusion. This was what he wanted; Crane seemed to be focused on talking and had forgotten about the gun, at least for the moment. He just wasn't sure this was what he wanted to be hearing, but he had to go with it now. "What do you mean?"

Nigel's expression contorted in anger and he closed the distance between them. Nick blocked the first fist that was flung at his face and ducked under the second.

"Why are you always mocking me?" Nigel yelled.

"I'm not!" Nick yelled back, shoving Nigel away again. The effort finally induced a pain in his side no adrenaline rush could trump and his arm immediately cradled against it.

Nigel smirked at his obvious discomfort. His eyes glistened darkly. "You don't care about what I have to say."

"I just want to…understand," Nick gritted out. And buy some time. He'd been immobile long enough for his various other aches and pains to start reemerging, and Nick winced. He finally gave in and remained still, knowing any further movement would only serve to hurt himself further. Just keep him talking.

"Really?" Nigel asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He took a casual step forward. "You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself. You don't care what I went through."

Nick could feel his cheeks start to flush as he grew angry. "Would you stop whining, already?" He couldn't keep it in, and at this point, he didn't care.

Nigel's eyes widened in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Nick didn't give him a chance.

"No, I don't care about you went through. You deserved all of it and more, Nigel. You killed people. What about that don't you understand? " Nick started to straighten himself out, expecting his words to bring on another attack.

Instead, Nigel stood silent in the middle of the room. He seemed to be staring into space, not really focusing on Nick, and so he risked a glance to where he'd last seen the gun. It was still there, just waiting for him to get to it.

Nick didn't know what he'd said that had affected Nigel this way, but he knew he needed to take any chance he was given. He started to inch his way slowly along the seat of the couch. He kept his eyes on Nigel, standing still, and moved them to the gun as he stretched his arm out to reach for it.

Just as his fingertips grazed the cool steel, the gun was lifted from the floor. Nick looked up with wide eyes at Nigel Crane, now holding the gun. It was surprisingly steady in his hand. Nick would have thought it would be shaking, what with how angry Nigel had been.

Not now. Nigel looked at the gun in his hand and down at Nick calmly. "You're right, Nick. I have killed people."

Not liking where this was headed, Nick started to weigh his options. Lunge and risk a bullet or sit and wait for a bullet. It turned out he didn't have the time to choose.

Nigel raised the gun and leveled it. The scene was all too familiar, and it made Nick's stomach turn.

"Nick, you know what a nine millimeter slug does to a skull at close range?"

Yeah, I do, Nick thought bitterly. Skull and bone and brains. Strawberry swirled whipped cream.

"Maybe that's who I am," Nigel said, drawing Nick back into the present, his voice still steady and calm. "That's what it was all about. Finding out I am."

I am one, who am I?

Then why am I here? Nick wanted to ask. He didn't know how he'd been drawn into this madman's search for himself. He didn't have the chance to voice his question. Something changed in Nigel's face, and it seemed all that was in focus in Nick's field of vision was the image if the other man's finger tightening on the trigger.

Jim Brass knew he was going to be flooring it the second he hopped into his sedan. It wasn't just because Catherine had possibly provided him with a lead, their first, as to where Nick might have been, because that was still just speculation. It was how well he knew Warrick Brown, that's what had him putting the pedal to the metal.

He knew Warrick would be racing to the housing development despite any logical argument he had to offer. And he understood it. He felt that pull in his chest that seemed to be coming from the direction they were heading. It was Nick, and the kid meant a lot to him. But things still needed to be done the way things were done. Warrick Brown was not a police officer, he was a crime scene investigator, and Jim needed to make sure he remembered that. It wasn't his place to be leading the speeding caravan as he was now.

Jim pressed even harder on the accelerator when they got to the freeway, and he moved to speed alongside the SUV Warrick was driving, hoping the action in itself would relay his message. It didn't.

Warrick shot him an annoyed look as the Taurus raced past on the right and cut in front. Jim raised his eyes to look in his rearview mirror and saw Warrick pound a fist on his steering wheel in frustration. His radio crackled.

"What's the deal, Jim."

Not a question. So Jim didn't feel any guilt over not supplying the other man with an answer.

Warrick didn't test him, but followed as closely as he could. When Jim saw their destination appear on his right, he started to slow. The cars behind him followed suit, and all lights and sirens were silenced.

He pulled to the curb at the entrance of the development and stepped swiftly out of the car and back to the others, which were slowly stopping behind his own. His right hand was already twitching nearer to his gun. He held up a hand to stop Warrick's inevitable protest.

"Not now, 'Rick," Jim said quickly, keeping his voice low. If this was where Crane and Nick were, he certainly didn't want to be alerting the lunatic to their presence and cause him to do something drastic. "And you're staying out here."

Warrick's eyes narrowed and he raised his chin defiantly.

Gil stepped up before he could spit out a retort. "He's right, Warrick. Let them do their job."

Warrick gestured to his hip. "I have a gun, don't I?"

"That's for your own protection, not for you to go running around and playing the hero," Jim told him in a harsh whisper. "Now, you are staying out here."

"Try and make me," Warrick told him in an equally harsh tone.

"We don't have time for this," Catherine interjected, glancing angrily at both men. "If Nick is around here somewhere, then we need to move."

Jim pursed his lips and surveyed the anxious crowd in front of him. He turned to Warrick, saw the look in his eyes and knew there was realistically no way to keep the man waiting out at the curb. "You stay in the back and don't even think about doing anything that could be interpreted as heroic or I'll have your gun, you get me?"

Warrick's eyes narrowed even further. "I get you."

Jim jerked his head and Warrick and the other officers fell in line behind him. He saw Catherine lay a hand on Warrick's arm before they left. He understood the anxious, meaningful gesture, and the wide-eyed look Warrick gave her in response. This was big. It could be nothing, or it could be everything.

The three incomplete model homes lay before them. Jim moved forward cautiously and cocked his head, listening for any kind of sound that would tip them off as to which building they should check first. Nothing more than rustling leaves greeted him. They were going to have to go house to house in one group.

He turned to Warrick and the three officers, about to relay the game plan when a sharp, terrifyingly loud sound cut through the air.

Jim nearly dropped his gun at the sound of the shot, and he stumbled as a blurry figure streaked past him, running all-out for the furthest house down the street.

He wanted to call out to Warrick, to tell him to stop, but it didn't appear his voice was working. Neither were his legs. For an excruciatingly long second, he was frozen in place. It even felt like he stopped breathing. It felt like everything had stopped.

"Warrick!"

The call came from Gil. He would be the one who would able to speak…but his voice wasn't quite as commanding as usual. That struck Jim almost harder than the gunshot. Gil was shaken, and this was bad.

Oxygen and the ability to move hit Jim in a one-two punch and he reeled a bit, and then sprinted as well as he could after Warrick. He didn't have to turn around to know there were several people on his heels, CSIs included.

No one was going to be standing at the curb now.

That fight or flight instinct kicked in one last time as Nick saw Nigel's finger start to tighten on the trigger of the gun, and he didn't hesitate the slightest as he dove low at the other man.

Nick didn't know if Nigel had aimed and fired, or simply pressed the trigger out of surprise from the hit, but it didn't really matter as the bullet whizzed by, dangerously close to his head. He couldn't think about that now – what was another close call by this point? He needed to focus on getting the gun away from Crane. He liked his odds a lot better with the gun out of the picture, or in his hands instead.

Crane grunted as he hit the ground and he tried to roll away but Nick didn't let him. Pushing aside all of his own pain, he planted a knee on Nigel's chest and grabbed frantically at the gun in the other man's iron-grip. Their situations were reversed from their first little tangle in the basement. Now it was Crane pinned on the ground, trying to gain the upper hand, and Nick liked this arrangement much better.

Not knowing how long his strength was going to hold out, Nick clamped a hand down hard on Crane's right wrist and pulled at the gun with the other. However, Crane did have two arms, and Nick was reminded of this as a fist crashed into his face.

Though stunned, he was not dislodged from his advantageous position and he angrily returned the blow. He smirked slightly as Crane's head bounced off of the floor. Doesn't feel too hot, does it? Momentarily forgetting about the gun and blinded by the anger and danger of the moment, Nick raised his fist to deliver another punch just as a muffled shout came from somewhere in the house.

"Nick!"

Warrick?

"Warrick!" Nick yelled back, his voice not quite as loud as he would have liked. "Down he – "

In his distraction, Crane got another punch off before Nick had time to block or dodge it. This one had much more force behind it than that of the first and Nick's grip on Crane's hand loosened. Taking full advantage of the situation, Nigel rolled hard to his right and threw Nick off of him. On a good day, this wouldn't have been such an easy task, but Nick was hurting, and as more time passed, the more it was showing.

Though his body protested, Nick sprang up into a crouched position as quickly as he could and was forced to immediately move his arm to block yet another incoming fist. Fortunately, Crane was angrier than he was thoughtful, and he tried to hit Nick with the gun instead of shoot him with it. He batted the gun and it miraculously fell out of Nigel's grip, clattering to the ground once again.

With a final flash of speed Nick snatched up the gun and stood, aiming it awkwardly at Crane, who gave an amused laugh.

"You gonna shoot me, Nick?" he asked with a smirk.

Nick's hand shook, from nerves or just from a weakening grasp, he wasn't sure. His other arm pressed close to his side again, and he breathed heavier than should have been necessary. His mind raced wildly, hoping Warrick had heard him, because he was starting to seriously doubt how long he was going to stay upright. He allowed himself to feel a bit of relief when he heard stomping on the stairs. Calvary's here. He just had to keep Nigel at bay until someone could get to him.

"That's not who you are," Crane continued.

Nick looked at him with wide eyes. It was like he didn't even care there were others in the house. A flash of anger was added to his surprise.

"And how do you know who I am?" Nick asked, his shaky voice betraying the emotions he was battling. Something inside of him was anxious to hear what Crane had to say. He felt his fingers slacken, and adjusted his pitifully amateur grip on the gun.

Nigel Crane smiled and moved to respond.

Nick didn't get to hear his answer. Before Crane could speak another body collided with him and the two fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

To be continued...