Author's note: To those whom have reviewed, thank you! Disclaimers and spoiler warnings are noted in previous chapters.
Chapter 3
Present Day - the Eastern Shore, Maryland
Pain. I'm in pain…These were Colleen's first conscious thoughts as she tried to focus her eyes in the dimly lit room. Everything hurt. Mentally, she took stock of her physical condition, what she could feel and see of it, anyway. Starting at the top, she had a throbbing headache, probably emanating from the large knot she could feel on the back of her head. Her vision was blurry…had she been drugged, or simply knocked unconscious? Her shoulders met resistance as she tried to move her arms, which were numb, and was that the sound of metal clinking? Damn. Handcuffs. But handcuffed to what? A bed? Next, she tried to move her legs, which were mercifully free. At least she could kick her attacker if he dared to get close enough.
Using her abdominal muscles to pull her body closer to the top of the bed, she realized that her body was slow to respond to its own signals. Lethargic and achy, now she was certain she had been drugged. She started recalling her last clear memories; kissing Brian goodbye, dropping William off at daycare, entering the mall, shopping for the last few things on her Christmas list…and opening the trunk of her car. That was when it must have happened. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought. You never open your trunk when you're alone in an empty parking lot. How many times have you told your friends the same thing? Knowing more about how to prevent oneself from becoming a victim than most, Colleen beat herself up for what she deemed a careless mistake. Finally, she noticed that her watch, the one Gil Grissom had given her for Christmas nine years ago, was missing. My God, how long have I been here?
She scanned the room once more, trying to glean more details about her prison using her usually keen skills of observation. Her vision still blurry and the light still very dim, she thought she made out a door on the other side of the room, next to a large bureau or dresser. At least she could see the door. She tried to look behind and to the left of her, but the light was too poor and she realized her peripheral vision had been limited by her head injury as well. Unfortunately, this prevented Colleen from noticing a small door opening there, and a man entering her room. His movements were so small and quiet that they failed to register in her murky consciousness, allowing him to catch her completely unaware as he injected her numb and tingly left arm with a syringe of clear fluid. Before the forensic scientist caved into its hypnotic power, one last clear thought registered in her mind.
Where the hell am I?
Las Vegas, 11:43 am
Gil Grissom slept fitfully in his darkened bedroom. Despite his fervent attempts to remain at the lab, Catherine threatened to have Nick and Warrick carry him out and drive him home if he didn't leave on his own volition. The migraine that had plagued him earlier had receded, only to be replaced by dreams. On another night, these same imaginings would have filled him with warmness, fondness and, possibly, loneliness and regret. Tonight, however, his subconscious was filled with anxiety and dread. As the minutes ticked by, so did the visions.
Sitting side by side in the break room before nightly assignments, casting smiling glances at each other while bantering with the rest of the team. Laughter, hers, and amusement, his, at something Nick said…and her reaction. That laugh, the way it lights up her eyes…it does something to him…makes him feel alive… Then, hoping to get into the field with her tonight. Brass assigning them to a DB across town and riding together in his Tahoe. Satisfaction and anticipation, or anxiety?
Long auburn hair sweeping against his arm as he studied a body at a crime scene. Sharp brown eyes focusing on his, conveying…longing? No, not possible…too young, too beautiful… interest, in his knowledge. Yes, that's it. He can teach her and she's waiting for tonight's lesson. Hands briefly touching as a bindle is passed, sparks flying from his skin. Wonderment, denial, fear.
Shots fired, diving to cover her, protect her from the suspect who has returned to the scene while they were processing. Where the hell is that officer, anyway? Scrambling for his gun, pointing it above the suspect's head, pulling the trigger to scare him off. Relief when he runs for it, the officer knocking him down in the yard and cuffing him. Holding her as she shakes, breathing in the scent of her hair, her soap, her. Dreading letting her go, loss as she backs away.
Nick lying in a Plexiglas coffin, covered with ants, screaming. "Get me out of here!" Pulling him from the dirt, flinging him onto the ground. Turning him over…wait…he's…she's…no, no, no!
Grissom startled awake, the last episode still fresh in his mind. He tried to shake the vision of Colleen's filthy, pale, and lifeless body from his mind, but to no avail. Rattled, he shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee and call the lab, hoping there was some new information on CSI Nichols' case. When no one answered their cells, the entomologist turned on his television, giving the dust collecting device some rare use. From the kitchen, he heard a report that made his blood pressure spike and his headache return.
"And a gruesome story from Rockville, Maryland, that may strike a cord with some of our viewers. 32 year-old Colleen Nichols, a crime scene analyst for the local police department there, is believed to have been abducted from a mall parking lot sometime yesterday morning after finishing her holiday shopping. CSI Nichols, then Patterson, worked for the Las Vegas Crime Lab nearly eight years ago. It is currently unknown if this attack was random or related to her work. You may remember the abduction of CSI Nick Stokes, who was kidnapped from a crime scene in Vegas last spring and buried alive. He was rescued; let's hope the same fate is in store for the latest victim. Chuck, back to you."
Grissom snapped the television off in a fury, disliking the media and the heartless way they reported the news. He hoped that the media back east was using a much gentler approach in its reporting of the story, sparing Colleen's family any more anguish than they had already suffered.
Meanwhile, at the MCPD in Rockville, MD:
"Detective Watts, this just arrived for you." The attractive secretary deposited the white envelope, messily addressed, into the investigator's hand and retreated to her desk. Watts studied it briefly, taking note of the lack of return address and the postal mark from the day before at a town across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Suspicious of the delivery, he removed a pair of latex gloves from his desk drawer and snapped them onto his hands. Using a letter opener, he slit the top of the envelope open and gingerly removed the note.
The cut and paste letters immediately caught the detective's attention. He grabbed a plastic evidence bag lying nearby and slipped the letter and envelope inside, preventing any further contamination. Then, he called Joe Franklin, Colleen Nichols' supervisor, and his partner to the third floor conference room. She will feel my pain, it read. There were no other words or a signature, but a picture of Colleen, in what he assumed was the trunk of her car, was taped to the page. Based on the photo, she had been knocked out, tied up, and gagged. She will feel my pain. Holy hell…
