I wrote this chapter in a jiffy- cause I didn't want to break my 'update every week' rule.

Chapter 7

Greg winced in pain as he tried to get up to no avail, with the morphine gone, sitting up was definitely not an option. He shifted to his side, suddenly aware of the other person in the room. "Who are you?"

"Don't you recognize me?" The grimace on Greg's face grew into anger when he realized who it was. How could he not? The bastard darn near killed him. Reaching for the call button he gritted his teeth.

"You wouldn't want to do that." Charlie spoke, his eyes flickering with delight, pointing a gun at the CSI. "Isn't it nice to put a face to the voice?"

Defeated, the CSI let go of the call button.

"Scared are we?" Charlie spoke, noticing the CSI's flushed face.

Greg huffed. "You would be too, if I was pointing a gun at your face."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong. You have something to live for. I don't." Charlie replied. Tall, well-built, and most likely in his early 40's, the man was not the old, raving mad man that Greg had imagined.

"Oh that's right. I forgot. You're a lunatic. What exactly are you getting out of all of this?"

The man didn't even blink. "Justice."

"Justice, eh?" Greg rolled his eyes, looking as if he were trying to get on the man's nerves. "It'll be justice alright. The way I see it, they're probably going to give you a life term in prison, without bail." He paused. "And that's only if they give you a plea bargain."

"Do you think I care?"

The CSI shrugged. "You do not know how many mad men suddenly turned normal after facing the possibility of a death penalty ruling from the jury."

"Ah. Death row," Charlie nodded. "Where people suddenly turn into a modern day version of Jesus Christ."

"Exactly." Greg snapped. He'd hoped that Charlie would find fear at the thought of ending his days on an electric chair, but the man had simply smiled at the thought.. Annoyed, Greg eyed the gun that was pointed at him and rolled his eyes. "If you're going to shoot me, shoot me. Otherwise, put the gun down. I'm not going to do anything and that barrel is scaring the hell out of me."

The gun was immediately put down. "You know. For someone whose life is in danger, you really should watch what you say."

The CSI's eyes widened at a sudden realization. Blinking in confusion, he eyed the man. "You're not crazy."

"I'm not what?"

Greg continued. "You put the gun down. That's compassion. Crazy people don't have that kind of compassion."

"Oh. And I suppose locking your friend on top of an elevator filled with explosives constitutes as compassion?"

"Why are you doing this?" Greg flushed, anger and hurt mixed with his words.

"Didn't I just tell you?" Charlie sighed, annoyed at having to repeat himself. "Justice."

"Justice? How can hurting an innocent person be justice?"

"Innocent?" A smirk appeared on the man's face. "Sara?"

The CSI gritted his teeth. "Sara would never do anything to deserve this."

"Before Sara left San Francisco, she was working in a case. Ask her what it was." The man paused. "And I'll be damned if she still doesn't know who I am."


Flashback:

"This is Sara Sidle. She's one of the best CSI's in San Francisco. She'll be working on your case."

The man stood up to acknowledge the brunette's presence. He offered his hand, and the CSI shook it, firmly. "I promise I'll find whoever did this."

Sadness in his eyes, the man pointed to the unconscious patient. "I suppose you need to do a rape kit."

Sara nodded.

"I'll be outside."


"Were you just planning on making me wait here until you die?" Grissom snapped, hurt evident in his voice. It was the first time he had spoken since he had read the note, which now lay crumpled in his fists, the possibility of him ripping it to shreds increasing by the minute.

Aggravated, the supervisor's fist met with the door, stirring the CSI who sat on the other side of it to reality. She blinked. "I don't exactly have an option here."

"What about the option of telling me so I could fix it?"

"And risk the lives of everyone else in a two mile radius?"

"If it'll save you," Grissom rationalized. "Then yes."

"You cannot possibly be thinking straight."