Disclaimer: I don't and won't ever own CSI sob
A/N: What's going on? Two chapters in one day? Thanks for all the reviews and I'm sorry for being mean and hanging on and teasing you all. I promise to have a little less of them from now crosses fingers Anyway, here it is, a Nick filled chapter. Enjoy :)
Chapter 17: Death, Dreams and Fear
'Click.'
Time stood still. A small tear slid down the side of his face, leaving a clear trail down his bloodstained and blackened face. He waited for the sound of the trigger, the bullet to impale itself in his brain. Waited for the brief burning sensation. He knew what a bullet at close range could do to a person. Had seen it often enough in the cases he'd worked.
It wasn't the pending impact of the bullet that was worrying him though.
'What if it doesn't kill me though? What if I live through it and have to be cared for by someone for the rest of my life because I can't do anything for myself?'
This thought terrified him the most. Loss of life. Loss of dignity.
And this time, there was no-one to save him. No-one knew where he was.
'I don't even know where I am? No Grissom to save me like he did with Amy Hendlar.'
He knew he was lucky then. Lucky that Grissom managed to tie together what Mr Hendlar was telling him with everything else from the case, and went back into the house before Amy could shoot him.
'No Brass, rushing in at the last minute to apprehend the gun man like he did with Nigel.'
Another lucky break. If they'd have watched them tapes in order, he'd already by six foot under.
More emotion bubbled to the surface. He wasn't ready to die yet – he still had so many things to tell the people he loved. His friends. His family. Things that he thought he'd have a lifetime to tell them.
'Now I'm going to die alone in the middle of nowhere with a dripping pipe for company. If I'd have known I'd have died here I'd have put up more of a fight at the house. Could have stayed with 'Rick then. More chance of being found there.'
He couldn't think anymore. His head felt heavy. The last few days, his past, and even his future didn't matter no-more. This was it. Everything he'd ever done, ever worked for had lead up to this moment in time. Nothing past this would matter.
'I'll be dead. Everyone will grieve. Then they'll move on.'
His body was tense. Every muscle in his body felt as though it was frozen. He couldn't face opening his eyes as he didn't want to see the bullet before it hit him. The tear stain had dried, leaving an odd looking mark down one side of his face.
'This is it. The end.'
The bullet however, did not come. He opened his eyes to see Tyrone standing up, gun still held in his hand. Glancing down and back towards his arms, he could see that Tyrone had secured him to the pipes with some handcuffs.
'Handcuffs,' he thought to himself. Relief flooded through his body. 'It wasn't a gun. Just, handcuffs.'
He laughed inwardly as his body tried to calm down. He'd worked himself up.
'Handcuffs. How could I be so stupid? Doesn't matter. It's funny how stressful situations can cause the simplest things to be over-read. I'm alive. That's what matters. Alive.'
He didn't realise though that he'd laughed out loud at the idea that he was still alive. Not until he'd been backhanded across the face by Tyrone.
"Shut it."
The force of the impact caused him to bite his tongue and he could taste fresh blood in his mouth. He turned his head getting rid of it on the floor to his left. More blood rushed to fill the space that had been cleared.
"It's just a flesh wound Nicky boy," Tyrone said, not noticing him flinch.
No-one but those closest to him called him Nicky. Somehow it felt tainted now.
"I'm going to leave you here."
'Oh shit,' he said to himself. Fear etched in his face. Heart pounding. 'He's going to leave me here to starve instead. That's a lot worse."
He pulled at the restraints. Not that he was having much luck. Not only were his hands tied together with rope, but he was now handcuffed to a pipe.
Tyrone chuckled.
"Don't worry. I'll be coming back. I've got some business to take care of."
He walked towards the door they'd entered.
"Don't go far Nicky." He paused. "O, and no parties either." His laughs echoed as he stepped outside, sealing the door behind him.
"So, just me, myself and I," Nick said out loud. He could hear the dripping pipe clearer now. "Okay. That's going to get irritating." He began to pull on the bindings. They dug into his wrist.
'If I can just get the cuffs off,' he thought, tugging harder.
He heard the pipes creek at each tug. Could feel them moving with each consecutive pull. He kept on pulling until he felt his body jerk forward as one pipe came away from the other. Unfortunately, he was still attached to the lower half of the pipe and instead had only succeeded in creating a new leak. Right on top of his head.
"Great," he mumbled sarcastically. "Looks like I'm stuck here for a while."
"Did you get me the stuff?" Tyrone asked.
"Yeah. It's over there in the bag," the male voice replied. "Now where's the payment?"
Tyrone grinned.
"Right here." He whipped out the gun, shooting the man in the head. His body fell to the floor with a thud. He picked up the bag and took a look at the deceased man.
"Hope that's payment enough."
Nick tried his best to get comfortable, but, given his current predicament was finding it difficult. His head was lent on the pipes at an odd angle in an attempt to stay out of the dripping water. The rhythmical dripping of the water was making his already tired body weary.
'Drip, drip.'
His eyes fluttered, closing gently. He tried to fight it but he couldn't. The lack of sleep was finally catching up with him.
Tyrone had one final phone call to make.
'Jason should be at the police station by now and that CSI should be dead.'
He dialled the number that he'd committed to his head. The phone rang, and clicked as it was picked up.
"Grissom."
Tyrone smiled.
"Hello again Grissom. I hope you are well."
"I'm fine thank-you." Grissom kept his answers short and curt. He didn't want to speak with Tyrone. He'd been playing a game all along.
Tyrone chuckled.
"Did you like my special delivery?" he asked Grissom. "Jason Green. Stupid bastard. He was putty in my hands. Didn't realise I was manipulating him."
"I know," Grissom said calmly. "You wanted him to tell us where you'd left my CSI, but he didn't. Wouldn't say a thing. We worked that part out ourselves."
Tyrone cursed under his breath. It hadn't gone quite the way he'd wanted it too.
"Was he dead?"
Grissom thought about it. Obviously he wanted him to be found dead.
'Part of his plan maybe? Would make sense.'
"Yes. He was." It was important that Grissom played him at his own game if they were to find Nick.
"Good. Good. Now listen. If you want your other CSI back alive, you'll do as I say. If you don't. Well, he's dead. In two days, I want you to bring Marty to me, ready to be released. I want no-one to follow. You'll get your CSI back, I'll be on my way to freedom. You don't, I'll shoot him. Understand?"
"Yes. Where's the meeting point?"
"You'll find the address in the case files. One girl didn't die and was found alive. I'll be at that location at six tomorrow evening."
He hung up, leaving Grissom with the tone at the other end of the phone.
Time seemed to roll into one for Nicholas Stokes. It was as though his life was a re-run on the television. Childhood memories mixing with the most recent, the images flashing in his mind. Except it was the recent ones that disturbed him most.
Amy Hendlar, Nigel Crane, Tyrone Bale. All coming at him with a gun. Mocking him. The bodies of his friends sprawled out in front of him. Tortured in different ways. Each one shot before his eyes. Now it was his turn. He felt weak. A gibbering wreck. Each one circling him, taunting him.
"Big boys don't cry."
"Look at him. He's weak."
"Lets break him some more."
Nick's body writhed.
He was pleading with them.
"I can help. I'm a good listener."
"Which one of us should kill him," came one voice.
"Russian roulette," a male voice sneered.
Each one took it in turns, gun aimed at him.
'Click. Click. Click.'
Each click brought one bullet closer.
'Click. Click.'
"Please," begged Nick.
'Click. Click.'
'Bang.'
Nick jumped. The bang had woken him up. It was a dream but had felt so real. It wasn't a gun going off but the door to the building opening, a figure entering it.
'Tyrone.'
"Hey Nick. Have fun?" he asked, noticing the leaky pipe.
"Not really," Nick replied. He'd grown fed up of the games now. Constantly being talk too as though he were a child.
Anger crossed Tyrone's face. "I told you not to try anything. You tried to escape. You need to be punished."
He pulled a knife from the band of his trousers. He slowly approached Nick, the knife in his hand. Nick flinched.
"You know. I fancy trying some art." He ripped the bottom of Nick's shirt, revealing his stomach area. He could see the bruising where he'd kicked him previously. He rubbed the cold blade of the knife along one edge of the bruise, causing Nick to hiss.
"Oh, don't worry. It won't hurt much. Besides, I need you alive. For the moment."
He dug the tip of the knife into Nick's skin, deep enough to cause it to bleed. Nick's breathing increased as he tried to fight the pain, causing the knife to dig deeper into the skin. Tyrone lifted the knife. Blood dripped down the hilt. He pointed the knife straight at Nick's heart, pausing. He made a large jabbing movement, straight at it. But he stopped short. Just. He smiled slyly.
"It's not going to end like this Nicky so don't worry. I've got one last surprise for your friends. This case is going to end with a bang."
Hope you enjoyed. Until next time...
