Chapter Twelve – Bravery

"It's not Carl Davis?" Nick grabbed the piece of paper, looking over it himself. "But you did get a match."

"Sorry, I know how much you guys wanted to nail this one, but none of the prints I pulled from the book or the remaining sticks match Carl Davis. Instead I got a match to a Peter Copeland." Mandy still had a backlog of prints to work through from the previous shift, but she knew how important this one was to the graveyard shift. "If it helps, he's got priors for arson. His rap sheet is as long as your arm. I already sent this over to Brass. No way to get in contact with him directly, but he did find a recent parole office that he has to see daily."

"Thanks. Grissom won't be pleased, but it's better than nothin'." He gave her a slight smile, feeling his phone vibrating against his hip. He quickly jumped to answer it, hesitating as he saw 'mother in law' flashing across his screen again. "Hey Mandy, have you seen Greg today? He's supposed to be helpin' Sara out with the backlog from our cases, but no one has seen him in hours."

"Sorry," Mandy shook her head. "Ecklie's on the war path looking for Floyd too. He's called Wendy back in from the field to pick up the slack."

"Alright, thanks. Let me know if you see him." Stepping out into the hallway, Nick felt nerves bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He checked his phone for any messages once again, giving Greg's number another dial, but it still went straight through to his voicemail. "C'mon Greg, answer your phone." He glanced up just in time to see Grissom returning from the station. "Hey Gris, have you seen Greg recently?"

"No," The man checked the time on his watch. "Are you free? I need someone to come with me to our new suspect's house."

"The Peter Copeland guy?"

"Yeah, Brass just texted me an address he got from his parole officer." Grissom reread the text. "I just need to restock my kit. I'll meet you at my car in five minutes?"

"Sure." Nick turned on his heels, flagging down Sara as she left the break room with a coffee in her hands. "Hey Sara, have you seen Greg recently?"

"No sorry, he hasn't come back yet." Sara shoved the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth. She covered her mouth as she chewed, remembering, "He had some evidence to drop off with Hodges earlier. He was supposed to come back to help me process the rest after, but I haven't seen him in over an hour or so now. Are you okay?"

"I'm sure it's nothin'." Nick anxiously bit his lower lip. "Can you call me if you see him? Or get him to call me." He tapped his cell on his hip. "I just have a bad feelin'. He never turns his phone off, especially at work."

"Don't worry." Sara gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm on break now. I'll see if I can find him."

"Thanks." He reluctantly turned on his heels, heading down to the parking lot to find Grissom's car. He searched the entire lab floors reserved spots, before he made his way outside, finding his supervisor overlooking a flashing red and blue cruiser outside their own building. "Gris, what's goin' on?" He joined his side as a deputy sealed off the area with some bright yellow police tape.

"I just got here." Grissom ditched his kit in the back of his car, making his way over to the scene. He couldn't see a whole lot from the other side of the tape, but he could see Detective Vartann and CSI Burges from swing shift attending the scene. "Burges," He flagged her down. "What's going on here?"

"Hi Grissom," Burges tucked her long brunette hair behind her ears as she joined him. "The mortuary guys received a delivery of a fresh stiff from the hospital earlier."

"So, what's unusual about that?" Nick furrowed his brow.

"Stokes." She gave the man a nod. "The victim is Samantha James but the paper work accompanying her was for a Jane Doe they suspected was an overdose."

"Wait a moment, our Samantha James?" Grissom recalled the name. "Our burn victim from one of our arson cases? Her wounds weren't fatal. She was being released from the hospital later this afternoon."

"Exactly," Detective Vartann joined them. "Less than an hour ago, she was tucked up in her bed in the hospital, recovering from her minor burns to her arm and wrist. A nurse reported her missing then she showed up here dead on a slab. Her injuries weren't fatal enough to kill her."

"But it's definitely her?"

"She's still wearing her hospital band." Burges showed him the photos on her camera. "We don't have a cause of death yet, but Doc Robbins can confirm that it wasn't natural causes."

Grissom scratched his chin, wondering if their suspect Carl Davis sought her out to finish the job that he started with her house. He still wasn't convinced that they were looking for someone else, but he had to follow where the evidence led him. "Alright then, who took the delivery?" He gave her a curious look.

"David." Vartann motioned over to him. "He's just giving his description of the guy to one of my deputies. He said he didn't recognise the delivery guy, but he had the van and all the paperwork. We're thinking maybe the hospital just got their paperwork mixed up."

"You know there's a security camera." Nick pointed up.

Vartann and Burges looked at each other, realising they had overlooked that one.

"Thanks, Stokes." Burges pushed him away from the tape. "Now if you don't mind, this is my crime scene. Last I heard, you guys still have five arson cases to solve." She rubbed salt in the wound.

"Alright, you give me a call if you need any more help." He mimicked a phone to his ear.

"Get a room you two." Vartann whistled. "I'm gonna find where the feed goes."

"Already done," Ecklie stepped out of the double doors. "Gil, good you're here." He motioned for him to follow him. "We have a problem. You might want to look at this."

Grissom sighed softly, digging out his car keys from his pocket. He handed them over to Nick, sensing this might take a while. "Go ahead without me. I'll meet you there."

"Hey, the address." Nick reminded him. He caught onto the look Ecklie was giving him, feeling his nerves spiking. He hated this feeling. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end and a cold chill running down his spine as though a ghost had just walked through him.

Grissom forwarded the address to his phone, before he followed Ecklie inside. He cautiously followed the man's footsteps towards the security office, giving the man a curious look as he stepped inside. "What's this about, Conrad? I've got a crime scene waiting for me."

"Watch the screen, Gil." Ecklie patted the officer on the shoulder. "Alright, play it."

"Yes, sir." Deputy Metcalfe ran the tape back a little, before he put it on the big screen for Grissom to see. He anxiously bit his lower lip as the tape played out, revealing Floyd stepping outside to take a smoke. David joined him for a second. The tape didn't have audio, but they could tell they were talking. He hit fast forward, revealing Greg stepping outside into the dark.

Grissom stepped closer to watch the exchange, feeling his chest hitching as someone just out of frame swung a heavy object at Greg. He saw the gun and the fear in Floyd's eyes, before the two of them moved out of frame. He focused on Greg's lifeless body being dragged away; suddenly wishing he had been nicer to him today.

"Gil," Ecklie stepped closer to the man. "We're going to do everything we can to find them. I'll call in my guys early. Get them on this right away."

Grissom only managed a slight nod, retrieving his cell from his pocket to give Sara a call. He wasn't sure if he should stop Nick first. If the situation was reversed and Sara was the one out there, he would want to know, but he wasn't exactly a hot headed Texan with a history of flying off the rails.

"Ouch…" Finding himself on the cold hard floor of what he assumed was a garage, Greg reached a hand towards his head, realising his wrists had been bound with several layers of duct tape. It pulled at the hairs on his arms as he tried to move. He couldn't even move his legs to get up. The tape had been triple wrapped around the ankles of his jeans and he was missing his shoes.

"Greg?" A scared voice called out of the darkness. "Greg, are you awake?"

"Y-yeah," Greg brushed his fingertips through the blood running down the side of his head, before he searched the darkness for the terrified lab technician. "I'm awake. I feel like I've got a six week hangover though." He groaned. "Floyd… are you okay?"

"No." Floyd tugged at the restraints to his wrists. "I thought you were never going to wake up. I couldn't even hear you breathing. He hit you hard. He like properly brained you."

"Yeah… I can feel it." Greg's skull felt like it was rattling around inside a dryer. His vision was a little blurry, but they were definitely in a pitch black garage. "What um… what happened?" He could almost see the shape of Floyd across the room. His lab coat was concealing the chair he was sitting on, but he could see the thick clumps of tape keeping both his ankles restrained against the chair.

"Well, this guy kinda knocked you out and kidnapped us." Floyd started his familiar nervous habit of rambling. "It was a black mortuary van. I didn't get the licence plate, but I'm pretty sure he drove past the cameras out the back of the ME and he took a right, so he definitely drove in front of the station. He also shoved a gun in my face. It looked like a glock. I'm not really up to speed on guns, but it was like a smaller version of what Brass carries."

"You got all that…?"

Floyd anxiously nodded his head, looking around the room again. "Doctor Grissom is always saying to pay attention to even the smallest details. We drove for about ten maybe fifteen minutes, before he pulled up in here. He dragged you out, forced me out at gun point then took off in the van. I think he padlocked the garage door. The door upstairs is like triple locked too. I didn't see much of the neighbourhood when he opened the door to leave, but it looked kinda suburban."

Greg struggled to prop himself up onto his elbows with his wrists bound tightly together, feeling a little nauseous. He could feel the stickiness of the dried blood running down the side of his head. He could almost taste it's familiar coppery scent in the back of his throat. He shook off the feeling of being back in that alley, trying to focus on the here and now.

"Floyd… did he take your phone?"

"Yeah, he took them with him. I didn't even call my Mom today. She's gonna be so pissed. Oh, he got your ID too. Seemed really interested in the fact you're a CSI."

"If he's our arsonist, he's probably gunning for Grissom." Greg closely examined the tape to his wrists, before he attempted to pull it apart with his teeth. The adhesive tasted horrible and it made his lips dry, but he wasn't about to let someone else make a victim out of him.

"He didn't strike me as the arsonist type. Unless arsonists use metal baseball bats and guns," Floyd rolled his head back to try and get a look at the window, but he couldn't see anything other than the glare of the street light outside. "Ugh, Mr Ecklie is going to be so mad at me right now. I still had a bunch of stuff from his crime scene to go through."

"Don't worry about it." Greg took a moment to breath. He needed to keep his heart rate down to keep himself from panicking. The last thing he needed right now was a panic attack. "So Floyd, what do we know about this guy?"

Like a typical teen, Floyd shrugged his shoulders together, answering, "I don't know."

"Not helpful, Floyd." He hissed back at him. "C'mon, you must have seen something. You just said that Grissom told you to pay attention to the smallest details. Anything you can remember about him will help us figure out who he is and what he wants from us."

"We're tied up in a cold basement. I'm pretty sure he wants to kill us."

"You don't know that." Greg winced as he pulled out another section of his arm hair, just trying to get his wrist free. "Do you remember what he looked like? What colour were his eyes?"

"It was dark." Floyd tried to think. "His eyes were dark. Maybe brown. They looked kinda blood shot."

"See, that's a start." Greg encouraged him, trying to keep both of them level headed and calm so they could make it out of this situation alive. "What else? Hairstyle or hair colour."

"I don't really know styles. He was wearing a hat."

"Alright, what kind of hat was it?"

"Like a cap, I guess." Closing his eyes, Floyd tried to think back. "It was a baseball cap. It was dark. It was pulled low over his forehead. It had some letters on it. I can't remember what."

"Anything else you can remember about him?"

"I don't know." He choked up a little. "What does it matter anyway? We're still trapped down here. Knowing the colour of his hat is hardly going to help us right now."

"It matters." Greg remained calm. "How tall was he?"

"Tall." Floyd rolled his head back. "Like Mr Brown's height."

"Warrick?" Greg had to double check. "What about his build?" He kept the younger man's mind focused, while he continued to struggle with the tape around his wrists. It felt like it was giving way at one point, but his wrists were still firmly locked together. "Floyd, are you still with me?"

"Yeah… I guess he was kinda toned. Almost like Mr Stokes, not as stocky though."

"What? Nick is not stocky." He immediately protested.

"He kind of is. He's shorter than most guys and he's really broad, especially across his shoulders and chest."

"He's only a couple of inches shorter than me. And he is in no way stocky." He defended his fiancé, hoping to see him again soon. He didn't know exactly what time it was now, but it had been well over twenty four hours since he last laid eyes on the man. He couldn't help but worry that it was already too late.

Floyd suddenly let out a soft chuckle. "You mean you actually measured?"

"Not what I meant." Greg hissed back at him. "Ugh, c'mon." He desperately tried to pull his wrists apart. "Did he say anything to you?"

"Nick?"

"No, our kidnapper guy. Did he say anything?"

"Not to me specifically. Apart from the threat of get in the van or I shoot you. I heard him rambling while he was driving us here. From what I understood, he's trying to prove himself to someone. He said something about earning his stripes or marks. Sounded kinda gang related, but he didn't have any tats or anything that I could see. He wasn't all that clear either." Floyd paused for a moment of thought, remembering one thing he said that stood out. "He really doesn't like whoever he was talking about and he's planning on upping the ante by including a couple of CSIs in his plan."

"It won't come to that." Greg tried to assure him, barely making a mark in the thick tape. "Is this his house then?"

"I don't know. I tried screaming for help earlier, but there doesn't seem to be anyone home. He had keys to the garage and the door up there, so at a guess I would say yes. He knew exactly where the tape was too, so he's certainly familiar with the place. It's like my Mom's garage in here. Nothing but boxes full of old kids toys, clothes and a couple of photo albums."

"Maybe he lives with his Mom or he has keys to his Mom's place. It's not that unusual." Finally pushing himself into a sitting position, Greg reached for the tape around his ankles, trying anything to get himself free. He knew they probably didn't have a lot of time left before their kidnapper returned to carry out whatever plan he had for them. "You know, you never did tell me where you were from." He realised, barely able to see the younger man in the dimly lit room.

"All over really." Floyd uncomfortably adjusted himself in his seat, letting out a cough.

"So, tell me about it." Greg tried to keep him talking.

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't be asking if I didn't."

"Okay… I'm a military brat." He blurted it right out. "We travelled all over ever since I was born. It wasn't until I left for college that I really stayed in one place of my choosing."

"You're an army brat? Wow," Greg didn't see that at all in him. "Which parent?"

"My Dad." He missed his father more than ever right now. "I have five older brothers, so it wasn't all bad. We shuffled between schools all the time, but we always had each other. Every two or three years it was a different house, new school and a new base for my Dad. Technically, I was born in Korea. My folks were there for a year or so, before we were shipped to Phoenix. Oklahoma was my favourite. My Dad took time to teach us fishing. I didn't like the fishing so much, more the time with him and my brothers."

"Yeah, my Dad is really into fishing too. Weekends with him involved freezing to death on his boat out in the middle of nowhere, but I wouldn't trade the time I had with him for anything in the world. Yes!" Greg managed to get the first strip free of tape free, quickly unravelling it from around his ankles so he could get up. "Ow… at least I can finally feel my toes." He flexed out his toes, feeling the blood trickling back into his feet once his circulation returned.

"You got it off? Cool, come over here before he comes back."

The two of them froze as they heard the sound of a car door opening.

"What was that? Did you hear that?" Floyd struggled in his chair, fearing he was back already. "Greg…"

"It's okay." Greg clambered to his feet, moving towards the small window in the corner that was giving them the smallest amount of light from the street lamp outside. With his wrists still bound, he clumsily clambered on top of the small radiator to take a look, seeing a car across the street. "It looks like a neighbour leaving."

He would have called for help, but the engine started too quickly and they were practically underground.

"It's not him? You're sure."

"Pretty sure." Greg tried to push the window open, but it had been nailed right into the frame. He tried to get a look at where they were, but he could only really see the driveway and the garage door of the neighbour who just left.

"Hey Greg, if we die down here…"

"We're not going to die down here." Jumping down, Greg quickly made his way over to the other man, dropping to his knees beside him. He pulled at the tape binding Floyd's wrists, finding it a whole lot easier than trying to free his own wrists. "We're going to get free and find a way out of here. We'll be long gone before he even gets back and we're going to lead a team of heavily armed deputies right to his front door to put him into cuffs." He assured the man, pulling one of his wrists free. "See, piece of cake."

"If we die," Floyd continued, "I just want you to know that I get it. You and Nick fit."

"Thanks, but we're still not going to die." Greg moved to free his ankles, before he tried his other wrist. "We are going to get out of here." He assured him, freeing his wrist in record time. "See easy as that… wait," He stopped him from getting up, seeing the red stain running down the side of his lab coat. He looked into the younger man's eyes, before he peeled back his coat to see a large red smear to his navy blue work shirt. "Floyd." He tugged the shirt up, getting a slight look at the wound, before more blood poured out of it.

Greg quickly dropped his shirt back into place, applying pressure to the wound. He could already feel it seeping through his fingers though.

"Like I said," Floyd stayed put in the chair. "If we die down here, I want you to know that I really care about you and I wish you the best of luck with Nick. He seems… like a really good guy."

"You're really not going to die." Greg kept pressure on his side. "What is this a gunshot wound?"

"Stab." Floyd shook his head. "I rushed him when he opened the van. Dumb plan, I know. It kinda looked like a scalpel, but I can't be sure. He stuck it in me so fast; I didn't even feel it until he pulled it out. The good news though, he's gonna have to change his clothes now. My blood was all over him when he tore out of here."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I think we have bigger problems." Floyd motioned to the room they were still trapped in. "If he is our arsonist, he plans on burning us alive anyway, so what does a minor stab wound matter?"

"It's hardly minor. I thought you were talking too much. I'm no stranger to over talking, but I've never known someone who over talks to conceal pain." Greg searched around for something to soak up the blood, seeing a dryer filled with towels across the room. "Okay, hold this. Tight." He positioned Floyd's hands over his wound, making sure he had it, before he hurried across the room to grab a few towels.

"Greg, just leave me. You still have a chance to get of here."

"Don't be stupid, I'm not leaving you. Move your hand." He quickly plugged the wound with one of the towels, realising how pale he looked up close. He was always pretty pale in complexion, but now Greg could see the details of the spidery veins covering his face now. "Tell me more about your family. What do your brothers do?"

"Seriously, you want to talk about this now?"

"Why not? You said you have five, right?" Greg tried to keep him distracted. "Are any of them in law enforcement?"

"One." Floyd nodded his head slightly. "Drug enforcement. Ow, what are you doing?"

"Sorry, I have to make it tight."

Floyd struggled not to smile, looking away as Greg made it even tighter. "You seem to know what you're doing. Ever done this before?"

"Nope, applying pressure and plugging the wound are the limitations of my skill set. Nick took a first aid course, but all I know is we have to keep the red stuff inside or you go buh bye."

"Okay." Floyd tried to hide his fear. "So, how are we going to get out of here then?"

"I'm working on it." Greg used the remaining sections of tape to help seal the towel into place. He lifted Floyd's hand again, pressing it against the wound. "Hold that there while I look around. Hey stay with me. We're getting out of this, I promise."

Floyd sucked in a sharp breath, giving him a slight smile. "Grissom says to never make promises you can't keep."

"I didn't." He gave him a smile as he pushed himself to his feet. He hurried up the stairs to check the door to the house first, but it was definitely locked from the other side. He had the same problem with the garage door and the window still wouldn't budge.

"You're looking a little worried there, Greg." Floyd kept a watchful eye over him.

"Hey bright side, you finally stopped calling me Mr Sanders." Greg lightened the mood with a smile. He turned for the shelving unit covered with boxes, frantically searching through them for something he could use. "Yes!" He stumbled upon a box with a few old tools inside. They were a little rusty, but all he needed was something to remove the nails or maybe even break through the glass.

"You found something?"

"Yep, see." Greg seized hold of the flat head screwdriver. He would have preferred a hammer, but the box was pretty limited. It was either a screwdriver, a roll of duct tape or a flimsy plastic ruler. He rushed over to the window with it, stepping onto the radiator again before he attempted to smash his way through.

It took him three or four attempts, before the spike finally went through the window, along with his hand into the broken shards of glass.

"You got it?" Floyd tilted his head back to try and see.

"Ah," Greg pulled his hand back in, clenching his teeth into his bottom lip as he pulled the piece of glass out of his hand. He shook it off, figuring escaping was the priority right now. "I got it." He turned the screwdriver around, using the handle to knock away the rest of the glass to make it easier to climb through, before he jumped down to help Floyd. "Okay c'mon, we've gotta move."

"I can't." Floyd shook his head. "I'll slow you down."

"There is no way I'm leaving without you and if we stay here we're going to die. C'mon, a few seconds of agony is worth any kind of freedom." Greg assisted him to his feet, sliding his arm around him to support his weight. He knew that moving him right now was probably a bad idea, but he didn't exactly favour the alternative.

"LVPD open up." Captain Brass gave the door another knock. He still couldn't hear anything going on inside, so he stepped aside to let his deputies in first. He gave them a moment to clear the first room, before he followed them inside, taking a quick look around. "Alright Stokes," He ushered the other man through. "It's clear."

"No one home?" Nick set his kit down on the floor, gloving up before he started to look around.

"It certainly looks like we got the right place," Brass motioned to the arsonist tool kit dumped behind the sofa. "Let's hope he was dumb enough to leave us a map with his targets on it. Or maybe even the personal effects of his victims?" With a gloved hand, he lifted the driver's licence of Samantha James from the shelf, showing it to Nick behind him. "Look familiar."

"The woman who showed up at the coroner's office earlier?"

"Yep," Brass lowered it back to the shelf. "We've also got a John Denton, Rebecca Fielder, Lucas Jones… and Paul White."

"That makes all five of our arson crime scenes." Nick snapped a picture of them. "Looks like Grissom got this one wrong."

"I'll let you break the news to him on that one." Brass grabbed one of the unopened letters from the large stack of mail on the side, smirking as he flipped through them. "Mr Peter Copeland. There's dozens of final demand letters here, looks like he was in way over his head on bills."

Nick found another stack on the coffee table. "Yep… more over here. Bank account is in the red zone." He skimmed through the opened letter.

"There's a shirt covered in blood in the bath tub." One of the deputies reported, holstering his weapon. "Along with a fresh bloody hand print on the door frame."

"Thanks." Leaving Brass to poke through the junk on the coffee table, Nick made his way through to the bedroom, hearing the guys whispering behind him. He raised his camera to take a picture of the bloody hand print, pausing as he heard his fiancé's name mentioned. He kept his camera raised as he took a step backwards, listening a little closer.

Grissom didn't tell him anything before he left the lab, but he was starting to get a clearer picture of what was going on. He felt a little dizzy, feeling his breath beginning to wheeze through his throat. He couldn't afford to have a panic attack right now. If this was as serious as thought it was, he needed to father all the evidence he could to find Greg.

Nick steadied his breathing, lifting the bloody shirt from the bath tub. He heard something hit the tub once it was out the way, losing any sense of calm he had at the sight of the ID for Greg Sanders Crime Scene Investigator staring him right the face.

"Nick?" Brass watched the man tearing his gloves off, racing for the front door. "Nick, what is it?" He chased him down the driveway, catching him before he climbed into Grissom's car. "Nick, you can't just walk out of a crime scene like that. C'mon Nicky, where are you going?"

"When exactly were you goin' to tell me?" Nick shoved the ID in his face.

Brass took hold of it, getting a closer look at the picture. He felt the blood draining from his face as he lifted his gaze to meet Nick's, realising why he was so upset. "I didn't know. I knew he was missing, but I didn't know about this."

"He has Greg." Nick climbed behind the wheel of the car. "I need to find him."

"Nicky," Brass snatched the keys from him before he could start the engine, backing away from the car. "Just think about this for a moment. This isn't the way to do this. If he has Greg, everything we need to find him is in that house." He pointed back to the abandoned crime scene.

"Give me the keys." Nick insisted, charging after him. "Give them to me!"

"Captain." A deputy cautiously approached them.

"It's alright." Brass tried to defuse the situation. "Nicky, I know you want to find him. Grissom and Burges are already chasing a lead on the van he was taken in. He's not alone either, he's with Floyd. I didn't know that this guy was involved, but if he is, everything that we need to find Greg and Floyd is right back there in that house. You're not going to help anyone by charging off like this."

His emotions bubbling inside him, Nick only managed a slight nod, putting his back to Grissom's car.

"Alright," Brass stuffed the keys into his pocket for safe keeping, hearing his cell ringing. He stayed positioned in front of Nick while he answered it, still a little weary of leaving him on his own. "Brass… yeah?" He pulled his notebook out of his pocket, searching for a pen to write with. "Alright… thanks."

"What is it?" Nick gave him a confused look.

"One of my deputies was just called out to a B and E reported by a neighbour. No one home but the house is registered to Margaret Copeland. Our suspect's mother." He showed him the address. "And get this, she died last week."

"When the fires started?"

"Exactly. Her death could have triggered all this. Warrick and Catherine have been sent to the scene. Are you alright to finish up here?"

As much as he wanted to be out there looking for Greg, he knew that this was the best place for him right now. He reluctantly made his way back inside, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves to get to work. He didn't know what he would do if something happened to Greg.

He was his entire world.

"Thank you so much for stopping. You have no idea how grateful we are." Leaning across the lab tech beside him, Greg quickly buckled him into the back seat of the stranger's car, before he did the same for himself. "The nearest hospital will be fine." He anxiously looked around out the windows, making sure they weren't being followed. He tried a few of the neighbours houses to get some help, but they were either too scared to answer the door or fast asleep in their beds. He spotted the van Floyd described before he could yell for help, so they ran for the nearest road to try and flag down a car.

Nearly twenty cars passed them, before a kind stranger, Bruce Whittaker pulled up, asking if they needed some help.

"He's not looking too good. Is he going to be alright?" The man in his late sixties adjusted his rear view mirror, watching the wispy breaths escaping the other man's lips.

"I hope so." Greg made sure the towel was still in place over his stab wound. "Floyd, Floyd, hey… stay awake. C'mon, don't fall asleep on me now. You didn't finish telling me about your brother's new wife." He gently shook him to keep him awake. He sensed he was starting to lose too much blood. He was pale, shivering and clammy.

It wasn't looking good.

Greg touched his fingers to the younger man's neck, trying to feel a pulse. He could definitely feel one, but it wasn't very strong. "Hey Bruce, do you have a cell phone I could borrow?"

"Oh… yes, I do." Bruce stopped at the next set of lights, before he went rummaging through the glove compartment. He nabbed the phone from on top of the car manual, handing it through the seats to the younger man. "My daughter bought it for me for Christmas. She said it's so hard to get hold of me without one, but honestly, I've barely touched the thing since she gave it to me. I'm not sure how much juice it has left."

"Thank you." Greg seized hold of the relic, punching the number into the huge buttons covered with letters. He hadn't seen a phone like this in years, but at least it was working. "Floyd, we're almost there. Don't give up on me now." He raised the phone to his ear as he heard someone answer. "Hi, I'm bringing in a stab victim. He's early twenties. He's been stabbed on the right side…"

Bruce focused on the road while Greg spoke to the operator, worrying he wasn't going to get there in time. He had a grandson as young as Floyd.

"Emergency entrance," Greg nodded into the phone. "Okay, we're less than a minute away."

"That's round the east side, right?" Bruce saw the hospital just ahead of them. "Hold on, I know a short cut." He cut into the staff parking lot round the back of the building, skipping through the traffic piled up at the visitors entrance to get to the emergency entrance. He honked his horn once he was in position, watching a couple of nurses and a doctor running towards the car.

"This is Floyd?" The doctor opened the back of the car, nodding to Greg. "Nice to see you again, Sanders." She flashed him a slight smile, checking over the patient. "Alright, let's get him in. Do you know what he was stabbed with?"

"He thought he saw a scalpel sized blade, but he couldn't be sure." Greg clambered out of the car after him, helping them to lift him onto the gurney. "He was talking earlier but he's been kinda out of it since we got in the car."

"Alright, we've got it from here. You should get that checked out." She motioned to his head. "Let's get this one straight into surgery."

Greg gave out a small sigh of relief watching him going inside, feeling as though a ton of bricks had just been lifted from his shoulders.

"Is he going to be alright?" His rescuer appeared beside him.

"I hope so. He's in good hands. Working as a CSI, we kinda get to know the doctors around here. Skyler's a good one. Thank you so much, Bruce." He turned to thank him again. "You have no idea how much you saved us back there. And I'm sorry about the blood in your back seat."

"Don't worry about it. I used to be a taxi driver not too long ago. I had much worse in my back seat then." He cracked a smile, rejecting the younger man's hand shake. "You better get that seen to."

"Oh yeah," He pulled his bloody covered hand away. "I really have to call my boss." Greg touched his fingers to his head, starting to feel a killer headache coming on. "Thank you, Bruce. You're amazing. Like seriously… I'll name my first child after you."

"You really don't have to do that." Bruce lunged forward to catch the younger man, before he threw himself onto the concrete. "Watch your step there, son. Hey, can we get some help here please!"

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

~ Holly