Author's Note: This chapter is a little slow, and confusing, and even though I haven't written much of the next chapter yet, every confusing question brought up in this chapter has an answer. Also, romance (the Sandle promised in the summary) will come, just hold on.

When Sara opened her eyes again, it was a stranger's face she saw.

"Who are you…?" she said.

"I'm a paramedic," the strange face replied. "Relax, you'll be OK."

He hoisted her bed up and rolled her into the ambulance. Behind the men in white, Sara could see Grissom talking with Brass and Warrick.

"Grissom…" she tried to call out, her voice dry and horse. He couldn't possibly have heard her, but as if on pure instinct his head turned to look at her at that moment. Seeing she was looking at him, he jogged over.

"Hey, Sara," he said, from the ambulance doors. "You're awake."

"I feel it won't be for long," she said. "What's going on?"

"You lost a lot of blood," Grissom said. "I'll talk to you later when you're more awake."

But she had more pressing matters to deal with. "Where's Greg?"

If Sara hadn't known Grissom so well, she would have said he looked completely calm and relaxed when he answered her. "He's somewhere."

"That's not an answer," Sara pointed out.

"I'll talk to you when you're awake," Grissom said, making as if to leave.

"Wait!" Sara called after him. "Please, stay? Greg left. Will you stay?"

He smiled at her warmly and reached in to take her hand. "You know I would if I could. But I have to find Greg."

Sara nodded. "See you when I wake up," she said, before tilting her head back and losing consciousness again.

Grissom watched the doors to the ambulance close as they drove off with sirens blaring. He turned back to Warrick and Brass.

"You're sure you didn't see anything?" he asked again.

Brass shrugged. "We were talking to the Carters next door. Said the Samsons were the perfect family. Idyllic in almost everyway."

"Not everyway," Grissom muttered.

"You think that guy who attacked Sara could have gotten Greg too?" Warrick asked.

"It's not impossible," Grissom replied. "It's not like Greg to just get up and leave a crime scene. He was pretty shaken up looking over the bodies of those kids though. Maybe he needed a moment?"

Nick rounded the corner of the house, his hands balled into fists as sweat rolled down his face. He saw Grissom and walked over to him.

"This is messed up," he said. "As soon as that guy jumped out of the basement he took off across the neighbors yard. I chased him for a good five minutes before he finally came back round to the house, jumped in a minivan and took off so fast he left tread marks. He led me on a damn wild goose chase."

"Did you check the tire tracks?" Grissom asked.

"Done and done," Nick replied. "What do you take me for, Grissom?"

He sounded defensive. Grissom sighed and took of his glass with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. "I have a feeling this is going to be one long night."

"I found Greg's cell phone in the backyard," Nick said, holding it up in an evidence bag. "Which means he must have dropped it. Or someone made him drop it."

Catherine came up next to them, hanging up her phone. "That was Ecklie," she said. "This case has just become top priority."

"Wasn't it already top priority?" Warrick asked, wearily.

"It's become top top priority," Catherine replied with a little bit of a bite. "I don't know. He wants us to finish up here fast and get back so we can find Greg and this killer as quick as possible."

"Listen," Grissom said, his eyes still closed and already exhausted at 12:00AM. "We're all upset, lets just get this done and over with before we start yelling at each other. Warrick, go take down that corpse in the basement, I think Sara was pretty much finished processing the scene but just make sure. Catherine, go finish up with the three kids. Nick, is there anything else you can do other than cataloguing the tracks?"

"With all due respect, Grissom," Nick said, "I'd rather just go back to the lab now and start processing what I've got. I don't think there's anything there."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, we don't want to miss anything here," Grissom answered.

"Fine," Nick said, gritting his teeth.

They all lingered for a moment. "Well," said Brass, looking at each of them in turn. "You heard the man. Scatter!"

With heavy feet, and even heavier hearts the CSIs walked in their respective directions, leaving Grissom and Brass alone.

"And what are you going to do?" Brass asked him.

Grissom's face remained inscrutable. "I think I'll go help Catherine out," he replied. "We'd only done the two boys before we heard Sara's gun go off."

"Good," said Brass. "I'll head to the hospital. I'll page you when she wakes up."

"Thanks," said Grissom gratefully, and he headed inside.

He saw Catherine zipping up an evidence bag and putting it back in her kit. She looked up at him upon his entrance and gave him a weak smile. "Hey," she said.

"You almost done in here?" Grissom asked.

"Uh…" Catherine said, scanning the scene. "Yeah, I think so." There was a beat. "Nick is pissed."

"I noticed," Grissom replied.

"We're all a little pissed," Catherine added.

"I noticed that too," Grissom said flatly.

"Except you," Catherine noted.

"I'm too tired to be pissed," Grissom said.

"Sara was attacked and Greg is missing, and you're too tired for emotions," Catherine said, closing her kit angrily. "How very like you."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor," Grissom said.

"I wasn't trying to be funny," Catherine replied.

When the front door started to open neither one thought much of it, expecting it to be Nick or Brass. Catherine looked up to greet a colleague and then stopped when she didn't recognize him.

"Sir," she said. "This is a crime scene, I'm afraid you can't come in here."

Grissom turned around and frowned at the confused looking man, who was carrying a brown bag of groceries.

"Crime scene?" he repeated, sounding baffled. "No, this is my house. Would you please leave?"

Catherine and Grissom exchanged looks. "Mr. Samson?" Catherine said.

"Yes," he replied. "Yes, I'm Matthew Samson. Who are you? Where's my family? Why is… Oh God." He seemed to have just noticed the gory scene, and Catherine wondered why he hadn't seen it right away. The blood was everywhere, and they still had yet to collect the bodies, which were sprawled out in a very gruesome way.

Mr. Samson clutched at the door frame to keep standing. He clutched at his stomach and ran outside where Grissom and Catherine heard him throw up.

"That wiry guy did all this?" she said to Grissom. "He doesn't look like he could stomach it."

"Literally," said Grissom, looking after him. "If Brass is still here, have him talk to Mr. Samson and figure out where he's been these past two hours. I'll take care of the children."

Nick folded his arms as he and Catherine watched Brass question Matthew Samson, who looked like he was scared out of his mind. His hair was disheveled and his glasses were askew. He fidgeted with his hands. At first glance, he didn't look like a man who could kill his own family, but Catherine and Nick had learned not to judge a book by its cover.

"I told you," Matthew was saying. "Abby wanted marshmallows, so I went to the store to get them. When I came back, you guys were there."

"We checked with the store," said Brass. "You arrived there at 10:30. Your family was murdered at 10:00."

"That's impossible," said Matthew. "I left the house at ten, they couldn't possibly—"

"It's a fifteen minute drive to the store," Brass said. "And at 10:00 at night, there should have been minimal traffic."

"Th-there was," Matthew stuttered. "My family was mutilated. I loved them. Oh God…" He began to sob uncontrollably.

Brass looked annoyed, but his voice was soothing. "I'm very sorry for your loss. But you're the only suspect in this case, and your alibi doesn't play out."

"I know…" the man sobbed. "I know. But I don't know how to make you understand. My kids were my world. To see them like that… I will never be the same again."

Nick leaned into Catherine. "When Sara wakes up, you think she could ID this guy as her attacker?"

"If he attacked her," Catherine said, shaking her head. "I don't know. This guy seems really out of it. He waved his right to a lawyer. And whoever jumped Sara was strong, strong enough to rip into her stomach like that, and this guy looks... Anyway, we have a dental impression, Warrick's comparing it to Sara's shoulder wound and the teeth marks on the kids. If it is him, we should know soon enough."

Nick's hands opened and closed into fists. "Jesus, Catherine, where the hell is Greg?"

Catherine remained silent and stoic as she watched Brass pace up and down. "Maybe this guy can tell us."

"And maybe he can't," Nick replied. "What if it isn't him?"

"He goes to the store for two hours?" Catherine asked. "At midnight? No. That doesn't make sense. And the way Katerina Samson was strung up like that, that wasn't a random act of violence."

"You sound conflicted," Nick pointed out.

"Aren't you?" Catherine replied, sounding baffled. "I mean, this whole thing is so twisted… He acts like he's not guilty despite all the evidence against him."

"I wanna go back out there," Nick said, impatiently. "Those tire tracks belonged to a Ford Windstar. I didn't catch the complete plate number when I was out there, but Archie is looking for partial matches. But even if it does belong to Samson, that doesn't mean the attacker didn't steal his car."

But Catherine frowned. "Wait a minute…" Catherine said. "The Samsons only have one car."

"Did we check what car it was Matthew Samson drove up in?" Nick asked.

"I don't think so," Catherine said. "Grissom and Warrick were collecting the bodies, I was talking to Brass and you were looking at the tread marks on the street."

"Tell Brass," said Nick. "I'm going back to the crime scene."

Before Nick left, Catherine couldn't resist calling after him. "So Grissom was right after all, about missing things?"

Nick's shoulders went rigid. "Anytime but now, Catherine. I'm not in the mood."

Sara woke up in the hospital room and saw Sofia sitting by her bed. She smiled at her.

"Good morning," said Sofia quietly.

"Have I been out that long?" Sara asked.

"Not that long," Sofia replied. "It's about two o'clock. Grissom sends his apologies. They're still looking for Greg."

Sara nodded. "So he is missing. I figured as much."

"Well," said Sofia, shifting in her chair. "I'm here, of course, to support you, but I also need to get your statement."

"Right," Sara said, shaking her head to clear it. "Yeah, sure, of course. Um… Greg and I went downstairs following the blood trail and found Mrs. Samson hanging from her wrists from the rafters, her head was on the floor. And… I forgot my kit, but Greg said he wanted to get it, so he left and I processed the scene. I was trying to figure out how to get her down when I heard someone else breathing somewhere in the room. So I drew my gun, told him to stop, but he didn't. I pulled the trigger right as he jumped me, he knocked my arm up, I hit the light bulb, and he just attacked me like an animal… Then, there was screaming, and someone fired another shot, I think Catherine said she did… and he ran. Nick went after him, and Grissom and Catherine were there… That's all I know."

"Hm…" Sofia said, looking at her notes. "So Greg went upstairs and that was the last you saw of him?"

"Yeah," said Sara. All of a sudden, she remembered something. "Oh! The door opened and closed twice, once when Greg was with me, and once when he was gone."

"So the perp was in the room with you when Greg was there?" Sofia mused.

Sara shrugged. "Maybe. It might have just closed on its own."

Sofia wrote it down and smiled at Sara. "Thanks," she said. "You look great."

"And here I always thought you were a crafty liar," Sara said with a smirk.

"Doctors say you can be out of here in no time," said Sofia. "You lost a lot of blood, but other than that you're fine."

"Can I help find Greg?" Sara asked.

Sofia bit her lip. "I think Grissom wants you to take a day or two off before coming back to work."

"Aw, screw Grissom," Sara said. "I'm ready to get back to work now."

"Doc said you can't put weight on your feet," Sofia warned. "You'll fall over. Or something."

Sara made a face at Sofia before swinging her legs over the bed. She regretted the action immediately afterwards, as twisting her torso tore at her stitches, sending a ripping pain throughout her stomach. She let out a gasp of surprise and Sofia stood up and forced her back into bed.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Sofia with a smile.

Sara groaned and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right," she said. "I only have myself to blame."

All of a sudden, a phone began to ring somewhere in the room. Sara and Sofia looked at each other.

"Is that your phone?" Sara asked.

Sofia reached into her pocket and took it out as she shook her head. She looked off into the corner of the room. "I think it's yours…" she said, striding over to Sara's clothes and purse on the table. She went and got Sara's purse and handed it to her. The phone continued to ring as Sara dug through her purse and found her phone. She didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Sara? Thank God."

Sara frowned as the breath caught in her chest. "Greg?"

Sofia's jaw dropped. She immediately started dialing something on her own cell phone and turned away from Sara.

"Yeah," came Greg's voice, sounding hurried. "Uh… Sorry to bother you, it's just yours was the only number I could remember. Listen, I have no idea why I'm here or where exactly 'here' is."

"Are you outside?" Sara asked, hearing cars in the background.

"Yeah," said Greg. "I'm using a pay phone, somewhere on the strip. Sara, weren't we processing a scene in suburbia? Why did I end up here?"

"Sara?" Sofia whispered, still on the phone. "Grissom's on his way."

Sara nodded at Sofia. "OK, Greg, listen, stay right where you are, we're going to come and get you. Do you know where on the strip you are?"

"Uh… somewhere… Oh. The Flamingo. Caesar's Palace."

Sara looked at Sofia. "Tell Grissom he's outside of the Flamingo."

Sofia nodded and did just that.

Nick pulled up to the outside of the house and recognized the Windstar as the minivan Sara's attacker had driven off in. It was parked in the Samson driveway as if it belonged there. He bit his lip and took his kit out of the car, getting ready to process the van.

His phone began to ring. It was Grissom. He answered.

"Hey, Grissom," he said. "Listen, I'm at the Samson place, the car Matthew drove up in looks like the same one that our perp drove away in. I'm just about to see what I can get out of it."

"That's great, Nick," said Grissom. "I have good news. We found Greg."

Nick's heart skipped a beat. "Is he OK? I mean—"

"He's fine," said Grissom. "According to Sara he's just a little shaken up. He's on the strip, I'm on my way to pick him up now. He has no idea how he got there."

"Samson probably took him when he fled the scene," Nick guessed. "Knocked him unconscious, dumped him out by the strip."

"Except for that the time that passed between our attacker's quick exit and Samson's arrival isn't long enough to drop Greg off in front of the Flamingo."

"Maybe we're not just dealing with one guy," Nick suggested.

"I don't know…" Grissom said. "This is twisted."

"At least everybody's OK," said Nick.

"The Samson family isn't."

Grissom always had a way of spoiling the moment. "Can Sara ID her attacker?"

"She says she could if she saw him," Grissom replied. "But she can't leave the hospital just yet."

"So we wait," said Nick.

"We wait," Grissom replied. "Do me a favor Nick, go over the crime scene again. I feel like we're missing something crucial."

"Sure," Nick agreed. "I will."

"Thanks."

"Call me when you get to Greg," Nick said.

"Of course," said Grissom.

Nick hung up the phone and looked up at the house. Instinct told him to go inside. He looked at the living room, still covered in blood. Nothing they didn't already document. He followed the blood trail into the basement and turned on his flashlight. The blood puddle was still there, waiting to be cleaned up. He looked around the room and paused as he lit up the wall beneath the stairs.

It was written in blood, and Sara would probably have seen it if she hadn't been attacked.

HE IS NOT TO BLAME

Warrick looked over the body as he waited for Dr. Robbins, who entered the room and closed the door.

"Pretty, wasn't she?" said Robbins as he walked over to Warrick.

"When she had a head," Warrick said. "So did she bleed out or was she decapitated?"

"Well," said Robbins. "She was probably unconscious but alive when he hung her up there. She had a nice bump on her head that he probably knocked her out with. The wires were tight and sharp. Her wrists were almost cut completely off by the time you took her down. My guess was most of the weight was bared by her neck, which the wire slowly cut through."

"And she was alive through all of this?" Warrick said.

"You don't have to slice very far into the jugular for it to be lethal," Robbins pointed out. "But pretty much, it was a slow death, yeah. Also, there's something else, the reason I called you here."

"What is it?" Warrick asked.

"Well," said Robbins. "Grissom said Sara bagged a knife at the crime scene, but didn't know what it had been used for; I think I answered that question. Now these were inflicted post mortem, probably while she hung there." Robins pulled back the sheet to reveal precise incisions on her stomach.

"Does that… does that spell out words?" Warrick asked, looking closely at the lacerations.

"Yes, I noticed that too," said Robins.

Warrick furrowed his brow as he read the phrase aloud. "Blame her."