Title: In Hell with Love

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or its characters. I'm just a fan

Author's note: Thanks for all the reviews. I'm continuing this story because of you guys -smile- Sorry for the delay. Writer's block…

Chapter 11

He watched as his door opened slowly, listening to its hinges rubbing each other as their resistance builds. He had a sinister grin and a look of anticipation as the man at the door yelled…

"Sir! Your pizza's here!"

He gladly paid the pizza guy and sent him on his way. His stomach growled. His hunger for food was as intense as his hunger for action. The wonders of technology have allowed him instant access to her terror and pain. He could watch her on his computer screen while he lay on his sofa, in the comfort of his own home.

If they're as good at their job as she is, they should have no problems finding that room.

Whatever the CSIs were watching in the lab, he was watching along with them. The webcams he got were a bargain. The refresh rate wasn't as great as he hoped it would be, but at least he could keep an eye on the room in real time. He hopes that they are enjoying the show as much as he was.

He had never kept one for so long before. He's been watching her since he saw her. Knowing that she might not live worries him, but he still manages to do what he's supposed to. They better save her, or he'll take another one to replace her. Because this one's a keeper. And he plans to keep it that way.

He watched the screen as flakes from his pizza crust flew onto his shirt and pants.

Showtime…

"What?" Nick exclaimed in disbelief as the door revealed what lay ahead. Large bright overhead lights shone painfully above him. He closed his eyes, the light burning red through his eyelids, reminding him of the pools of blood that defined the rejected victims. His head hurt, a dull ache that started from the base of his skull and crept towards his eye sockets like a virus attacking healthy cells.

Once his vision returned and his headache gone, he took a better look at the musty, dull room. The room he was in had same solid walls as the foundation walls of the house. Bottles and barrels of wine were lined neatly against its wall. The dust coating them was as thick as makeup foundation. There were planks of wood made to form a staircase in front of him, lazily made and held together with strong hard nails. It would not get an award for its craftsmanship, but Nick could tell that it was sturdy enough to hold his weight. He looked up towards the top of the stairs and found the vault door. Sara was nowhere to be found, in fact, the only other signs of life were scared rats moving around. He touched the chilling, soulless surface of the wall; a distraction from the tears that were about to fall.

Did I read the blueprints wrong? Or was this nothing but joke on the killer's part?

Just then, a thought had just occurred to him. Something isn't right. The room was much smaller that what the blueprints said it would be. Much, much smaller. It was as if the room shrank in half.

"…NICK…(buzzing)…are … you… (Static) there?" Nick almost jumped out of his skin, as if the chill from the wall crawled up his spine. "…If…y…can… hear…(static)" He moved from one end of the room to another, trying to clear the fuzzy sounds from his radio. He walked halfway up the stairs, the soles of his shoes thumped with each step, as he ventured to higher ground.

"Nick… You there?" The radio still didn't sound its best, but it was clear enough. Its persistent buzzing reminded Nick of a swarm of flies flying around a corpse but Brass's voice was a comfort.

"Geez Brass! You scared the hell out of me." Nick answered, surprised at the loudness and shakiness of his voice.

"Sorry if we're… (Buzzing) concern about you… (static)." He replied sarcastically, hiding his sigh of relief poorly. " So you made it out. You alright Nick?"

"Yeah… I'm fine. Piece of cake." Nick wiped his dust-laden face with his hands, feeling the clean trails of tears lining his face. He decided to hide his panic attack them. No point in them worrying about him. "Where's Warrick?"

"(Buzzing)… collecting evidence from the body in the study. He needed to distract himself. He was pretty worried about you. I'll… (static) him know you're alright. Anything you want us to know?"

Nick told Brass everything, from the layout of the room to the number of wine bottles and barrels. He also mentioned that there was no sign of Sara. Brass listened and sadly passed the message over to Warrick after each sentence. "Don't forget to push the button closest to the door. (Buzzing)… takes about 30 minutes…(static) open." Nick heard Warrick's worried voice in the background.

"Got it." Nick ran up the remaining steps, feeling the planks creak under his weight. A big red button beside the door was about the size of his fist, with a small rectangular screen just above it. He pushed it eagerly, watching the screen flashing, numbers appearing.

"45 minutes!! That son of a…" Nick stomp his foot angrily on the steps, feeling their vibrations throbbing under him. "That's 15 minutes more than he promised! I'm gonna…"

Just then, he heard a sound. What was that? Clanking? Was it the ventilation shaft again?

"(Buzzing)… least you got 45 minutes to look around. I'm going to call…(static) others in the lab… call you back?"

"Erm… yeah sure… let you know if I find anything."

The sound continued. It can't be. The clanking of the shaft was much louder. Another shaft?

Nick walked cautiously down the stairs. They groaned and creaked with each step. He looked around the brightly lit room, listening out for the sound again.

Imagination? A delusion?

The clanking started again. The sound was coming from somewhere within the room, but Nick couldn't tell where or what it is.

The sound persisted. He listened carefully and tried to follow its path.

It came from behind the wall. Nick pressed his ear up against its surface and walked around, listening for the sound. He stepped back and looked at the wall. There was a piece of metal that had been lodged into the wall, hidden behind a wooden wine rack, one that wasn't holding many bottles. Nick moved it aside easily.

With the obstruction gone, he could now see the hinges in the wall. Nick looked at the hidden door with tears in his eyes and grabbed the metal piece.

This is it. No wonder the room seems smaller than the blue prints. The other half is hidden. Maybe Sara's in here.

The door wouldn't budge. Nick threw his body repeatedly against the hidden door till it burst open.

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The light from the room flew through the door, casting Nick's elongated shadow onto the floor. The first thing that caught his attention was blood on the floor, a few feet from where he was standing. The anonymity of those who may have suffered was absolute. The opening of the hidden door had suggested that human life have been reduced to nothing.

He cautiously entered the unknown. The smell of iron was evident. Nick wasn't sure if it was the smell of rust or the smell of human blood. The temperature in the room was colder than the outside, since the room was below the ground. Nick adjusted his cap, his head jerking up when he heard the clanking sounds again. He flashed his flashlight towards the direction of the sound.

Clank, clank. The sound of metal…Pipes? Chains?

Towards the right of this concrete cage, at its epicentre, something caught Nick's attention.

The clanking stopped…

This is real, not some hoax. Not this time. Not a dead body stump on a chair, not some video with her name, not some threatening letter sent by a killer. He was sure of it now. He's face to face with Sara Sidle.

And she's alive!

The atmosphere in the lab was heady with anticipation. A low buzz of speculation filled the air as the remaining CSI waited for a call from the team out in the field. Nothing has changed since they last checked the screen and despite Nick having a radio, the lab was too far to get a signal. Catherine opened a folder and took out photographs of the rejected victims. She pinned them up on the board behind her then swung back around to face the room. "I know we don't have much to go on. But what we do know is the connection between the rejected killings and Sara's abduction. She said, feeling a little optimistic. "Did we get any prints off the 'advertisement'?"

"None. He must have been wearing gloves." Greg said, flipping through the notes in the folder.

Grissom shook his head. He turned to Sofia, "Any news regarding the deliveryman?"

"He's just a deliveryman." Sofia replied. She then pointed to the folder. "He may be someone working in or around the lab. It says here that he has been watching us reopen this case." She thought aloud. "He wants her back… some sort of an obsession, infatuation? Like how an abusive husband wants his abused wife back…"

Grissom nodded sadly, "He thinks that she belongs to him. Most likely it's someone she had made contact with in the past. We simply have to accept that. But at this moment, there's no point in wondering why. All that matters now is we get one of our own back."

No words were exchanged but each of the CSIs silently agreed.

Just then, the phone rang. Grissom pushed a button to activate the speaker on the phone.

"Brass here… Nick made it through the ventilation shaft all right, " there was a moment of silence over Brass's side of the call, as the team heave a sigh of relief.

"Nick's found something. Better check your computer screen."

Her clothes cling onto her fragile frame as she stood facing the wall. Her wrists were shackled to rings bolted to its granite surface. The restraints were levelled at her forehead where she leaned upon heavily. Nick looked at her with a heavy heart. She bore almost no resemblance to his memory of her. Her long brown hair framed her small face, falling over her battered shoulders in tangles. Flesh seemed to have melted from her face, providing new arrangement of hollows and planes. Her fearful eyes sat in her skull, sunken in from starvation. Where there had been an expression of intelligence and interest in her eyes, now there was a blank wariness. And she radiated tension rather than her familiar confidence.

Nick walked slowly towards her, repeating her name gently, trying not to scare her.

"Sara… It's me. Nick." He held out his hand in front of him, showing her his empty hands.

A blob of grey. That's all she saw. Muffled sounds. That's all she heard.

In her drowsy, pain-induced dazed, she stood in silence, allowing him to survey her. Other than her tormentor, she had not seen another being since she was put her. She looked over her shoulder, towards his direction. Nick could see a world of weariness in her eyes, unsure of whether she heard him.

As he moved closer, Sara felt panic in her chest, a tight fist squeezing the air out of her lungs. She weakly tensed her shoulders, shutting her eyes tightly, as if waiting for the blow usually comes.

"Stop…please stop. Stop please…stop," She whispered repeatedly.

"No, no…I'm not going to hurt you." Nick assured her. His stomach tightened with anxiety and his heart swelled with empathy for this courage woman. He wanted to hug her, to protect her from the world but he couldn't. He wanted to cry out, but he didn't want to frighten her. Nothing has prepared him for this. How the hell is he going to help when his mouth was so dry, his tongue was stuck to his teeth?

"Please… someone. Please...just let me die…" She pleaded quietly, choking on her cries. She laid her head against her arms, feeling the emptiness that broken hope had left behind.

If you care… just let me die…

I always wondered what I would do if I'm placed in that situation. What would you do? What do you think Nick should do?