And you've just had some kind of mushroom…
--
Apart from the fact that he seemed to be a fairly new lab tech who supposedly worked the Day shift, Greg didn't know much about Henry. They hadn't officially met, but he'd seen him in passing and heard a few things from his colleagues; though neither of which prepared Greg for the nearly unsettling grin on Henry's face as the other man entered the room.
"Sanders, right?"
"Yeah, but Greg's fine, too."
"Call me Henry, then," Henry said amicably. He gestured to the sheet of paper in his hand and held it out for Greg to take. "Hodges asked me to give this to you, the results for the white substance you gave him earlier."
"Thanks," Greg replied absently, skimming over the results on the paper. It wasn't much of a surprise that the white powder was a controlled substance, but he couldn't exactly claim he was expecting to see pseudoephedrine, much less a pure sample of it.
"Oh, not a problem," Henry said, interjecting into Greg's thoughts. "Hodges said he had better things to do than being your personal servant, but really, I don't mind. I was going to pass by here anyway."
Greg slowly raised his head, eyes travelling from the paper in his hand to Henry. He supposed he shouldn't expect the teasing from Hodges to stop anytime soon, especially knowing the older man didn't exactly mean what he said, which Jacqui finally explained to him a couple of years ago. Or, as Archie put it, Hodges didn't mean what he said the majority of the time, and Greg just had to give the other man the benefit of the doubt.
Still there was something unnerving about how candid Henry appeared to be in regards to said teasing.
"So, how's the case going?" Henry asked curiously, seemingly intent on making some kind of small conversation before he left. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."
Greg shook his head. "No, I don't mind, but there's not really much I can say about it, really."
Henry nodded, muttering something Greg didn't catch. "So, the FBI hasn't taken this one, yet?"
"How did you – Never mind." Obviously, Greg had been out of the loop too long if he failed to remember how fast things could spread in the lab, specifically when it's among a group people stuck in one place analysing evidence for a considerable amount of time.
"Just because I'm new and Ecklie's tossing me back and forth doesn't necessarily mean I'm oblivious to what's going on around me…you know."
If it weren't for the casual tone in his voice, Greg would have believed the other man was defensive. But then Henry gave him another one of those easy-going smiles that made Greg feel somewhat silly for reasons he wasn't particularly sure of.
"Sorry," Henry said hurriedly. "I'm just getting that impression from a lot people lately…well, more than I usually do, anyway," he added ruefully.
Greg let a small laugh escape him. "Yeah, I know the feeling."
Henry returned the laughter, the sound eventually fading alongside Greg's and placing an awkward silence between the two of them. Thankfully, Henry had the tact and the willingness to break it.
"So, yeah, I'll just let you – hey, is that," he began, pointing to small a bag containing the business card Greg was given yesterday. "May I?" But Henry didn't wait for Greg's answer, studying the card inside as he picked up the bag.
"Sĭ Dì Fēn Bái Tùzi…I think…if I even pronounced that right."
"Wait a minute, you can read that?" It was kind of unexpected and more than just a little bit random, as well. Still, if Henry did know what it meant that would save Greg the paperwork required to request a translator since he didn't necessarily trust his ability to correctly interpret a pictographic language and one definitely not one he couldn't even identify in the first place. Norwegian and Spanish were as far as he would go when it came to anything other than English.
He would have gone to Archie earlier, assuming the writing on the card was Chinese, but then he remembered the only thing Archie could do with the language was limited to saying a few choice words and carrying on a basic conversation, much less being able to read the characters.
"I'm better with speaking than reading to be honest. Either way, I'm still kind of rusty with my Mandarin since I don't use it as much as I used to."
"No kidding."
"Yeah, I spent a couple of years in college studying with my girlfriend in Beijing, where she happened to be born. Go figure, right?"
Greg wanted to make a smart remark about something along the lines of dedication, but he could say that another time. "Not to brush you off or anything, but what does it say on the card?"
"Oh, yeah," Henry said as he glanced at the card once more. "It's a name actually, not a weird one but definitely not as common as I'd like to think. Bái, I can understand, but only if his parents were fans of Carroll will Tùzi make sense to me. And since Sĭ Dì Fēn comes first, before the family name and given name, it's a good bet this guy's American. Or maybe he's just–"
"For someone who can't tell the difference between Chinese and Japanese, please?" Greg asked, trying to hide the sense of urgency in his voice. He vaguely wondered if this was how other people felt when he rambled about something.
Henry looked sheepish for a moment. "Uh, roughly, it translates into Stephen Bái Tùzi.
"Literally…"
"Literally, it means Stephen White Rabbit."
"White Rabbit," Greg repeated softly, more to himself than to Henry. "Is that what white rabbit is in Chinese, I mean Mandarin?"
"That's why I was thrown off with the name since it doesn't make much sense to combine words when there's already a word for something. I would have looked for something like Baitu."
"Baitu?"
"Though, I guess it could still be a coincidence, maybe even a moniker or something. Then again, there's a lot of mythology with rabbits in plenty of cultures, especially in China. So, I guess I shouldn't think it's really all that strange when I'm not the resident expert in name conventions."
Greg bit his lip in thought. It was too much of a coincidence. Like the white rabbit tattoo on the arm of Officer Davis, who had given him the card with number of someone who could actually be the Baitu that had connections with Megan Peterson. Then that would link him to the little girl Greg found and possibly even the other girl from Ecklie's case if they could somehow tie him to the present, or at least the warehouse.
All they needed to do was figure out who this Stephen guy and hope he would provide them more answers than Harrisons.
"Henry," Greg said suddenly, looking at the other man with the utmost serious expression on his face, "if I could kiss you right now, believe me, I would."
Henry looked at Greg warily, a nervous edge to his voice as he subtlety increased the difference between himself and the other man.
"Um…okay?"
Last night was…
To say the least, last night was everything Nick expected and nothing close to what he wanted. Apart from the underlying tension that was still between them, it seemed like he and Greg were on better speaking terms and maybe even better terms in general. They had moved forward somewhat, but if Nick were honest with himself, it really wasn't much better than the night before.
Yet, it was routine by now, covering whatever happened then with something else in the future.
When Greg began pushing to avoid something in earnest, Nick knew it would be better for the both of them if he stopped trying to push back to get Greg to talk about it – something he had to remind himself to do from time to time. They both knew it wasn't the best way to deal with their problems. There was going to be backlash, there always was. But for now, Nick was going to temporarily move it to the side because he knew he couldn't deal with his personal issues concerning his relationship and manage the additional stress from the job. It just wasn't the time.
Greg's done this before, he's done this before, and while it still left things unsaid between them, Nick wasn't going to question how it helped it get over anything was keeping them apart, no matter how petty it seemed. And it wasn't as if Nick was expecting an apology from Greg, though part of him couldn't imagine hearing the word sorry from Greg's lips actually being said in earnest. But there was rarely any reason to apologise, not for anything truly important, anyway. They were both wrong, just in different ways, and although neither he nor Greg would deny it, they wouldn't readily admit to it, either.
Nick had his own reasoning that had nothing to do with that movie, Love Story. Regardless of how many times Greg felt the need to rag him about it, Nick's beliefs had nothing to do with that one line about love meaning never having to say sorry, even if Nick didn't exactly withhold from saying at all. He was a romantic, not a sap, and Greg was lucky Nick couldn't even wrap his head around Greg's logic, or lack thereof, when the other man first told him why he didn't believe in apologies.
"Because it's just a word."
"If you feel bad for what you did–"
"Then you shouldn't have done it," Greg said simply.
"But you say it all the time," Nick reasoned.
"Sometimes, but not all the time, though. Greg smiled, tilting his head slightly to the side. "However," he continued, pointing his plastic fork at Nick, "I'll have you know it's for the sake of being polite."
"But you don't believe in it?"
"Right." Greg looked up from his bowl of ramen noodles, regarding Nick coyly as he sipped the broth.
Nick shook his head in confusion. "Then wouldn't it be pointless?"
"Exactly."
Needless to say, Nick stopped trying to understand Greg's train of thought behind it long ago, but it did make situations like this easier, something they could both agree on and wouldn't fault the other for. Or at least Nick found it easier than trying to understand why there was vaginal fluid intermixed with the dirt covering some of the balloons they found in the warehouse.
Discovering balloons in the stomach or colon he could understand as it was one of the more typical methods for drug trafficking, despite the risk for the mule, the person actually being used as a container for the drugs. But he didn't want to even begin to contemplate why balloons containing samples of pseudoephedrine were any near someone's vagina. Sara and Greg were the lucky ones who found those, Greg even luckier to find a blanket with traces with semen alongside additional vaginal fluid.
Although, in all honesty, Nick couldn't say balloons were the most unusual place he'd seen bodily fluid, finding semen on Wilcox's laptop included. But it did make him more than just a little wary when he placed the previously opened package of latex balloons on the table.
Of course, dirt and dust aside, the balloons he found in the warehouse were relatively new or at least they looked as if they hadn't been used…recently. Unfortunately, they couldn't find traces of saliva on the openings, which they looked for even though it was pretty much suspected that the balloons were more likely used for recreation than for decoration.
There was a knock on the door, and Nick peered up to see Catherine make her way inside the room. He nodded as she came in, giving her a half-hearted hey as she glanced around the room in interest. With boxes of evidence and files surrounding him, Nick knew it probably looked like she just walked into a storage, a junky storage room, and by the look her face, he could tell she silently agreed.
"Taking the initiative, Nicky?" she asked languidly, not hiding the diminutive smirk on her face as she carefully manoeuvred her way through an opening between two boxes. "I didn't know you guys found so much."
Scoffing, Nick looked at Catherine incredulously. "Trust me; I'm not doing this alone by choice." It wasn't the first time he was left to process evidence. He was used to picking up the slack, didn't really mind if everyone else was busy, but looking over so much at once was really beginning to try his patience.
"I can tell," she said duly, adding needlessly, "It's a safety hazard in here."
"If I actually did have some kind of help, it wouldn't like this for starters. But still, there's so much backlog that needs to get sort through we don't have enough space to put it anywhere else right now."
"Weren't Greg and Warrick supposed to here, too? I know Sara won't be able to come in until later because she's maxed out on overtime."
"Haven't seen Warrick since yesterday and Greg since this early morning, but I just got in here half an hour ago, so I'm hoping they're just taking a break or something."
"Shame." Catherine shrugged. "Well, I would have been here earlier, but I had to meet with Ecklie."
"I thought Grissom–"
"If it involves politics or any type of paperwork, you know he always sends me."
Nick snorted. "He wouldn't be Grissom otherwise. So, was it about when Tyler and Perry came here yesterday?"
"Among other things; including reopening Ecklie's old dumpster case since there's enough correlation with the evidence to connect it with ours. But this time we're going to try and keep this one under wraps as much as possible."
Nick looked at Catherine in confusion, not expecting Ecklie wanting to keep something like this under the table. Yeah, the guy was pretty annoying with his literal interpretation of "everything by the book," but maybe with the prospect of the Feds on their tails even Ecklie was starting to feel the pressure to follow up on a case that was essentially taken away from him. Though it was a while back, but Nick could still remember the defeated look on Ecklie's face, something that was jarringly out of place on the usually overtly confident man.
"But I thought most of the evidence from that case was confiscated," Nick asked. "I mean, except for a few pictures and copies of some documents they didn't need, didn't the Feds overrule our jurisdiction?"
"Oh, they did," Catherine said, nodding her head in agreement. "Thing is, they only took evidence that pertained to what they knew then, even though we didn't have much to work with anyway. Not to mention, with the Harrisons gone for protective detention, putting these two cases together may be our only lead."
"And we might be able to make sense of things now that we couldn't understand then."
"That's the plan, yeah. Of course, everything sounds better in theory before you put it into practice." Catherine sighed. "Ecklie and I just need to spread the good news to make sure everyone who needs to know is clued in."
"But if the evidence doesn't lead us to anyone, this whole thing's going to be fruitless and no more than some wild goose chase. There's not much point to it if we can't find anybody to hold accountable for something or anything to lead us to someone who can explain what the hell is going on. "
"And here I always thought you were the optimistic one out of all of us."
"Well, Catherine, it's really getting to me right about now."
"Look, I have to take care of some paperwork, and then I'll come back to help sorting this stuff out before thing's get to messy."
"Let me guess: You're going to bring the files and evidence from Ecklie's case with you."
"Just think of it as early Christmas present," she said evenly, the corners of her mouth turning upwards as she lightly patted Nick on the shoulder. "Something to cheer you up a little."
As much as Greg appreciated Henry's knowledge of Chinese – and inadvertently Hodges's penchant for teasing Greg and being indolent on occasion – he wished he had spent some of that time between being excited and rushing to find Warrick on trying not to make the less than artful slips that led to the scrutiny he was currently facing.
"I've been looking for you, and Henry can read Chinese."
Warrick removed his elbow from the table, sitting up and turning in his chair as Greg approached him. "Chinese?"
"Mandarin or whatever, but the point is he can read it."
"Okay, but what does that have to do with why you were looking for me?"
"The card Officer Davis gave me yesterday, I didn't tell you about it yet, but it has Chinese characters on it. There's a Vegas number on there, too, but to make a long story short: the person who the number may belong to could be the Baitu we're looking for. Not literally Baitu, but Henry wrote down the name for me, so now we just have to–"
"Hold on and back up for a second, an officer gave you the card?"
"She said I dropped it, and wouldn't let me not take it." Greg presented the business card in his hand, already out of the bag and on top of yellow sticky note that Henry had written on earlier.
"An officer gave you the card?"
"Yeah, I even smudged the ink with my gloves."
The exchange led to Warrick paging Grissom and the three of them sitting in front of a computer checking the payroll for an Officer Davis, or even anyone with the last name of Davis. Naturally, it only made sense that only person currently or formerly employed by LVPD with the last name Davis was the male janitor who made morning rounds in the lab and a male officer who retired from the force seven years ago. Personally, Greg thought it was kind of peculiar considering he didn't believe Davis was that uncommon of a last name, but apparently neglecting to anyone about his encounter with Officer Davis – if she even was an officer – wasn't the only thing he was wrong about.
"Why didn't you say something earlier?"
Greg looked at his supervisor helplessly. He knew he should have done something yesterday, but hindsight wasn't going to help his situation now. "I don't know. What was I supposed to say, Grissom?"
"Something," Grissom said simply, staring at Greg in a way that made the younger man somewhat contrite. There was an edge to his voice, already firm and seemingly bent on making Greg feel like he was being chastised for doing something wrong, which probably wasn't far from the truth. Still, he hadn't felt this nervous around Grissom in a long time.
"It's not like I haven't seen her before, but then she gave me the card, and I wasn't sure–"
"When was the first time you saw her?" Warrick said quickly, interrupting Greg's rambling. He seemed more relaxed than Grissom, who wasn't exactly making Greg comfortable, which undoubtedly was probably what the older man was trying to do.
Greg rubbed the soft material of his jacket in between his fingers, trying to remember when he'd grabbed the end of his sleeve in the first place. "Uh, a couple of weeks ago when we went to the Harrisons' house." He tightened his grip on the cuff when Warrick and Grissom looked at him in confusion.
"Where exactly did you see her?" Grissom asked, looking at Greg expectantly. "Because I don't remember seeing anyone named Davis when I went into the house, or any female officers for that matter."
"She was standing by the front door…right by that bench on the porch."
Warrick looked thoughtful for a moment. "I remember passing somebody, but her face isn't ringing any bells. Was she tall?"
"No. She was short, about yay high." Greg placed his hand a few inches below his shoulder, relatively close to his elbow. "She has dark black hair and a small face with distinct facial features, like her eyes. They were slanted but pretty close together."
"Not ringing any bells," Warrick admitted reluctantly.
"Okay, she had a tattoo of a white rabbit on her arm. And I only saw it because she had her sleeves rolled up, but she pulled them when I was looking at it, so you must have seen something."
"You know I would remember one if I saw it."
Greg puffed his cheeks in annoyance. There was no way he was the only one who saw Davis. Warrick was in front him when they went into the house. The other man even nodded to her so how could he not remember when she was standing by the entrance. "She was there. I'm telling you I saw her at the Harrisons' house and at the warehouse."
Grissom narrowed his eyes at Greg, his gaze more pensive and less intimidating. "Then why didn't anyone else see her at the warehouse?"
"It wasn't the smallest warehouse, and we took different sections. I found a side door in mine, kind of went through it, and that's when I saw her and when she gave met the card. She said I dropped it, but I know I couldn't have because I smudged the ink."
"Then the ink was fresh," Grissom began, "which means either Davis or someone else wanted you to have that card and have it point us in this direction." He gestured to the computer screen, where an address belonging to Stephen White was displayed, alongside the phone number matching the one written on the business card.
"Whatever their agenda is, they're using you for the time being, but I couldn't even begin to tell you why. We're lucky you only got away with a card." Grissom paused, taking off his glasses before peering at Greg intently. "I know you're still learning, Greg, but you can't afford to make mistakes like this. You can't take afford to take risks when you know the kinds of things that could happen."
Greg sighed heavily. "Yeah," he replied softly, the ramifications of his actions now beginning to settle in. So many different scenarios came to mind, ones that he didn't know he was even capable of imagining and each one only fostering the notion that Nick was going to kill him when he found out about yesterday.
"But what if she knows about the case and is trying to help us or something?" he said hopefully, attempting to get rid of the images in his head that were threatening to make him more than simply a little pale. Regardless of what happened, the card gave them something they could go on, something they needed that could actually drag them out of the circle they were going around.
Warrick crossed his arms, leaning away from the chair Grissom was sitting in. "Then there's the tip line. Why didn't she use that?"
"Not if yesterday was her only window of opportunity," Greg retorted. "Maybe somebody's keeping close tabs on her."
"I'll give you maybe, but the point is we still don't know."
"But what if this is the Baitu guy we're looking for? We have to go. We have no choice but to go because this could actually be the case breaker we need."
"Still doesn't take away from the fact that somebody wants us to go all the way to Mesquite – that's what, 80 miles away from here?"
"Give or take, depending where you're coming from."
"And what if this person is trying to throw us off track? Yeah, it looks like things are finally coming together, but it's still a little too neat for me, too convenient."
"I don't like the circumstances, either, but it's not a question of whether or not we're going," Grissom interjected. "Rather what we'll find out when we get there."
"I figured I would find you here."
"Taking a much needed break," Nick said sardonically. He peered at Sara as she entered the break room, his eyes lingering on the brown paper bag she was holding in her hand. "I was in there by myself since nine this morning, documenting and reviewing everything from the case so far, plus comparing that to whatever was left from Ecklie's cold case that's now being reopened."
Sara looked at her watch as she took a seat next to Nick on the couch. "It's only…five?" she said unhelpfully. "And you know I would have been here earlier if it weren't for the fact I'm already maxed out on overtime. Besides, I brought you food," she added, placing the brown bag in Nick's lap.
"If it's real food then you're my hero." Nick gave her a playful smile. "Really, you shouldn't have."
Sara snorted. "Yeah, right. Just be grateful you're getting a free meal."
"Opposed to what?"
"Whatever concoctions and leftover food that's been in the fridge for the past six weeks."
"Point taken," Nick readily agreed as he opened the bag and pulled out a sub sandwich wrapped in a nondescript paper. "Smells good. Is this from Capriotti's?"
"Yep, I got two foot long Bobbies."
"Two?"
"I like you Nick, but thankfully you're not the only man in my life."
"And here I was under the impression that I was special."
Sara laughed at the exaggerated pout on Nick's face. "They had that two for one deal, and I don't want to hear Greg complain when he finds out I spent money buying food he happens to like."
"What about Warrick, then?"
"I'm a nice person."
Nick suppressed a snicker, knowing better than to bite the hand that was feeding him. "I appreciate it, but I don't think I could even afford half of this, Sara." It was a rare indulgence, Thanksgiving dinner on a sandwich – packed with homemade turkey, cranberry sauce, and stuffing. It was one of those things that looked unappealing at first glance until one day Greg literally forced it down his throat.
After a short period of nearly choking on said sandwich, Nick could admit it was actually pretty good, really good even. But he didn't eat it regularly simply because he wasn't as young as he used to be. Not that he believed he was vein or anything, but the pounds tended to pile on quicker and became harder to lose the older he became. He couldn't allow him to let himself go just yet. He wouldn't say it aloud, but he still had someone he wanted to impress.
"Even if I asked to hold the mayo?" Sara asked, amused at the torn expression on Nick's face. "You can work it off like you always do," she suggested. "Not that's there's a lot to work off anyway."
"I'll probably work it off with the stress from this case alone," Nick admitted. "God knows I don't have the energy to do anything else."
"Just split it with it Greg." Sara shrugged. "It'll go straight through him."
"Believe me, I know."
"Speaking of which, is he still with Warrick and Grissom?"
"They went to Mesquite."
"Mesquite?" Sara raised her eyebrows. "What's all the way out there?"
Nick took a bite out of his sandwich, wiping his mouth with a napkin before he spoke to Sara. "A new lead and maybe even our case breaker."
"And for some reason you don't look too happy about it?"
"Oh no, I'm just trying to think about how I missed the chance to take a road trip. You remember all the boxes we put in the back room yesterday?"
Sara nodded slowly. "But I can't say I'm appreciating the look on your face."
"Yeah."
The guy on the Weather Channel said there was only going to be a slight chance of rain – less than twenty percent. So, of course, despite the fact that it'd been pretty gloomy outside this morning, this had to be the one time Greg didn't have his umbrella with him. It didn't matter that Greg was no longer in Vegas either because that wasn't point.
But to be fair, it was drizzling more than anything, almost like some kind of mini flurry storm. And maybe if it was cold enough it would have been snowing. Not to say it wasn't cold, but Warrick was always pretty gratuitous with the heat when he was driving. Although Greg wasn't going to complain about it this time because he was still trying to decide the best way to motivate himself to open the door when Warrick pulled into a long and wide section of flattened and browned grass, which Greg presumed was supposed to be a driveway of sorts.
He jumped in his seat when Warrick tapped on the window, the other man looking at him pointedly. It wasn't the kind of incentive Greg was hoping for, but it worked for the time being.
Greg rubbed his hands together, mentally berating himself for not bringing a heavier jacket as he tried to bask in the lingering warmth. He sighed as he opened the door, shuddering at the wind whipping across his face. At least he had gloves, though.
"I bet it's a lot warmer in the house," Warrick said as Greg stepped out of the car.
"It's not supposed to be this cold in the first place," Greg mumbled as he closed the door behind him, turning his attention to the house. It wasn't anything spectacular, smaller than what he initially expected and possibly a little bit too quaint for his tastes considering it was hidden in the backwoods and surrounded by trees and undergrowth– practically in the middle of nowhere.
Yet, the house itself looked relatively modern despite its location. It was covered in white vinyl siding with the exception of the front, which had a dark, almost grayish brick that somewhat matched the colour of the roof. Still, it looked like it could hold a max of five people at one time. And while Greg never really considered himself claustrophobic, he wasn't sure if he'd be comfortable if he stayed in there too long.
"Did they check the place yet?" he asked Warrick, nodding to the patrol car parked beside them. As far as he knew, it seemed like they were the only ones there. "Or are they still inside?"
"Scene's clear," Greg heard Grissom say. The older man's voice was coming from behind the car and was followed by a low squeak and the sound of the trunk being shut. "Around the house anyway, Evans is still inside and Meyers is checking the back area."
"The next house isn't for a couple of miles, right?" Greg asked.
"Better safe than sorry," Warrick pointed it out as Grissom stopped to stand by Greg.
"Not to mention it looks like White may have known we were coming and left in a hurry," Grissom added. He pointed to the left side of the house. "See the steam coming out from that vent on the side?"
"Somebody left the dryer on." Greg narrowed his eyes, ignoring the fact that he could see his breath. He looked at Warrick. "Think there's a chance he's coming back, then? Like we're being set up or something?"
Warrick shook his head. "Not with the cop car in the driveway."
Greg turned to Grissom only to the find the other man was already walking up the makeshift wooden steps leading towards a bright red door. White Venetian blinds covered two small windows placed on either side of the rather narrow door.
Falling in step behind Warrick, Greg made his way to the house as Grissom walked through the already opened door. He treaded carefully up the steps, gripping his kit tightly in his hand as the wood creaked beneath his feet. He peered into the house warily, following Warrick into the living room area and marveling at the fact the house looked more spacious than he anticipated…what he could make of it anyway.
"Why aren't the lights on?" he asked as his eyes adjusted to dark. He knew Warrick was standing in front him, and the windows did allow some of the light from outside to seep in but it would have been better if Warrick didn't look like some kind of three-dimensional shadow.
"Apparently not working." Warrick scoffed as he continued to flick what Greg assumed to be a light switch. "Can you see?"
Greg took his flashlight out his pocket, turning it on as Warrick did the same to his own. "Kind of. Weren't they working earlier, though?"
"According to Evans, when he and Meyers were in here earlier, they were." Grissom said before Warrick had a chance to answer. Greg almost dropped his flashlight, not hiding his glare when he looked in the direction of the older man, who had somehow entered through the front door. He had a habit of forgetting how quiet his supervisor could be.
Grissom only shrugged at Greg's expression. "I went out the back door," he said simply. "Evan's went back to the car after we found the fuse box outside."
"Not hard to guess what you didn't see," Warrick said offhandedly as he moved to open the blinds in one of the windows.
"Nothing was wrong as far as we could tell."
"Unless he forgot to pay his bills," Greg began, "But why would–"
"Wait a minute," Warrick interrupted, placing a hand on Greg's shoulder. "You hear that?"
Greg looked at the other man in confusion, frowning as he picked up on the soft noise from the back of the house. It was sounded almost scratchy – for lack of a better word – in a way that reminded Greg of something being thrown around in some kind container.
"The dryer's still on," Grissom said quietly, his voice not exactly relieving the sinking feeling Greg had in his stomach.
Greg turned his head to look at Grissom, watching the light from the window frame the older man's face. "So…what exactly does this mean?" he whispered, silently wishing Warrick hadn't removed his hand from his shoulder. Maybe it would have been easier to pretend he felt as confident as he was trying to appear.
He heard a click, uncannily loud even in the sudden silence, and Greg didn't have to even look to know that Warrick had taken out his gun. He almost wanted to laugh – almost – but only because ever since he came out in the field Nick had been pushing him to have a gun, train to get a permit or something since Greg didn't exactly follow the standard path for becoming a field technician. Much of his training was touch-and-go, and on top of his responsibilities in the lab and finding a replacement, it wasn't the most desirable transition.
Regardless, it still didn't require Greg to have a firearm. And when he made it out alive of this one, as he wouldn't allow himself think anything else, he still wouldn't falter in his resolve not to carry a gun despite what Nick said to try to persuade him otherwise. But Greg had a feeling this wasn't the way Nick wanted to be proved right.
Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Greg waited as Grissom took out his radio. There was a slight hiss, the static from the speaker preceding the other man's voice.
"Evans, Meyers…we have a possible 404, do you copy?"
There was a pause between the three of them, but it only lasted a few seconds before Grissom tried again.
"This is Grissom, do you copy?"
Grissom shared a look with Warrick, replacing the radio in his hand with a gun as Greg observed the silent communication between the two men. "Stay here with Greg and radio the local dispatch," he told Warrick. "See if you can get a better signal somewhere else in the house."
Greg bit his lips, frowning when he saw Grissom heading towards the front door. "Where are you going, then?" he asked hesitantly. He'd seen enough horror movies to know it was better not to split up.
"To look for Evans and Meyers," Grissom said resolutely.
"But shouldn't we go together?" Greg suggested, resisting the urge to reach out and grab Grissom's arm, to do something to prevent the older man from leaving. He didn't think he was being ridiculous, either; it was extremely difficult to think so when there was this staggering possibility that they could be sitting ducks trapped inside a house until they decided to leave or someone else decided to come in. And while there was also the chance that this wasn't anything at all, maybe nothing more than a fluke, Greg was pretty sure those odds were against them at this point.
"Keep your radios on and make sure you have everything secured," Grissom said, using his free hand to fix the collar of his black coat. "I'll be back in ten minutes."
And if you aren't? Greg wanted to ask, but the door had already closed and Warrick already locking it.
"All right…" Warrick sighed, taking a deep breath before redirecting his attention to Greg. "We need to get a signal without going outside. Grissom's probably going to try radioing somebody from one of the cars before he still starts looking for Evans and Meyers. We'll give him his ten minutes, but if he doesn't come back, we're going to take the car and go, understood?"
It took a moment for Greg to acknowledge what Warrick was saying. "Not really, but I don't have a choice, do I?"
"No," Warrick replied sternly, moving to close the blinds he opened earlier. "And before we try to radio anybody, we're going to have to do it make sure nobody can get in."
"But what if it's White – won't that be redundant since he has a key to his own house?"
"The time it takes to open the door will stall him for a while and make sure we aren't caught by surprise. So, what I'm going to need you to do is start in the back and make sure the door and windows are locked, and the blinds are closed, all right? Can you do that?"
"Yeah, I can do that," Greg said resolutely, trying not to think of the fact that he was trying to convince himself more of than Warrick. "Right, I can do it," he said again as he turned around to point his flashlight to the back of the house. "No big deal," he whispered, attempting to calm his elevating heartbeat. It wasn't that far away because the house wasn't that big to being with, no problem at all.
He heard movement around in the kitchen area, Warrick's voice, urgent and intermittent between the clicks of the radio that still didn't seem to be able to pick up on anything. He reached for the handset in his vest, taking it out of his pocket and cursing silently when it wouldn't turn on. His extra battery was in the car.
"Warrick," he called out, "the battery's dead on my radio. Did you get through, yet?"
"Damn it," the other man said softly, low enough that Greg almost missed it. "Don't worry about it, just…just make sure everything is closed and locked, all right?"
"Yeah, I just have to…" Greg paused in his reply, stilling when he felt a sudden drop in temperature. He turned to his left when he heard the tell-tale sound of a door creaking, goose bumps appearing on his skin when he noticed the backdoor wasn't exactly closed. It was only open far enough where Greg could maybe put his arm through, but enough for the rain to come in the house. That's where the draft was coming from, the draft that wasn't there a few minutes ago. There was a growing pool of water by the door, alerting Greg to the fact it wasn't drizzling like earlier. It was actually raining now, and judging by the sounds he could hear outside, it was probably turning into a storm if it wasn't already.
He jumped back when heard the crack of thunder, dropping his flashlight when the lightening followed. His flashlight rolled against the flooring, metal making a slight rumbling noise against the wood surface and stopping in the puddle.
"Greg?" Warrick said questioningly.
"Yeah…just dropped my flashlight," he said, waiting for the shock to wear off. "I saw something that wasn't there, that's all." And it wasn't anything more than that, nothing more than his imagination and his tendency to be jumpy.
"Scared of thunderstorms, Sanders?" Warrick joked as another bout of thunder resounded throughout the house.
"You wish," Greg replied lightly, appreciating the other man's attempt to put him at ease. He slowly made his way to the back door, looking at his watch before bending down to pick up his flashlight. It was already a quart 'til six, meaning he and Warrick had four minutes left to wait for Grissom, five minutes until they tried to make a break for it.
Cautiously, Greg placed his hand on the door knob, only to fall back against someone's chest when he felt himself being pulled away from the door. He wanted to yell, make some kind of noise, but there was a hand pressed against his mouth and an arm constricting around his neck that caused tears to seep from his eyes.
"Warr–" he tried to call out, but it was a raspy sound at best, muffled and probably drowned out the by rain beating on the roof.
Struggling, Greg tried to keep his feet planted on the floor, the bottom of his sneakers squeaking against the wet wood as felt himself being dragged outside by some strong enough to move him, strong enough to practically pick him up. His hands were gripping the arm keeping him from breathing, blunt nails scraping against dry skin in an effort to pry it from around his neck.
The wind hit his face hard, rain falling into his eyes as Greg tried to kick out, throw his attacker off balance as he was led outside. But the guy wouldn't let him go, couldn't hear his silent pleas, didn't care that Greg wasn't far off from losing consciousness.
And then he felt himself falling, the arms once around easily tossing him to ground. His back hit the ground harshly; his soaked clothes the only barrier between his body and the grass. But he was too tired to acknowledge the discomfort or the sudden weight that was now on top of him as his eyes began to close.
"Shh…it'll all be over soon."
I know I took a few personal liberties (honestly, the only Chinese I know has to do with Japanese) with the this chapter, though with the liberties this show takes, I can't say I feel bad about it. Still, I like how this turned out: serious at times with a few moments and much, much longer than I anticipated. However, I have no comment concerning the last part and why things ended up the way they did. Everything was planned out a long time ago, so it furthers plot development...in a good way.
Anyhow, thanks for reading and thank you to LaughableBlackStorm, QueenOfTheUniverse, and Andrew-Squee for reviewing.