Chapter 12
Undersheriff Jeff McKeen knew that his days were numbered. Although he had been wounded in Grissom's abduction, the fact that he was the only survivor with relatively minor injuries had put him instantly under the microscope of Jim Brass and Grissom's team of CSI's. He wasn't sure if he would be able to get out from under that cloud of suspicion. As long as Sidle and Grissom were missing, the investigation would continue. He rubbed his forehead and contemplated how he could somehow weasel out of this mess. He had a vague idea of where Grissom was taken but, unless he had a positive confirmation, he would not make a move. McKeen was also sure that where he would find Grissom, he would find Sidle.
Grissom had trained his people too well. His team of investigators would be tenacious in trying to find those responsible for the abductions and for the murders of the police personnel at the safe house. That whole scenario had gone badly. Mallory's men had not followed the plan that McKeen had laid out. They were not supposed to show up at the house but wait for him at a remote location. There, McKeen would have handed Grissom over to Mallory. No one was supposed to get hurt, let alone killed. At least Mallory had taken care of Jenkins. One less problem to have to worry about as far as witnesses go, however, Jenkins' death was now being investigated as a murder. That was another matter entirely. He just had to make sure the trail didn't lead back to him.
Unbeknownst to Undersheriff McKeen, Brass had the undersheriff under constant surveillance since his release from the hospital. Even though he had not formally interviewed McKeen since the night of Grissom's abduction, the undersheriff's actions concerning Grissom's placement in the safe house and his subsequent abduction had spoken volumes to Jim Brass. The detective had been able to obtain an attorney general's court order to conduct the surveillance and a trace was put on the undersheriff's phone lines. Brass and Nick Stokes had made token efforts to try to interview the undersheriff, but it was just enough to make McKeen feel as though these attempts were the extent that the investigation had gone so far. The undersheriff wanted to forestall any investigation as long as possible, and it gave McKeen a temporary false sense of security.
For now, McKeen was on paid administrative leave and had managed to avoid Brass and Stokes, but he would not be able to dodge both the seasoned detective and the senior CSI for much longer. Sighing, he picked up his phone and hit speed dial. He would have to try to turn the tables so that any investigation would turn on Grissom. Grissom would not be the fine upstanding member of the Las Vegas Police Department that everyone thought he was. He would be sought by law enforcement, not for rescue, but for criminal activity and murder.
Mallory sat across the desk from Jones and angrily stared at his cousin. "What's the idea of interfering with Grissom?" demanded Mallory.
Jones replied, "Relax Lucas. I just sedated him. He didn't receive any more of your "special mix," okay? You should have expected that reaction. You might have muddled his memory, but you can't destroy the essence of the man. He's not going to play your game. You'll have to kill him first."
Drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair, Mallory growled, "I can break him. He's not as strong as you think. I know what he's all about. Before I'm done with him, I'll become his best friend, you'll see. Now, now long will he be out? How much will he remember of our little conversation?"
"He should come around in about4 hours. Hard to tell, but from all the abuse his body has taken lately and the affects of the "drug therapy," he could be out longer. Lucas, let's move him to the medical building. He's going to need that wrist set again. Your guys did a job on it and I probably should check on his other injuries. I mean it's not going to be much fun for you if he can't truly appreciate your game because he's too centered on his own physical pain," reasoned Jones. The doctor paused and continued in a measured tone, "Lucas, I don't want Arthur mixed up in what you're doing. I don't want him to be a pawn in your sick game."
Lucas looked at his cousin. "You've become attached to the boy. You care for him. Kenny, this is Grissom's son. I want Grissom to know that I had his son under my thumb all these years. I want him to know that his wife and child suffered miserably," said an incensed Lucas Mallory.
"No, Lucas. You didn't have Rachel and Arthur under your thumb. They were with me. I was the one who was responsible for them. For your information, they didn't suffer miserably, at least, not like you would have wanted them to suffer. You had little to do with them until you showed up here a few days ago. Do what you want with Sidle and Grissom, but leave Arthur alone. Arthur has become important to me. You will not harm him," Jones said with finality.
"Why Kenny, you really do care for him, don't you? Look, I promise that he won't be harmed. It's Grissom I want to suffer anyway. Perhaps if Grissom realizes that his son hates him, that will be enough. Look, I need him to take part in my plans. It will be that much harder if he isn't involved. I promise that I will take care of Arthur, alright?" Mallory said in a conciliatory tone.
Taking a deep breath and not quite trusting the twisted individual sitting before him, Ken Jones nodded his head. He would have to keep a close watch on his cousin. He didn't trust Mallory as far as he could throw him, but, for the moment, he would have to go along with Mallory's plan. Jones then persuaded his cousin to allow him to move Grissom to the medical wing of the clinic.
Sara took a deep breath and sighed. She had lost track of time and wasn't sure how long ago she had been taken by Lucas Mallory. She restlessly paced her small cell-like room. Sara sat on the cot, and stretched her long legs. With the exception of Dr. Jones, her visitors consisted of the young silent orderly and Lucas Mallory.
Mallory had visited a couple of times, mostly to taunt her about Grissom. On his last visit, he had left her a series of photographs. The photos showed an unconscious Grissom strapped in a hospital bed with leather restraints. His face was battered and bruised, and his left arm lay across his chest. His wrist was swollen and in some kind of brace. Mallory had giggled with glee at Sara's obvious distress.
"What have you done?" she whispered, staring at the photographs.
"Just a little "adjustment therapy," said Mallory in a jovial tone. "I'm sorry that he's in no condition for visitors right now. Perhaps soon, though, when he learns and accepts his situation. Perhaps then, Sara, you can be reunited with him." Mallory had left, whistling, obviously quite pleased with himself.
Pulling the photographs from beneath her pillow, her fingers lightly traced Grissom's unconscious face. She closed her eyes and slid the distressing photographs back underneath her pillow. She imagined Grissom fighting against Mallory's ministrations, that somehow she might be able to give him strength through sheer will.
She turned her thoughts to her other visitors. Thoughts of Grissom's plight sent waves of anxiety through her, and she had to focus on trying to get back to him in some way. She wasn't sure if she could trust Jones. He had promised a visit to Grissom when they had first moved her to this cell. He had come through, but that was before Mallory had given her the photographs. At first, Grissom had been put in an isolation cell similar to the one that Sara had first been put in. At the time, Grissom had been unconscious and hadn't acknowledged her presence. She had taken a quick inventory of his injuries, at least the ones that were obvious. The bruises that were on his face then were fading and she could see a patch of gauze on his left shoulder through the gray t-shirt they had dressed him in. His ribs had been taped and his left wrist was slightly swollen. Whether he was unconscious because of his injuries or because he was drugged, Sara couldn't tell. Jones didn't give her the time to figure it out. She had only been able to briefly touch him and to softly say his name. Grissom offered no reaction to her touch or the whisper of his name. Then she had been pulled away. She hadn't seen Grissom since.
Jones had come by at least once a day to update her on Grissom's condition; however, he did not share with Sara Mallory's plan for him. He had confirmed that Grissom had been moved to the medical wing of the clinic. Jones told Sara that he had convinced Mallory to allow him to do so in the hopes that he could monitor Grissom's "treatments." Mallory's thugs had roughed up the injured investigator, giving Jones the excuse he needed to move him, allowing him a little more control of what was happening to him. Sara didn't fully trust the doctor, but at this point, she had little choice. Sara was not sure of the connection between the doctor and Mallory, but the bond was an uneasy one from what she could tell. She didn't think the doctor was playing her about wanting to help her or Grissom. Sara just didn't know how far she could trust the doctor to tell her the truth.
The orderly, Arthur, was another matter; he was an enigma. He brought her food three times a day but remained silent. Sara had her suspicions about Arthur, but was unsure how to go about finding out more about him or confirming her conclusions. She had tried to engage him in conversation, but he just stared at her. She was pretty sure that he could hear her, even though he wore hearing aids that were barely visible. He almost never turned his back to her, always backing out the door when he brought her meals or other supplies. Sara was sure that Arthur was a key element in this whole scenario, and she had to somehow establish a relationship of trust with him.
The young orderly pushed the cart through the hallway down to the woman's cell. Arthur picked up the metal tray that contained the Sara's meal, vegetable soup and bread. Peeking through the slot in the door, he noted the room's lone occupant setting against the far wall on her cot. Arthur stared at her briefly. When he had first made contact with her in the isolation cell, he had a felt an instant connection. She had stared at him as though she knew him somehow. She unsettled him, and he didn't know why. He didn't know this woman, had never met her or seen her before, but there was something about her…
Shaking his head to clear away the unsettling feelings, he carefully carried in her meal. Arthur approached her with the tray. She looked up at him with a slight smile on her face and held her right hand up, palm out. She then turned her hand, palm side in, and patted her chest once. Then she carefully finger-spelled, "S-A-R-A."
I'm Sara.
Arthur stopped cold in his tracks. Besides his mother, no one had ever signed with him. In fact, no one knew that he could sign. His eyes widened slightly, and he stared at her intently. Cautiously he set the try down, never looking awa from Sara. He pointed to Sara and with a questioning look in his eyes, signed back. You sign?
She smiled and nodded. Slowly she signed back to him as she looked intently at his face. May I call you Scott?
The soft shuffling of feet reached into his consciousness, and he gradually became aware of his surroundings. His eyes cracked open and he tried to focus on where he was. Grissom realized that he was in a hospital ward. Turning his head slightly, he waited until his eyes could focus and took in his surroundings. There were five other beds in this room, but it looked as though he was the only patient. He looked up see a stocky woman with graying hair in a nurse's uniform adjusting an IV drip into his arm.
"Ahh, I see that you are awake. I'll call the doctor to let him know that you are back with us. You had quite an episode, but I'm sure that you will be feeling better soon," said the nurse with a slight smile. She tucked the blanket covering him around him more securely and quickly left the room.
Grissom's confusion came flooding back to him. How did I get here? What has happened? Can't remember…. He squeezed his eyes shut and chewed on his lip. Concentrating on his present situation, he tried to keep the bits and pieces of memory from overwhelming him. He tried to move his hands to rub his forehead and found that he could not. Opening his eyes, he looked down and realized he was in restraints. He briefly strained against the leather straps that held him securely to the bed and then relaxed. Grissom realized he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
AN: Another chapter in the books. I think it's starting to come together. Thanks for being so patient. Please keep those reviews coming. They mean a lot.