Journey Through the Past- Chapter 17
Greg Sanders sat impatiently before the computer, nervously tapping his pencil against the edge of the keyboard. As he continued to scroll down the screen, frustration was starting to build. What is the link between McKeen and the 5th Street Knights? There had to be connection.
Greg had made the solid link between Baker and the Knights when Baker was serving time in Folsom. Mallory had been pretty cozy with Baker while both of them were serving time. The key was to find how deep Mallory was into the drug trafficking and how much of a tie there was between the under sheriff and the drug trafficking organization that seemed to be entrenched in southern Nevada. Greg sifted through the lists of property owners for both commercial and private properties of not only Clark County but of the surrounding counties as well. McKeen was smart enough to not put his name on any property titles. He was looking to find some kind of pattern of who and/or what was buying properties in the state and try to link any of the individuals or corporations with either the under sheriff or the 5th Street Knights. The young CSI was coordinating with Nick Stokes who was searching through court records where cases against known gang members and drug traffickers were dismissed or the accused was acquitted. They hoped to cross-reference their findings in order to find a link. It was getting to be quite tedious and time-consuming, a luxury that the graveyard CSI's had run out of a long time ago.
Greg sat back and blinked. He had definitely found something. He continued to scroll down the screen and quickly jotted down the pertinent information. Nick strolled in and sat beside his colleague.
"How's it goin'? Come up with anything probative?" queried Nick, placing a file folder from his own research in front of Greg.
"Yeah. Look at this, Nick," said a smiling Greg Sanders. "I think I've found some possibilities here. Tell me what you think."
Sliding into a chair next to Greg, Nick scrutinized the sheet before him. "Wait a sec," said Nick with a mixture of shock and surprise. Opening the file folder he had brought, Nick slipped a sheet of paper next to the information that Greg had written down.
"Greg, look at this. What do you think? Are you seein' what I'm seein'?"
Comparing the information, Greg shook his head, "We've must have done something wrong. Gotten the wrong information somehow. Have we've been totally looking in the wrong direction?"
"Let's double-check both ends of this research and see what we come up with," Nick said softly.
"And, if we come up with the same conclusion?" asked Greg.
"Then we go to Brass and Catherine with our findings," said Nick, "and watch all hell break loose."
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The patient didn't eat the rest of the soup. Instead he stared out the single window of the ward. The bars on the window and the two men in prison guard uniform were reminders to him that he was in a lockdown facility. He vaguely remembered a doctor telling him that he had been arrested and tried on a number of charges all related to drug addiction. The problem was that he had no clue what those charges were exactly and what he was convicted of. Hell, he had no memories of ever being addicted to anything except work. At the same time, his body was physically telling him a different story. Grissom was well-schooled in the symptoms exhibited by someone going through withdrawal, and he had all the symptoms. He did remember that he was the supervisor for the graveyard shift of CSI in Las Vegas. He could remember his team and working at the lab. Grissom just had no recollection of being on the wrong side of the law.
Then there was Sara. What in the hell was she doing here? Maybe I just imagined her. Maybe, just maybe, her being here was just a delusion. Maybe I need her so much now to be my anchor that I imagined the orderly who brought me the soup and helped feed me to be her. She went missing…Sara went missing…Grissom shut his eyes and tried to concentrate. I was in a warehouse. I went there to see someone. When was that? Years, weeks, months ago? I can't remember…..
"Well, Grissom, I see that you are thinking deep thoughts," Mallory said as he entered the infirmary.
Grissom's eyes sprang open and looked at the man in the white lab coat enter the room, momentarily startled.
"Mallory," he breathed.
Mallory grinned and sat down next to the bed. "I'm glad to see that you remember my name. However, since you are my patient, I really want you to address me as "Dr. Mallory." That's just to help you remember that I'm here to help on the road to recovery. If you use my name in such a familiar way, I'm afraid that you will lose perspective of what our relationship is supposed to be. Do we have an understanding?"
Grissom simply stared at the man, not wanting to agree to the "doctor's" request.
Mallory's eyes narrowed slightly when the man in the bed failed to agree to his request, but then Mallory pushed, "I will take that as a "yes."
Grissom merely cocked his eyebrow and looked back towards the window. To tell the truth, the patient was afraid to say anything. He didn't want to acknowledge this man as his therapist, so he simply said nothing. Mallory pursed his lips and then surreptitiously injected Grissom's IV line with a strong hypnotic. Slipping the syringe into his pocket, Mallory continued.
"Well, I think we should get back to where we were before, don't you?" asked Mallory in a somewhat serious tone. "Let's go over what you remembered about yourself the last time we talked. Let's see according to my notes, you remembered some of the basic facts of your childhood. Hmmm, let's see here.
Your mother is deaf, and your father died when you were nine…."
"I'm a supervisor at the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I have a Phd in entomology," interrupted Grissom, still looking away.
"Why, yes, Grissom, that's right. Do you remember what you did before that?" questioned the "doctor."
"I..I worked in Minnesota for a while. Before that I was a coroner in Los Angeles. I…I'm not sure what else I did before then," Grissom said quietly.
"Well, let's start with Los Angeles. That's where your problems began, I believe," said Mallory in a serious tone." Let's see, the youngest coroner in the history of the LA coroner's office. Quite impressive. Maybe the pressure was too much for you. That can be a very stressful job. Let's see what else? According to your records, you're married and have a son. Do you remember them?"
Grissom furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lips. "I had a wife and a child. They're dead. They were taken from me. They were killed in an explosion," Grissom said in monotone, a far away look in his eyes.
"Yes, that's right. The case was never solved, was it?"
"N..No…their deaths were ruled an accident, but I…I never believed that it was. Someone, someone was responsible for their deaths. You know who took my family away, don't you?" whispered Grissom.
Grissom turned to Mallory. "You had something to do with this. Rae..Rachel was afraid that I was obsessed with this case. The case had to do with a killer and…and he tortured his victims. Rachel and our son disappeared and then we found them….but it was too late. The car that they had been in had exploded. You know what happened. You know who's responsible."
Lucas Mallory leaned forward. "Do you really think you are ready for what I'm about to tell you and show you, Grissom? Do you think that you can handle the truth so that you can move on?" he asked with a sudden glint in his eyes. "The truth of your crimes, the truth about your life….do you honestly think that you are strong enough now? You weren't strong enough to resist the drugs that led you to where you are today."
Grissom looked at the "doctor" with quiet desperation. He knows and he's not going to tell me. I have to know who exactly I am. I don't what I am anymore.
"I have to know. Please, help me fill in the holes. I can't go on with all these gaps," Grissom pleaded.
"Grissom, the explosion happened. You remembered it, but Rachel and the baby were not in the car," said Mallory slowly, carefully gauging the patient's reaction.
"I…I don't understand. I heard the baby crying. I saw them in the car. It exploded," said Grissom in a confused voice.
"Yes, there was an explosion, but it was rigged. Rachel and the baby were never in the car. In fact, the bodies in the car were of a mother and son who had already died in a car accident the day before. Rachel and the baby survived," Mallory stopped, letting the information sink in.
In a low voice, Grissom asked, "If they survived, where are they? Who has them? Why the set up?"
"They needed protection from you, Grissom. Your addiction to drugs caused you to do the unthinkable. You had become abusive, and Rachel was afraid for the baby. She also knew that you were deep into the drug trafficking trade. The need to feed your addiction was all consuming. Your family needed to start a new life away from you. At that time, I was trying to help you to fight through this, but you turned on me," said Mallory in measured tones.
Grissom turned to face the man talking to him. "I turned on you? What do you mean? I…I… none of this sounds remotely familiar. You're trying to trick me. If Rachel and the baby aren't dead, what happened to them? Where are they?" asked an incredulous Gil Grissom as he attempted to rise from the bed.
Grissom felt his world crumbling around him, and all that existed for him was this man with information about himself and his family that was seemingly impossible. The familiar sense of panic and lack of control was rising in him again. He gulped and tried to hold on to what little self-control was left. Grissom tried to slow down his breathing, but panic once again was causing him to gasp for breath.
Lucas Mallory put a mask of concern on his face, but inside he was elated with seeing his "patient" fall apart before his eyes. Mallory sorely wanted to feed the tortured man before him more of this carefully crafted tale but knew that too much information would destroy what "progress" they had made so far. He needed for Grissom to accept this sordid tale as fact and then Mallory would build on it.
"Grissom, you need to calm down. Remember that I'm here to help you. I warned you that you needed to be strong and be able to face your past. Denying it isn't going to change anything. Look, I just want you to calm down. I know that this all seems strange to you. I want to give you some medication that will calm you down and help you to think a little more clearly, all right?"
Grissom shook his head, "No, please, not this time. I want to get better, but more drugs isn't going to make this any better. Please…"
Mallory countered quickly and laid a firm hand on the man's arm to focus his attention. "The medication that will be administered counters the addiction. It's sort of like the way methadone is used for weaning addicts off of heroin. Grissom, you're due for another dose and if you resist, I'll have no choice but to use the restraints. You don't want that, do you?"
Grissom shook his head in defeat. This can't be true. Rachel and Scott were killed in that explosion. I'm not what he says I am. This can't be happening. He dismally watched Mallory inject his IV line with his "meds." A burning sensation coursed through his arm and proceeded to spread through his body. Startled at the sensation, Grissom quickly glanced at the "doctor."
"Wha..What did you give me? This is different than what Jones had given me before. There wasn't this burning going through me. This isn't helping me…" gasped Grissom with a look of resentment in his eyes. His limbs suddenly felt like lead weights, and his tongue seemed to have thickened to twice its size. He collapsed back against the pillows staring at the man before him.
Mallory grinned widely, "Yes, Grissom, my friend, it's not the same as what my dear cousin gave you. This little combo is going to send you on a wonderful hallucinogenic high, but don't worry. You won't remember this part of our conversation. In a few minutes, we'll be taking the IV out and taking you to a new cell. I don't think you need to be in the infirmary any longer. Hopefully, you will be ready to accept your new situation."
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Soon after Sara had been taken back to her cell and made to change back into the patient sweats, Scott brought in her evening meal. Being careful to keep his back to the cameras, he placed her tray on the nightstand next to her cot. Sara quickly sat up from her position on the cot.
He quickly signed to her, You saw Grissom?
Sara gave him a slight nod, and Scott gave her a slight nod in return. He pointed to the tray, but signed, How is he?
Sara pushed herself back so that she was braced against the wall and brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Looking at the food and then looking at Scott, she shook her head. Not good.
Lifting his head slightly, Scott regarded her for a second and then nodded his head to tell her that he understood. He then slowly backed out of the room where Baker was waiting outside to secure the door.
Sara stared at the door briefly. She looked at the food on the tray. Food was the last thing she wanted right now, but she knew that she should eat. Bending over to the tray, she listlessly stirred the spoon in the bowl of stew. She didn't tell anyone that she was a vegetarian, but she doubted that it would have mattered. Sighing, she picked up a slice of bread and nibbled on it. They were careful not to give her a fork or a knife and the food that was brought usually could be eaten with a spoon or her fingers. Tossing the bread down, she got up to restlessly pace the room like a caged tiger.
She reflected upon the brief time she had spent with Grissom. His physical injuries seemed to be healing, but he definitely wasn't himself. He had fixed his eyes on her, and Sara momentarily thought she had seen a spark of recognition, but then a veil of confusion descended upon him. She was not used to seeing Grissom exercising so little control both physically and emotionally.
Sighing, she turned her thoughts to Grissom's son. When she had first met Grissom's mother, she had shown Sara pictures of Grissom when he was growing up. He was a handsome young man and she recognized the strong resemblance between father and son. Sara realized that the similarities between father and son were much more than skin deep. Even though her contact with Scott had been limited, she recognized Grissom's probing nature and curiosity present in his son.
Sara was heartened by the fact that Scott had asked about Grissom. He seemed to absorb what little information she was able to communicate to him about his father, but she couldn't read what that information meant to him. He was an enigma much like Grissom.
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Grissom felt himself lifted off the bed with his arms draped around the shoulders of the two prison guards as they dragged him from the infirmary. He tried to lift his head but only succeeded in having his head loll to one side. The pull on his injured shoulder and left wrist didn't bother him, at least not much, and although the guards weren't especially gentle, his ribs didn't bother him at all. Their progress down the hall was abruptly halted, and Grissom lifted his head slightly to see an angry Ken Jones standing before the three men.
"What do you think you're doing? This man should be in the infirmary," Jones said, demanding an explanation.
"Mallory said that he wanted Grissom moved to that little used out building near the gardens. We're just following orders. He told us to wait until dark so that the other staff wouldn't see," explained Baker.
"Just hold on a sec," the doctor said, "let me look at this man." Jones lifted Grissom's chin up and examined his eyes. Grissom's eyes were dilated and the man tried to focus on the doctor before him.
"Jones, how very nice to see you," mumbled Grssom as his head lolled to one side. Grissom sighed and sagged against the men holding him up.
"Which cell are you taking him to?" asked Jones, not liking what he was seeing in Grissom's condition.
"I don't know. Mallory just said that he would have one open and prepared. I guess we'll see when we get there. Can we get goin' Doc? He's getting kinda heavy here," was the reply.
Reluctantly, Jones stepped aside and allowed the men to pass by him. He turned and watched them struggle through the doors of the wing into the darkness of the night.
From the shadows of a nearby building, Scott observed the two guards half-carry, half drag the drugged captive across the compound towards building near the gardens. He followed them, always staying in the shadows, being careful not to be noticed.
A/N: Another chapter in. Tell what you think of the story line so far. This journey has been an interesting one for me. Please review so that I can keep going. My muses need the encouragement. Thanks for reading and I hope that you are enjoying this story. In addition, hope that you all had a great Thanksgiving. This is what I'm doing instead of going out on Black Friday (like I had any money, anyway).