Journey Through the Past- Chapter 19
Jim Brass and Catherine Willows stared at Greg Sanders in bewilderment.
"What do you mean that Grissom was the one who was to make the drop?" exclaimed an incredulous Catherine Willows.
Greg shot Nick a look for help. "Well, Catherine, I was in the interrogation room with Cavaliere when Bessler named Grissom as his contact. I thought that maybe Mallory had paid him to name Grissom, but Greg researched the company that owns the title of the warehouse and of the house where Sara was first taken. It apparently is a "front" company for the Knights. Going down the list of properties that were listed in the notebook in Bessler's possession, these properties were either purchased by the LH Holding Company or MG Enterprises. MG Enterprises apparently is fairly new to the scene. This company started purchasing properties about 5 months ago, about a month after Lucas Mallory escaped from Folsom."
"What does this have to do with Grissom?" questioned Catherine.
"I was able to pull up the business license and papers filed with the state business license office. The company is under partnership between one Lucas Mallory and one Gilbert A. Grissom, Mallory-Grissom Enterprises," said Greg reluctantly.
"Have you sent the documentation over to QD for analysis?" Brass queried.
"Yeah, we should have the results soon. I want to interview Bessler again and see what else he can cough up in the way of information. Cavaliere's unit is rounding up known members of the Knights and checking out the word on the streets. There has to be an explanation on why Bessler thinks that Grissom was supposed to be there. Mallory could have just put Grissom's name on the documents. I'm sure that we will find that his signature was forged," said a hopeful Nick Stokes.
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Grissom lay on his side on the cool concrete floor. Shakily, he tried to pull himself up onto the cot. His damaged left wrist collapsed under his weight as he tried to push himself off the floor. His head and torso hit the floor with a dull thud, and Grissom gave out a "hmmph." He rested a minute or two with his forehead on the cool floor and then rolled onto his left side holding his wrist close to his body. With his right hand, he pulled himself up onto the cot and leaned his back against the cement wall. Grissom tried to recall the last images that passed through his mind. A young man…Scott…was it Scott or was it hallucination? Shutting his eyes, the weary man tried to remember how he got to this cell. I was talking to Mallory…Dr. Mallory?...is that right? Something…something about Rachel and the baby surviving the explosion. Rachel taking the baby because…because she was afra…afraid of me?
Grissom shook his head to try to loosen the cobwebs. Looking down, he was startled to find that he was no longer in patient sweats but in a demin shirt and jeans, a prisoner's uniform. His feet were bare. The soft wrap-around cast that had been on his left wrist had been removed, and Grissom noted that it was slightly swollen and tender. Shifting positions, he sat up a little straighter and felt stiffness in his ribs and a twinge in his left shoulder. Had he been in a fight? Wasn't I in a rehab facility? Last I remember was being in the infirmary at an addiction clinic….
Grissom looked up as the door to his cell swung open.Lucas Mallory entered the room followed by the ever present guards. Mallory studied the man on the cot for a moment. His eyes were clearer than when he had Lopez and Baker change Grissom's clothing. The tremors that had wracked Grissom were only slightly present. Taking a seat on the folding chair that Baker set up for him, Mallory sat down across from his prisoner. Both Baker and Lopez stepped back and stood silently against the door with folded arms. Mallory opened the folder and glanced at the contents.
"Well, Grissom, how are you adjusting to your new digs? You'll only be in this cell until you can be transferred to the state prison in Carson City. I'm still holding out for the chance that once we can get you psychologically well that we can get you sent to a minimum security facility," said Mallory.
"When did all this happen? I…I don't remember being moved from the infirmary. Am I still at the rehab clinic?" asked Grissom softly, confusion clearly on his face. Grissom straightened up a little while still leaning against the wall.
"Yes, we are still at the clinic. The infirmary needed your bed and since you didn't need the IV, Jones thought it best that you be moved to an isolation cell. Right now though, I would like to give you another injection before your symptoms start up again. I see the tremors have abated quite a bit. How are the cramps and headaches? We want to keep them under control, don't we?" asked Mallory with a gleam in his eyes.
Grissom warily eyed the syringe that Mallory withdrew from his lab coat pocket. Memories of the cramping and hallucinations were enough to keep Grissom from protesting. Reluctantly he held out his right arm so that Mallory could give him his "meds."
"Okay Grissom, just make a fist. There that's it. You'll feel a slight burning. I just want you to relax, okay, and let the drugs run its course."
Mallory finished administering the injection and then sat back to observe his "patient." Grissom noticeably relaxed, and his eyes took on a slightly glazed look. Mallory waited a few minutes more, observing Grissom under the influence of the powerful hypnotic he had just given him.
"Grissom, are you with me? Look at me so that I know that you can hear me," Mallory said softly.
The drugged man slowly lifted his head and looked at the man seated before him with slightly unfocused eyes. "Ye..yes…I'm listening,' Grissom said slowly.
"Grissom, I want to show you some pictures to see if I can jog your memory, okay?" Mallory said, annunciating his words carefully. With deliberate slowness, Mallory opened the file folder he had brought with him and took out several photographs and placed them in Grissom's hands.
Grissom gazed down at the photos lying in his hands and started to shake. With trembling hands, he picked them up, one by one, and stared at each one. The shaking increased as he continued to stare at the images before him.
"Where did you get these?" he whispered in a stricken voice.
Mallory leaned forward, intensity in his eyes. It was critical that Grissom believe this phase of the story. Speaking in a soft voice, barely above a whisper, Mallory said, "Do you really want to know? Do you think you can face Rachel's fate or your son's?"
Grissom looked up to see Mallory staring intently at him and then glanced down once more at the pictures before him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he nodded slowly and replied, "I have to know."
"These photos were taken after the explosion. As you can see, Rachel and the boy were not injured. Grissom, she was deathly afraid of you and what you would do to her and the boy so she came to me."
Pausing a moment to let this information sink in, Mallory continued, "Dr. Jones is my cousin, and he agreed to hide her from you. She stayed here with him and made a new life for herself and the baby."
Grissom sorted through the photographs once more. The photographs were taken over the last twenty years. Some were of mother and son while still others were just of Scott at various ages or just of Rachel.
"Made a new life for herself? With Dr. Jones? I…I want to see her, talk to her. Try to make things right," said Grissom as he looked away from Mallory and stared at the floor. "I need to let her know that…that I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
Keeping a serious expression on his face, Mallory said quietly, "That would be impossible. It's too late, Grissom." Pausing for a dramatic effect, Mallory leaned forward and made eye-contact with Grissom who was becoming more and more distraught. "Gil, she died about twelve years ago. She caught a virus and died in the infirmary."
Grissom shot a distressed look at Mallory, the pictures on his lap forgotten. "You tell me that my wife didn't die twenty years ago. That it was my fault that she left and took my son. Now, I don't have the opportunity to try to apologize to her, to try to make up for all the wrong things I have done?" he said in a low voice.
Mallory leaned back in his chair. He had expected for Grissom to be remorseful and guilt-ridden, but he didn't expect the anger and denial that was clearly rising in the man. Mallory stood up.
"Grissom, I think that we have covered enough for today. You have a lot to absorb. You just chew on this information and we talk some more in a while when I think that you're ready," said Mallory in a serious tone.
"No. I might as well know it all. Where is my son? He should be about twenty now. Is he still here? What's he like? I'd like to meet him," said Grissom as he started to rise off the cot with adrenalin coursing through him.
Mallory signaled for the guards to come forward. "Grissom, you need to calm down. Your agitation will only get you into trouble," warned the "doctor."
Grissom warily eyed the guards as the athletically built guards approached him. From the corner of his eye, he caught the slight glimmer of the syringe that Mallory was quietly pulling from his lab coat. Without a thought of the consequences, Grissom lunged forward, pushing Mallory from his chair onto the floor. Grabbing the folding chair, the desperate man swung the chair, catching Baker and Lopez by surprise. As soon as the chair hit both men, Grissom was painfully reminded of his injured wrist. He staggered forward and was able to pull Lopez's weapon from its holster. Holding his left wrist against his body, he stood dizzily up and pointed the weapon at the three stunned men lying haphazardly on the floor.
Panting for breath, Grissom staggered backward towards the door, the shaking gun temporarily holding the men at bay. "No more injections. I'd rather suffer the withdrawal symptoms. I don't know what game you're playing at, but I'm not playing anymore," Grissom managed to gasp.
Realizing that he had pushed the man too far, Mallory tried to salvage the situation. "Grissom, listen to me. This won't get you anywhere. You're only making it harder for yourself. Look, I'll arrange a meeting with your son, but you have to put the gun down."
Uncertainty crossed Grissom's face as he edged his way to the door in order to escape this nightmare. "I…I don't believe you. You'll say anything to get me to put the gun down. Right now, you're going to slide your keys toward me."
Mallory hesitated. He knew that Grissom would not get far. He was still weak and barefoot. The adrenalin that was giving the man his current strength would soon wear off. Slowly, Lucas Mallory withdrew the keys from his pocket and slid them across the floor to Grissom.
Grimacing, Grissom gingerly lowered himself so that he could reach the keys, never taking his eyes off his captors. Grasping the keys, he fumbled momentarily, trying to find the proper key. The injured man took one last look at the men lying on the cell floor and quickly shut the door, locking them in.
Leaning against the wall as he felt his strength draining away, Grissom heard the men scrambling around inside the cell. Mallory was screaming at this men, and the cell door shook as the guards threw their weight against it. Staggering down the dimly lit hallway, Grissom pulled open the door to the building and made his way outside.
At this point, he had no plan but to simply get away from Mallory and the two guards. Stumbling through the darkness, his way was lit by only a thin sliver of moon that shone through the cloudless Nevada night sky. Grissom found himself lurching through a garden. Though his feet were bare, he hardly felt the sticks and rocks that tore into his soles. His head was beginning to ache and the cramping in his abdomen was starting up again. Tripping, the man landed on his knees. Tucking the 9mm Beretta into the back of his pants, he then rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Bringing up his left arm and wrist, he held it close to his body using his right hand as a support.
Grissom landed in front of a smooth marble gravestone. He scanned his surroundings, realizing that he was in a small graveyard. Most of the graves were plain, but the one he landed in front of seemed somewhat ornate compared to the rest. Fresh flowers had recently been placed carefully in front of the headstone. Rachel Grissom Jones May you find the peace you couldn't find in this life. He stared in disbelief at the headstone. Mallory had told him the truth. Rachel had survived the explosion and had died. She died believing that he was a monster.
The sound of a muffled gunshot reached his ears. Damn! I forgot to get the other guard's gun. They'll be here soon to drag me away. The guard most probably shot off the lock of the door. Grissom sat on his knees, wanting to get up and get away, but the headstone before him seemed to hold him like a magnet. He heard a door slam open and muffled voices in the direction of the building from which he had just escaped. Grissom tried to rise off of his knees but his limbs felt like lead weights. Reaching for the headstone for leverage, he started to pull himself up.
He suddenly felt a presence behind him. Before he could turn around, two hands came down on his shoulders, pushing him flat on his stomach. Grissom attempted to get up, but whoever had pushed him down was now lying on top of him. A hand came across his mouth, preventing him from uttering a sound.
"Shhhh….shhh," came the whispered voice.
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Scott had surreptitiously crept into Mallory's makeshift lab after Jones and Mallory had left and had discovered a plethora of drugs. Drugs were in various stages of process.
Exploring the lab, Scott found file folders on both Grissom and Sara lying on Mallory's desk. Each folder contained a schedule of when each of the "patients" would receive a dose, the amount, and the combination of what drug. Scott examined Sara's schedule and noted that her "treatment" had just begun and that Mallory had taken notes about how Sara was faring with her combination of PCP and heroin. Her next dose was due in a couple of hours and she was to be injected with a combination of barbiturates and amphetamines. Studying the combination of drugs and the schedule of dosages, Scott realized that the "treatment" would render Sara addicted and dependent on Mallory.
Scott picked up Grissom's folder and proceeded to examine the notes on Grissom. Scott noted the dosages and the pattern of increase and concentration of the substances. It seemed as though Mallory had sadistically increased the dosages, observing his patient hallucinate and then suffer the symptoms of withdrawal by purposely withdrawing or substituting placebos. Reading the detailed notes on his father, it was clear to the young man that this "patient" did not fit the usual profile of a drug addict. Mallory wasn't trying to wean Grissom away from addiction but quite the opposite. Scott sat on a stool, staring at the information that lay before him. Grissom had been on a regular regimen of "drug therapy" for more than three weeks. His body was now clearly addicted to the substances that Mallory was administering to him.
Scott noted that Grissom's next dosages were due, and that was probably where Mallory and his men were headed. The young man glanced up and noticed through the glass windows of the cabinet next to the desk, a number of syringes laying neatly in two rows. On closer examination, Scott noted that the syringes in the top row were carefully labeled with what each contained and when they were to be administered to Grissom. The second row of syringes was similar, only these were for Sara.
Opening the cabinet door, Scott thoughtfully ran his fingers over the syringes, trying to decide what to do. Grissom's dependence on the cocktail of drugs Mallory was giving him was becoming quite severe if Scott were to believe the notes that Mallory was making. Sara, on the other hand, was just in the beginning stages of Mallory's "treatments." She would not have developed the dependence on the drugs as much as Grissom.
Making a decision, Scott searched the rest of the lab for a bottle of saline solution. Carefully, he emptied the syringes earmarked for Sara and refilled each one with saline. Meticulously he placed each syringe as he found them.
He thought momentarily what he should do with Grissom's "meds." He couldn't do the same as he had with Sara's. Grissom's life could very well be in danger because of the withdrawal symptoms. His damaged body would severely crave the concoctions that Mallory had devised. Having helped Ken Jones numerous times with patients going through withdrawal, Scott felt the only way to help his father was to try to wean him from the addiction by trying another regimen of drugs less lethal and addictive, but he wasn't sure what other drugs could be substituted and at what dosage could be used to help his father come clean. Another option might be to trying watering down the drugs rather than stopping them cold turkey. Jones would know exactly what to do, but he was in league with Mallory and had allowed the whole sordid situation to happen.
Scott decided to replace the syringes with their poison with those filled with saline. He then pocketed the "meds" made for Grissom. Scott decided he needed to visit with Sara a little bit before the next scheduled dose and let her know what he had done. She would have to be a fine enough actress to convince Mallory that he had actually given her the concoction that was originally in the shot.
Checking and rechecking the syringes and the lab overall, Scott made sure that everything looked the same as he when he first came in. He then left, intent on visiting his mother's grave.
Scott sat in front of his mother's grave. He silently told her that he had found his father, and that he was sure that he still loved her. He waited for some inspiration of what he should do next in relation to Grissom. After carefully arranging a bouquet of her favorite flowers, Scott stood up and dusted off the knees of his jeans. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement from the building nearest the cemetery. A figure was lurching and staggering towards the cemetery. Scott backed away and crouched beside a creosote bush to observe the stumbling figure.
Suddenly the fleeing man fell in front of his mother's grave, and from the dim moonlight, Scott recognized Grissom. He observed the man as he scanned the area around him desperately and then stare at the engraved headstone. Grissom bowed his head, and started to shake. Suddenly his head shot up as if he heard a loud bang. Grissom sat still, staring in the direction of the building from which he had escaped. Scott took this moment to circle around behind him, all the while keeping an eye in the direction where Grissom was staring. Mallory and his two guards emerged from the building. Mallory was obviously angry and pushed his men in different directions to search for their escapee.
Scott realized that as long as Grissom stayed on his knees, the headstone would block any view of him. As the injured man tried to stand, Scott came up from behind him and pushed him down. Landing across his father's back, Grissom's son clamped one hand over his father's mouth to prevent him from shouting out.
"Shh….shh," Scott whispered.
Somewhat confused, Grissom lay still and listened as the sounds of his pursuers faded in the opposite direction, toward the other buildings away from the gardens. Carefully, the person on Grissom's back shifted off his back and helped Grissom roll over. Grissom stared up at the young face before him. I didn't hallucinate. He's for real.
"You're for real. You're Scott,"whispered Grissom with awe in his voice and eyes. "You're here with me."
Scott nodded. I'm here with you. But first, let's get you somewhere safe, he signed quickly.
Glancing down at Grissom feet, he noticed the man's feet were somewhat bloody from running through the desert. Grissom followed Scott's glance down and saw blood seeping through the scratches and abrasions on his feet. In his panic to get away, Grissom did not realize the damage he was doing to his feet.
"It's okay. I can walk, I think. Help me up," Grissom said in a low voice.
Shaking his head, Scott motioned that Grissom should stay seated on the ground. Taking his own shoes off, the young man took slipped off his socks and put them on Grissom's feet. Scott slipped his shoes back on his bare feet. The material from the crew socks would at least give his feet a little protection.
Scott helped his father up and wrapped his left arm around his father's shoulder. Scott guided Grissom through the semi-darkness, carefully trying to prevent further damage to the man's feet. When they reached the end of the gardens farthest from the clinic, father and son approached the edge of a precipice that had a sharp drop of about thirty feet. Scott eased Grissom down onto a large boulder to rest. Looking over his shoulder to make sure that they still had not been spotted, Scott turned to Grissom and indicated to him that he should rest for a moment. The older man was wheezing and obviously winded.
Quickly, the young man searched for the path that was hidden by the creosote brushes that would allow him to taken Grissom safely down the precipice. From the bottom of the steep slope, Scott would be able to guide his father to safe hiding place. Finding the trail he was looking for, Grissom's son quietly made his way back to his father and half carried, half dragged him down the trail. Scott tried to go down the path as rapidly as he could without the both of them falling and tumbling down the rest of the slope.
Reaching the bottom of the slope, Scott looked up to see Mallory's men using flashlights while searching the gardens. Pushing Grissom down against the slope, the young man peered up in time to see the men shine their lights in their direction.
Grissom was becoming increasingly dizzy. His son had practically carried him down the precipice, and he could do little to help him. The tremors were returning with a vengeance and seemed to be keeping time with the pounding in his head. Breathing in ragged gulps, Grissom tried to calm himself as he watched Scott make sure that all was clear for them to continue away from Mallory's henchmen.
When he deemed that the way was clear, Scott helped Grissom up and continued along the base of the cliff. As long as they stayed close to the base, they would be able to stay hidden from the searching eyes above them. Scott was fueled by the need to protect this man and it was all he needed to keep going even though his back and arms had begun to ache. They made frequent stops so that Grissom could catch his breath and so Scott could check the condition Grissom's feet. The socks were getting pretty torn up, and his feet would be a bloody mess by the time they got to the shelter that Scott had in mind.
When they reached a narrow gully, the two men left the trail and Scott helped Grissom through the rocky wash. With every step, pain shot up through both his legs, and Grissom clenched his teeth tightly together to prevent himself from groaning out loud. Finally, near the end of the gully, halfway up one side, Scott lowered Grissom on a rock ledge was jutting out. He climbed ten feet and moved aside some brush that hid the entrance to an abandoned mine. Climbing back down, Scott indicated to Grissom that he needed to be able to climb the ten feet to the entrance.
For Grissom, those ten feet seemed like ten miles. Swallowing hard, he nodded and allowed Scott to pull him up against him. Scott dragged his father up the hill, both men panting from exertion. Upon reaching the entrance, they both collapsed in a heap.
A/N: This chapter ended up being a lot longer than intended. Reviews will cause me to post the next chapter sooner than later as it is partly written. Please let me know if you are enjoying it……Beck