Disclaimer: I do not own Dragnet, just mentioned it as it seemed comical and fitting.
A/N: Sorry that it has taken me so long, but I got stuck on that wheel again. Damn it.
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Chapter Seventeen
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After Sara left Jim double-checked the master bedroom and heard the rhythmic breathing of Gil's sleep. It surprised him since he fell asleep so quickly, but Gil had looked downright exhausted by the time he and Sara had gotten him to bed.
He went down to the guest room where he had dropped his things and pulled an old tee shirt and shorts out of the worn duffel bag that had journeyed with him from New Jersey. He changed out of his work suit and draped the outfit over the chair in the corner. After pulling on his night clothes he took a moment to look around the room that he would be staying in for the next few days or as long as Gil and Sara needed him to be here.
Two of the walls were covered by tall, full bookcases. Books that reflected a variety of topics, from bugs to movies, forensics to … the Kama Sutra? Intrigued Jim pulled the book in question down off the shelf and began to leaf through its pages. His brow creased as each still photo became more intense than the last. He wondered if Gil and Sara had tried any of these positions and when he found his mind trying to envision them wrapped around each other in such odd fashions he quickly shut the book with a resounding slap and inserted it back into its empty slot on the shelf. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to erase the vision that lingered but was unsuccessful.
He shook his head as he picked up his holstered sidearm off the bed. Before he returned to the couch, he checked the master bedroom one more time. He set his weapon on the coffee table and picked up the remote as he stretched out on the couch. He idly flipped through the channels, not looking for anything in particular, and settled on an old, rerun episode of Dragnet. He had always loved this show when he was a kid and remembered that it had inspired him become a detective when he was young. As the show carried on in its low-key manor Jim drifted off into a restless sleep.
Jim stood in the corner of the small, concrete room and watched as Shelling forced Gil over the table that stood in front of him. Jim looked down at his helpless friend, unable to move. Unable to utter a sound.
"Please, Jim, Help me." Gil pleaded as he looked up at his friend. "Help me, Jim. Please."
Gil began to look more frantic as he felt Shelling step in close. Then his face erupted in a mixture of expression. Pain, fear, humiliation, degradation… betrayal. In his mind Jim heard a hundred voices, all screaming at him to shoot the man that tormented his friend. Telling him to make Shelling stop. Then they mixed with Gil's screams of pain. Screams that were not caused by his physical suffering alone. When all was done and he stood over Gil, who lay motionless on the floor, Gil turned his eyes up to Jim. Soft, blue eyes that conveyed only one emotion… intense betrayal.
"Why, Jim?" He implored weakly. "Why did you let them do this to me?"
Jim's head slowly rolled back in forth on the accent pillow on the couch and his brow creased in its expression of pain.
"No…" He softly moaned in his sleep. "I'm sorry."
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His arms were shackled to the wall, in spread-eagle fashion, and from where he sat on the concrete floor his legs were splayed out in front of him. Gil was drenched with perspiration and on the verge of passing out from the intense pain between his legs. He looked up into O'Tool's menacing eyes.
"The pain will stop when you suck my dick." His words were cold and sadistic and Gil knew he meant every one of them. He had already passed out once, only to be revived with a bucket of ice cold water.
Gil was broken and tired. He was ready for the end and willing to do whatever it took to make it stop. As he eagerly leaned forward and opened his mouth, Sara stepped up beside O'Tool. He looked up into her chocolate, brown eyes and she shook her head sadly, silently begging him to be strong and to fight the pain and O'Tool's sadistic demand.
"I can't take anymore." He pleaded with her as tears stung his eyes.
O'Tool's foot pressed down more, intensifying the pain and Gil nearly launched himself at O'Tool, desperately sucking his torturer's full length into his mouth. He sucked hard and in his inexperience imitated what they had forced him to do the day before and what little he was able to remember of Sara doing to him in the past.
His eyes were drawn up to meet Sara's as he continued to pleasure O'Tool. The tears and evident pain in her eye's broke his heart. He had never seen her look so hurt. He wanted desperately to stop but the more worked O'Tool the more relief he got from the pain. O'Tool braced himself against the wall as he drew closer to his climax. As her tears fell like cold drops of rain on the darkest day of the year she began to shake her head and whispered one word.
"Stop." It was not just a spoken word, it was a word begged by a betrayed heart.
He wanted to stop, he didn't want to hurt her, but he could not take it anymore and just wished it would all end.
With one last, hard suck O'Tool came hard with a buck of his hips and knocked Gil's head back against the wall. Sara shook her head sadly and turned and walked away.
"Please… don't leave me." Gil begged her as tears coursed down his cheeks. She stopped and turned back to look at him.
"You broke my heart, Gil. I could never love a man who would so willingly give himself to someone else, just to save himself. You're a whore, Gil. Nothing but a dirty whore, and I want nothing to do with you." She walked away and never looked back again.
"No!" Gil cried out weakly.
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Jim woke with a start from his own dream from a sound coming from somewhere in the house. He looked at his watch in the glow of the TV screen and it read 2:35. He hadn't even realized that he had dozed off and sat up the couch. Then he heard it again and it sounded like a muffled cry. Taking his sidearm from its holster he went to the stairs and quietly began to climb them. He kept his back to the wall as he carefully worked his way up each step and held his weapon straight out in front of him, prepared to shoot first and ask questions later.
"Please…" Gil mumbled from the other side of the master bedroom door. "Please…don't…"
He finally made his way to the master bedroom where the noise was coming from and cautiously pushed open the door. He could barely make out Gil's form in the darkness. He watched as his long time friend slowly writhed under the covers.
"No!" Gil suddenly cried out in agony.
Jim rushed into the room and around to Gil's side of the bed. He quickly set his weapon down on the night stand and turned on the bedside lamp.
"Gil, wake up." He urged as he shook Gil's shoulder.
Gil's eyes flew open and there was no sign of recognition, only complete terror. Before Jim could react Gil's fist shot up at his face, connecting hard with his left eye. The power behind the punch sent Jim hurdling backwards and he tripped over the chair that sat in front of the window. He fell over backwards and slammed the back of his head on the dresser.
Gil rolled out of the other side of the bed and in his struggle to escape the spinning room he lost his footing and fell, landing hard in the far corner of the room. Against the awkwardness of the knee brace he curled into a ball and covered his head and face with his arms, waiting for the attack to ensue. He felt very dizzy and the back of his head, where the staples were, hurt from connecting hard with the wall.
Jim grabbed the back of his head and groaned loudly as he writhed on the floor.
"Son of a bitch!" He hissed through his clenched teeth.
As he calmed down, the headache began to subside a little. After a minute he pushed himself to his feet, while still holding his head, and searched the room for Gil. It didn't take long to find him huddled in the corner.
Jim carefully made his way back around the bed and settled down onto one knee. He gently touched Gil's arm, but when his friend flinched and tried to move further back against the wall Jim withdrew his hand.
"Gil." Jim spoke gently.
"P-P-Please d-d-don't hurt m-me." Gil pleaded without looking up.
"Gil, it's alright. You're safe." Jim reached out his hand but this time he put it on his friend's trembling knee. "I'm not going to hurt you, Gil."
Gil slowly raised his head and in the dim light cast by the bedside lamp Jim could see the tears that flowed down his cheeks. His heart ached for his friend as he saw the terror in his eyes fade away and be replaced by recognition and he quickly looked down at the floor. As more tears coursed freely down his face he began to sob heavily. Jim eased down onto the floor beside him and rubbed his shoulder. He wanted to say something. He wanted to offer magical words that would make his best friends suffering go away, but for now all he could was let him know that he was not alone. Let him know that he had a friend who was there for him. As Gil buried his face in his hands Jim gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
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The four investigators had gathered in the break room at the end of shift. After giving Catherine their reports Nick turned to Sara.
"So, when would be a good time for me to come over?" Nick was afraid of imposing and asked hesitantly.
Sara thought for a moment and noticed the Warrick and Catherine picked up on the conversation immediately. She could tell they wanted to ask the same question and smiled as she looked between them.
"How about breakfast?"
"All three of us?" Warrick asked as he tried to hide his excitement so as not to put her on the spot.
"Sure." She nodded. "We'll have to keep it quiet and low key, but I think it would be good for Gil."
"We'll meet you there." Catherine said and pointed to the two men. "We have something to do first."
"We do?" Nick and Warrick asked at the same time.
"Yes, we do." She replied firmly.
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As Sara dragged herself up the front steps the realization of what a long night it had been hit her. She had needed to use all of her will power not to call the townhouse or Jim's cell every hour to check on Gil. She fumbled with her keys and after finding the right one she ushered herself through the front door and closed it behind her. She toed off her shoes and walked to the living room.
She draped her jacket over the back of the rocking chair that Gil had given her for her last birthday and stood for a moment, watching Jim who was stretched out on the couch with his back to her. Her brow furrowed with confusion when she saw the melted ice pack on the floor in front of the couch and when she stepped closer she saw the dark bruise that encircled his left eye and came down over the cheek bone. She quietly went over and sat down on the coffee table.
Slowly Jim woke from his sleep and his right eye opened, but his left eye was swollen almost completely shut.
"Good morning." He gave a slight smile, hoping to ease the visible worry on her face.
"I don't know how good it is." She reached out and lightly touched his cheek. "How did you get this?"
"It's my fault, really." He chuckled as he sat up. He touched his eye gingerly and winced at the pain. " Gil was having a nightmare and I woke him up. I don't think he realized who I was or where he was, so he lashed out in self-defense."
"Does it hurt much?"
"Not as much as the knot on the back of my head." He reached back to feel it and she leaned forward to examine the bump.
"Don't tell me he broke the lamp over your head." She frowned.
"No. I got that when I stumbled back, tripped over the chair and hit the back of my head on the dresser."
"Oh, Jim." Sara said sadly as she sat back down.
She rubbed her forehead in frustration. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, causing her to look back up at him.
"It'll be okay, Sara. We'll get him through this." He smiled.
"Well, how can I make this up to you?"
Jim seemed thoughtful for a few minutes and the longer he thought the more amused she became.
"Weelll." He finally said, drawing out the word.
"Oh, brother." She rolled her eyes and smirked.
"I suppose… you could do one… little… thing." He looked up at the ceiling, trying to be nonchalant and stealing quick glances down at her.
"Oh my God." She laughed. "How about I make you breakfast?"
"That's a great idea!" He said excitedly. She playfully swatted him on the arm and stood up. He held out his hand. "How's about helping an old man off the couch."
Her smile softened as she extended her hand and pulled him to his feet. He swayed as a moment of dizziness overcame him and she put her other hand on his arm to steady him.
"You alright?" Her voice was filled with concern.
"Yeah." He rubbed his forehead as the feeling began to fade. "I probably just stood up too fast. I'm fine." He reassured. "Do you have any aspirin?"
"Yeah, in the medicine cabinet. Do you want me to get you some?"
"Nah, I'm going that way anyways."
She watched him for a moment as he carefully made his way down the hall and when he disappeared into the guest room she made her way up the stairs.
She quietly peaked through the door that still stood ajar and was somewhat relieved to see Gil's still form lying under the covers. She padded around the bed and was not surprised to see him awake. He rarely slept for very long before one of his nightmares would wake him and he would be unable to sleep for some time afterwards and the evidence of his most recent nightmare concerned her greatly.
"Good morning." She smiled as she sat down on the bedside.
He looked up at her and cringed when he caught himself and quickly looked away. She ran her fingers through his mussed curls and he fearfully shrank away from her touch as he began to shake and struggled to hold back his tears.
"Gil, what's wrong?"
He wanted to tell her how sorry he was. He wanted to beg her to forgive him for being unfaithful but he was sure that she wouldn't want to hear it. He was confused by her actions. He didn't understand why she would touch him the way she did after calling him a dirty whore.
He did not want her to touch him. Not because she had said it, but because of what she had said. It was a feeling that he'd had for a couple of days, but had not been able to put a label on it. She had named it and in his weakened mind it was accurate.
He felt dirty because he was, he rationalized. No one could be clean after allowing those things to be done to their body. The worst of it though was his rationalization that he was a whore. Whores sell their bodies to be used for sex and barter took many forms, including mercy.
"Baby, won't you talk to me?" She implored. He turned his face into the pillow as he couldn't stand the thought of her looking at him. She tried to reason with him. "I want to help you, but I can't if you won't let me in."
"P-P-Please g-g-go aw-way." He begged as fresh tears of shame began to soak the pillow. She tried to take his hand but he pulled away from her curled into a ball the best that he could.
She was hurt. Not because of his refusal of her presence or touch. That was something that she understood all too well. Her heart hurt for him. He still, obviously blamed himself for what they had done to him and she knew it would be a long time before his feelings of guilt and shame would begin to subside. He had lost himself. He had forgotten who he was. If he didn't want her around than he wouldn't want the others around either, but she decided to try just the same.
"How about some breakfast?" No response. "Catherine, Nick and Warrick are coming over. They've been really worried about you and would like to see you. "
He shook his head vigorously. He could not stand the thought of looking at his friends and having them watch him with accusing eyes and fake smiles.
"Do you want me to bring you something to eat then?"
The thought of eating intensified his nausea and he shook his head again. She wanted to push the issue but was afraid of pushing him further away.
"Okay, but you need to get something into your stomach if you want to take your pills." She gently reasoned.
She had not meant for it to sound like a threat and her voice had not delivered that tone, but what Gil heard was… If you want the pain to stop… and he complied fearfully. She stood to help him and the doorbell rang.
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Jim closed the bathroom door and propped himself on the counter with his hands. He let out a long sigh as he looked at himself in the mirror. For the first time he saw the damage that Gil's fist had done to his left eye. The entire eye was encircled with a dark, ugly bruise that extended itself down over the cheek bone and it was almost completely swollen shut.
An image of Gil's fist flashed in his memory. He opened the door to the medicine cabinet and his eyes immediately fell on the clear bottle of little white pills on the bottom shelf. He tapped two of the pills out of the bottle and into his hand then popped them into his mouth before replacing the bottle and shutting the door. Grabbing a paper cup he rinsed the drugs down with cold water and stripped of his tee shirt and shorts. He stepped into the shower and, after adjusting the temperature, let the hot water cascade down over his head and shoulders. He relaxed as he felt the tension begin to melt away and shook his head as he thought about the day ahead. To help Gil was not a burden, but to see the once strong, determined, private man reduced to a terrorized, unsure and withdrawn victim broke his heart. Each day, since his friend awoke in the hospital, he had struggled to be near him and at the same time keep his emotions hidden so as not to disturb the bug man.
Jim laughed as an image of Gil holding that damned ugly tarantula on his hand popped into his mind. Then he brightened as a thought occurred to him. Maybe what Gil needed was to have his bugs from the office brought home. Jim detested the thought of having them around but he was willing to try anything that might lift his friend's spirits.
As he ran the wash cloth over his face he winced at the pain in his eye and a vision of the look of pure terror that had been in Gil's eyes flashed in his mind's eye. After washing and rinsing he climbed out of the shower and dried off with a towel.
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Sara ran down the stairs and opened the door. She was not surprised to see Catherine, Nick and Warrick standing on the front step but she was surprised to see them all carrying what looked like bags of groceries.
"What's all this?" She smiled happily.
"Well, we thought that it might be kind of hard for you to get out and get your shopping done," Warrick nodded to the brown paper bags in his arms. "So… we did it for you."
"You guys are so sweet." She was truly touched by their thoughtfulness.
She opened the door for them and lead them into the kitchen. Nick shut the door with his foot as he was the last one in.
"Where's Gil?" Warrick asked hopefully.
"He's upstairs. One of you manly men want to give me a hand?" She smirked as they jokingly puffed out their chests. "Jim's in the shower and Gil really needs two people to help him down the stairs."
The two men playfully shot rock, paper, scissors and Warrick smiled triumphantly and followed Sara up the stairs. Sara laughed and thought that it would be good for Gil to see that they wanted to help him and she knew Warrick would be gentle and caring.
"I'll get breakfast started." Catherine said cheerfully as she began to unload the bags of groceries.
Upon reaching the door to the master bedroom they quietly entered. Gil was still lying in bed and when Warrick followed her around to his side of the bed he looked up at them for the first time.
His eyes widened with fear and he began to panic. His breathing became ragged and Sara stepped into his line of sight. She smiled sadly as she gently caressed his face.
"It's okay." She soothed. "It's just Warrick. He's not going to hurt you."
He remembered what she had said about getting his pills and forced himself to calm down. He did not want to make them angry at him and he was afraid that Warrick would become violent if he did not comply. So when they reached for his arms, to help him sit up, he complied without argument. In his fear stricken-state he had completely forgotten his need to use the toilet.
They slowly and cautiously helped him down the stairs and when they finally reached the dining room he put his hand on the chair that was closest to the door. They eased him down onto the chair and gave him some space. Sara went to help Catherine who was busy making pancakes and Warrick joined Jim, who sitting at the table drinking coffee. Catherine turned around and smiled at him.
"Hi, Gil." She wanted to give him a hug but after seeing the look on his face she decided to keep her distance for his sake. "We've missed you."
"Yeah, we have." Warrick agreed. "It must be good to be out of that hospital."
Gil kept his eyes downcast and seemed to be intently staring at his hands which rested in his lap. He shrugged a shoulder and swallowed hard. Sara took notice of his unease and offered him some juice. He silently shrugged his shoulder again and she poured him some orange juice before setting the pitcher down on the table.
Nick had been to the bathroom and when he came back to the dining area he was excited to see Gil. Gil had not seen him enter, however, as he was sitting with his back to Nick.
"Hey, Gil." The Texan said happily. "It's good to see you."
Without thinking he gently put his hand on Gil's shoulder, startling the older man. Gil's eyes went wide and his whole body began to shake. His breathing was so rapid that he began to hyperventilate. The medication that Doctor Kitts had prescribed to him for seizures had been ineffective.
His eyes rolled back in his head and his limbs went out straight. Nick stepped back, shocked by what he had caused, but Jim and Sara had reacted quickly. Jim lifted Gil off the chair as Sara pulled it out of the way. As Jim lowered his friend's flailing body to the floor Gil's head flew back and hit him in his left eye.
"Shit!" Jim cried through his clenched teeth as he turned his head away and pain shot through his face.
Sara ran to the living room and grabbed a pillow from the couch. Warrick quickly pulled the table away from Gil's thrashing legs, not caring that he had caused the drinks to splash out of their cups and onto the wooden surface.
"I thought he wasn't supposed to have these anymore?" Catherine asked as she knelt down beside Gil.
"Apparently the meds aren't working." Sara replied in an distressed voice.
Gil let out a loud groan of distress and stopped breathing as his arms, hands and fingers curled towards his chest. Sara gently but firmly rubbed his chest.
"Come on, Gil." She urged with forced calm. "You need to breath, baby."
His lips began to turn blue and in the last of the muscle contractions that ripped through his body his bowels and kidneys contracted. When his muscles released so did his kidneys and bowels. His pajama bottoms grew dark as they were soaked with his urine and the strong smell of feces became almost sickening.
As his body stopped convulsing they rolled him onto his side and he began to gag.
"What the hell?!" Jim asked in a panic.
"It happens with some people that have seizures." Sara explained. " We have to let him finish."
He had little to vomit but his stomach would not be satisfied until he did. What he threw up was bile and most of it splashed onto Sara's pants. He began breathing on his own again and, as before in the hospital, his body came alive before his mind did.
He tried to push himself up and when Jim tried to restrain his arms Sara told him not to.
"This is normal, we just have to make sure he doesn't hurt himself." She explained.
He tried to get onto his knees but the brace would not allow the mobility and he toppled over clumsily like a baby learning to walk. Sara lunged forward and caught him before he hit the floor. She sat down on the tiled surface and cradled him in her arms. She had wrapped her arms around his chest and he swung his arm around and tried to hit her. Sara being out of his reach his intended target was not hit but Catherine, who was now sitting beside him, had to put up her arm to block him.
"It's okay." Sara whispered soothingly as she gently rocked him from side to side. "Shhh, don't be afraid. We're here. We won't let any one hurt you."
He stopped fighting but could not get his body to relax. Every muscle hurt and as awareness crept back over him he began to remember what had happened.
"S-S-Sara?" He pleaded in a weak voice.
"I'm right here, baby." She rested her head on his shoulder, laying the side of her face against the side of his, and continued her gentle, rocking motion.
"I'm s-s-sorry." He again pleaded.
"Don't be." She tried to reassure, knowing that he probably wouldn't believe her or understand. "It's not your fault."
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Reggie Shelling stood in the front hall of the now abandoned house where he had grown up in. The old house was empty and cold, but in the silence Reggie could hear his brothers voice. He smiled as the image of six year old John slid down the banister from the upstairs.
"I did it, Reggie, I did it!" He said excitedly.
"Way to go, Johnny Boy!" Reggie congratulated from where he stood at the top of the stairs.
As Reggie slowly walked through the old house many more memories flooded over him. He had few happy memories that had been made here. Most were memories of fear, pain and humiliation that had been burnt into his memory forever.
As he stepped into the hallway his eyes fell on the large dent in the plaster on the wall.
"I did my best, dad." Fourteen year old Reggie had pleaded with his father.
"Your best isn't good enough, you little shit!" Mister Shelling roared as he grabbed a handful of Reggie's hair and slammed his head into the wall.
He had required three stitches that night and all because he had not made the football team.
Reggie wasn't sure why he had come to this house. He had always hated it when growing up. It was a representation of all the suffering that he had been forced to endure in his life. Perhaps that was the reason that he had been drawn there that cold night. Not long ago he had been a man in control. He had been in control of the man that had ruined the life of the only person Reggie had ever truly cared about. Now, just a few days later, he felt like everything was spinning out of control. He had lost his opportunity to avenge his brother and his brother had ruthlessly died knowing that.
He turned around and stoically climbed the stairs. He entered the first bedroom on the right. It was empty, like all the other rooms and its dingy walls called to his memory. It had been the room that he had shared with John in their youth and in his mind's eye he could still see the bed in the corner that they had shared.
It was Christmas Eve and he and John covered their mouths with their hands to suppress their happy giggles. They had both tried their hardest to be good all year and Mama had promised that she had told Santa what good boys they had been and he said that he would be stopping at their house if they were in bed. Eight year old Reggie firmly held his hand over his mouth, but three year old John had not been so wise and let out a giggle. The door to their room burst open with a loud noise as it hit the wall and their father stormed into the room.
"I thought I told you shits to shut the hell up!"
John lay frozen by the fear of his father's wrath but Reggie quickly sat up and replied.
"I'm sorry, dad. I'll be quiet." He apologized fearfully. His father pulled off his belt then pulled him out of the bed.
As Reggie stood there tears streamed down his face. All he had ever wanted to do was protect John, but he had been too weak to do it.
He was hit with the hardest memory of them all. The memory of their bastard of a father brutalizing eleven year old John as Reggie sat on the floor, helplessly chained to the radiator. As the vision replayed in his memory like a horrifying movie his weakened mind played tricks on him. At first he saw his father raping his brother, but the face seemed to flash in and out like the bad reception on a television and when it cleared it was Gil Grissom's sickening, pleasure-filled face that hovered over his screaming brother.
Rage exploded in him and he turned and looked at the old, cracked mirror on the wall. The resemblance was unmistakable. His normally slicked back hair in its lack of care over the past few days, had returned to its natural, mildly curly state. Grey had begun to show in his hair, both on his head and face. He hated the unshaven appearance, but had not felt like doing anything to groom himself since hearing of John's death. Over the years he had been told how much he looked like his father, but now as he stood looking into this broken mirror, he saw only one resemblance. The man that he saw in the mirror was the man that had renewed his hate.
Over the years of his childhood his mother and priests had drilled it into his head about the Holy Trinity. He now reasoned that if there could be a Holy Trinity, than there must be a unholy trinity too. Father, son… and destroyer of souls. As he looked at himself in the mirror he saw a combining of the three and with all of his force he punched his fist through the mirror and into the wall. Although it had been weakened by time he still pulled back his hand with a bloody set of knuckles. He covered his ears as John's screams still plagued him. He ran out of the room and expertly down the stairs. He burst through the front door, not bothering to close it, and dove into the front seat of his car. As he sped down the road all he could think about was that because he had failed the first time did not mean there couldn't be a second. He drove his injured fist into the ceiling several times as he screamed his rage.
"I'll fucking kill you, Grissom! I'm gonna fucking kill you! You won't get away from me again!"
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A/N: It may seem like I am stretching this story out to let poor Grissom suffer a much as possible, but I want to assure you that I am not. It is sad, really, when you get into something like this and begin to realize just how deeply it affects victims and their familiesL
I'm not going to say it, I shouldn't have to say it. You people know what you are supposed to do with that little button down there. And don't even think of telling me what I can do with it!
