A/N: Thank you for your patience! Life keeps getting in the way of writing. I'll try not to go too long between chapters again, however, I have several things coming up that will take up a lot of my time, including a much-needed vacation, but I'm always working on these chapters even if I'm not posting. Thanks again everyone, and I truly appreciate the reviews and comments.
Chapter 11:
Rising high above the Flamingo Hotel and Casino to the west was the High Roller Ferris wheel that lit up the sky as it went around in circles. Under the later afternoon sun and palm trees stood Detective Curits along with the FBI's SWAT team. They blocked off the circular drive that locked down all the entrances and exits. As Gil exited the SUV, the monorail train raced by between the hotel and the Ferris wheel. He watched it disappear down the track, took in the windows off the surrounding buildings, the Ferris wheel still circling overhead and knew that somewhere close Hannibal Lecter was watching. He could very well still be in the hotel.
Kevin wasn't among the FBI SWAT team as he was tracking down the delivery driver. Agent Frank Pike was the lead SWAT member, and he took charge as they all headed into the hotel with cream walls and pink ceilings and accents, statues of flamingos, and even real ones, which were all part of the famous hotel's draw. The room booked by D'Angelo Bello was a cosmopolitan suite which included a living and dining room with a separate bedroom. The only thing it excluded was a kitchen but there were always ways of setting up a hot plate and burners. He was afraid of what they might find in the room and the images that went through his head made his stomach turn.
They stopped along the hallway as SWAT took the lead. Detective Curtis was behind the SWAT team, with Gil, Nick, and Greg behind her. SWAT agent Pike was using a camera to view under the door, checking the room before they entered. They used a key card to unlock the door before bursting inside, clearing the hotel room.
Once Detective Curtis entered as the all-clear was given, Gil sat his field kit on the floor in the hallway and entered the room as Sofia spoke into the radio that the EMT's could enter the room. They were waiting at the far end of the hallway and the moment the SWAT team cleared, and he caught sight of the dining table, he immediately froze.
Tubes from the extraction of her stomach contents and other bodily fluids were on the floor, discarded and left for them to clean up along with all the blood. On top of it was Heather's body. She was bound by her arms and legs to the legs of the table. Leather latex covered parts of her body while the other parts were missing. Patches of her body, her arms and legs had been flayed. Lecter had skinned her alive. Flaying of humans in medieval times had been used as a method of torture or execution, depending on how much of the skin had been removed.
He saw her chest moving as her lips parted. A moan escaped her blood tainted lips as fear shot through her. There was a blindfold covering her eyes.
"She's still alive." The moment he spoke, Heather's fearful moans turned to gasps of relief. The shock gone, he pulled his knife, flicked it open, and hurried over to the table. He'd already gloved up out in the hallway, anticipating that he would have no time to glove up once he entered the room. He cut the first nylon restraint above the knot. "Nick," he called out. "Start taking pictures. Greg, get me an evidence bag."
Gil immediately thought about what caused death in cases of flaying. It was mostly due to shock, blood loss, hypothermia, or infections which could set in or last days after. Just because Heather was alive now, didn't mean she'd be that way if they didn't get her immediate medical care.
He cut the restraint for the right arm and Heather immediately went to reach for the blindfold. "Heather, don't touch that," he said as his hand reached out to hers and grabbed it. Her hand squeezed his as he told her, "Let me get it off so it can be properly collected for evidence. I'm going to bag your hands too, to preserve—"
Her voice, only a whisper, said, "I want to see."
He stared down at her face and saw the red tears that slid down her face. Under the blindfold was blood. "No," he said mostly to himself. "You don't." Gently putting her hand down onto the table, he turned to see Greg next to him. The young CSI was pale, his eyes big as he took in the woman on the table. "Bag her hands, Greg."
Greg seemed to snap out of his own shock, gave a nod, and kept his mouth shut as he did as he was told. The EMT's were waiting for him to properly remove the restraints for evidence collection and with each passing second Gil felt his anger and desperation growing until he finally got the last restraint cut so Heather could be moved off the table.
There was so much of her body that needed bandages and gauze applied, and her eyes needed to be wrapped as well. Gil looked away as the blindfold was removed and took in the room. Lecter left everything. All the knives and equipment he used, the bottle of wine and glasses they'd drank from, and playing from the tape player left on the table by the big windows with the pink curtains was Goldberg Variations.
He went over to the tape player, stopped it, and removed the cassette. It looked to be about halfway through. It was a standard 60-minute tape, with thirty minutes on each side. There was about fifteen minutes of play time left, meaning Lecter had started playing the tape no more than fifteen minutes ago.
Checking his watch, he saw that they had spent nearly ten minutes in the room already. That left only five minutes. Sofia appeared at his side and he told her, "He was here about five minutes before we arrived. He could still be in the hotel."
"Be nice to know what he looks like."
"We have the FBI composite—"
"We don't even know if it's reliable."
"He has distinguishable physical features."
Sofia frowned at him as she asked, "How so?"
"There is an unnatural speck of maroon in his pupils. And there is a vertical crease down the side of his forehead that shouldn't be there. I'm also positive that if I heard him talk, I'd know it's him."
"You want to speak to every man in the hotel."
He gave a nod. "Yeah, I do."
Sofia gave a nod as she told him, "I'll have the PD start rounding up all the men into one room—"
"No, let's uh, let's open up one exit. Then go through clearing the hotel room by room. Families can leave first."
Sofia got on her radio as FBI SWAT leader Pike also relayed the same information to his team.
Gil faced both Nick and Greg as he told them, "You two start processing the room. I'll get Sara over here. Once she's here, Nick, you're with me."
As Nick and Greg started to process the room, he left with his field kit in hand and followed the EMT's with Heather's body to the elevators. Sofia was right behind him. The EMT's had given Heather a sedative and he watched her sleep the entire way down to the lobby. Once he saw her safely out of the hotel and into the ambulance, he got on his phone and called Catherine.
"Willows," she answered groggily. Given the time, she had most likely been asleep since she worked days and was still due later that evening at work.
Getting right to it, he told her, "It's Grissom. I need you to get to Desert Palm Hospital. Lecter's latest victim was Heather Kessler. She's alive and enroute to the hospital now. We bagged her hands and took pictures, but I'll need you there to process her body before the hospital staff compromises it all."
Catherine had been startled but recovered quickly as she told him, "I'm on my way."
He then called Sara. The phone rang a few times and he finally let out a breath when she answered, "Sidle."
"Hey," he said nearly breathlessly as he felt some of the tension leave his body.
"Hey yourself, what's up?"
"I need you at a scene to relieve Nick. Flamingo Hotel."
She was quiet for a long moment, waiting for him to elaborate, before asking, "Who's the victim?"
"Lecter went after Heather Kessler."
There was another moment of silence before she asked, "Is she okay?"
He barely shook his head as he saw the images of her body in his head. The pain on her face, and the bloody tears. "She's still breathing," was all he could say. He doubted she was okay and had no idea when she would be ever again. "He left her alive."
"Why do you think—"
"I don't know," he said as he rubbed his head and turned around from the watchful eyes of the LVPD and FBI. "I need you here."
"I'm leaving now. I'll be there as soon as I can."
Gil flipped his cell shut as he tried not to think too much about the anger that was coursing through his body, the taunting he heard in his head, and the strain he heard in Sara's voice when he told her it was Heather who'd been the victim. Again, he couldn't help but think that it was his fault. Lecter had done that to Heather because of him. Because he had run away and hid. Because he'd been a coward. But Lecter had also run away. He also hid himself under a mask of a new face, new name, and new life. Now, he had to find him.
One by one, every man, woman and child left the hotel through one door that was surrounded by members of the LVPD and FBI. The SWAT team along with Jim Brass, who had shown up once he was back on duty, and several deputies went through the hotel room by room, clearing everyone into the casino where they waited to leave the hotel.
Men with families went out first, and Gil talked to each of them. Even though Lecter had blue eyes with a speck of maroon, he also knew that he could be wearing contact lenses and unless they were voluntarily removed, he wouldn't be able to know if the irises he saw were natural or not. So, he would have to rely on the visual features and his voice to identify him. Also his height, give or take a few inches that could be adjusted with shoe lifts or slouching. Weight varied, so it was unreliable, and Lecter could be wearing a girdle to appear slimmer or a suit to appear bigger.
While he spoke to each man and shook their hand, Nick used an UV light to scan each man for undetectable blood. Sofia checked all their wallets, ID's, and credit cards. Anyone who argued was sent to the back of the line. By their second time through the process, they didn't say a word. All the men with families had been cleared, along with those who were there with spouses or girlfriends, friends, or any man booked with another person. That left the single men to be the last to leave the hotel.
By that time, Sara and Greg had been processing the room for over two hours, and Catherine was still at the hospital. They would also check the staff members and security in case Lecter killed one and took a uniform like he'd done with Officer Pembly and the EMT's in Tennessee. Everyone's ID's checked, every last person cleared, and three hours later they were left with nothing.
He shook his head in frustration as he removed his latex gloves and tossed them into the trash near a restroom.
Brass walked over, shaking his head. "He must have slipped out before the hotel was put on lock down."
"Or he got out another way. There're employee only entrances and exits, doors that only the security staff know about—"
"We secured all the doors—" Brass countered.
"Why weren't they being watched? Did your deputies check the perimeter for anyone trying to leave after it was placed on lockdown?"
"Of course they did—"
"Are you positive? It seemed to me like all of them were too busy waiting around in the lobby—"
"Hey," Brass said as he stepped up to him and lowered his voice. "We had guys in here and out there monitoring and checking the perimeter since arriving on scene—"
"How'd you know what they were doing when you arrived an hour after I did—"
"It's protocol! This place is huge, not to mention the extent of the perimeter, which includes the monorail. We've trained specifically for these types of—"
"Since when does every deputy follow protocol?! Doesn't the PD have violations after violation—"
"Oh, you want to talk about violations? How about the crime lab—"
"Hey," Sofia finally cut in as she walked over. "I know tensions are high, but yelling at one another isn't going to solve anything."
Gil worked his jaw as he picked up his field kit and went to leave the lobby.
Nick tried to stop him as he left, asking, "Where're—"
"If you need me—" he stopped at the door.
He wanted to be everywhere. Sara and Greg would be finishing up the scene, Warrick and Kevin were following up on the delivery driver Lincoln Fischer, and Catherine was at the hospital with Heather. He couldn't be everywhere, that's why he has a team. Right then, there was only one place he both wanted and needed to be.
Facing Nick, he told him, "I'll be at the hospital with Catherine. Go meet up with Warrick and Agent Collins. Last update, they were enroute to search Lincoln Fischer's residence."
As the sun was starting to set, he finally left the Flamingo Hotel. Under the lights and palm trees, he once again checked the windows that looked down onto the street, the gathered spectators, and the spinning Ferris wheel. The monorail made another pass on the elevated track and he watched as it disappeared around the building.
Getting into the SUV, he headed to the hospital.
"I'm just saying, it's no big deal—"
"Greg, I know you don't think it is, but if it were to come out then one of us, most likely me, would have to change shifts. I'm not interested in working Swings, or Days—"
"Not to mention you'll miss seeing my pretty face every day."
Sara stapled the evidence bag. Greg was finalizing the documenting of all the evidence into the logbook. As she handed over the evidence bag to him to log, she said, "You're the only one who knows. Well, you and Brass."
"How did Brass find out?"
"He said he saw my car outside his townhouse, put two and two together…"
"You could have just been visiting," Greg said.
"Yeah, well, I guess Grissom didn't feel like lying. Besides, Brass won't say anything." Sara grabbed an UV light and tossed an infrared light to Greg then headed to the light switch by the door. "Let's do a secondary walkthrough, make sure we didn't miss a thing, and then we're done. You start in the bedroom, and I'll start in the living room and we'll both do a final search of the dining room."
Once the lights were out, curtains closed, she hit the UV light and started a grid sweep of the suite. She didn't miss a surface, high or low, as she searched the floors, walls, windows, ceiling and all the furnishings.
As she got to the table in the dining area, she heard Greg call out from the bedroom, "Sara, I, uh, got something."
Getting up off her knees from checking under the dining table, she headed into the master bedroom suite and saw Greg looking at something on the wall. Earlier when they had checked the room, there was a painting on the wall above the bed. The painting was now leaning up against the bed, exposing the wall behind it. She used her UV light to illuminate the wall but didn't see anything.
Greg was looking at the painting. Scanning her light over it, she saw the words light up against the colorful backdrop. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"
"There's always a first."
Over the painting, written in urine as the words glowed yellow, was a poem verse:
"That man of loneliness and mystery
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;
Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew,
And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue;
Still sways their souls with that commanding art
That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
What is that spell, that thus his lawless train
Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain?
What should it be, that thus their faith can bind?
The power of Thought - the magic of the Mind"
"What made you—"
"I took the painting down and saw a…circumference of discoloration."
Sara smirked as she glanced at Greg. "A circumference of discoloration?"
"Yeah. It looked like someone used water to clean something off the wall, it made a circular shape. I checked it with the light and didn't find anything on the wall. I thought it was odd. So, I checked over the painting. Why clean the wall behind it?"
"Unless, there is something on it. Did you use luminol?"
"Of course. There's nothing."
She frowned as she stared at the words on the painting and then at the blank wall above the bed. "It's still damp. Moisture in the paint…" Putting the UV light down, she searched Greg's field kit. Hers was still in the other room. She grabbed his fingerprinting kit and got up onto the bed. "Walls, being made of drywall and sheetrock are porous—"
"And if painted with a semi-gloss or polyurethane, they become nonporous, which is the best surface to detect fingerprints—"
"But," she said, "if they used acrylic paint, it's also porous. It's also wet. Whatever's on this wall isn't easily detected by UV light. What we're left with are prints. " She started dusting the wall around the area that'd been cleaned and immediately revealed a fingerprint, and then more fingerprints. Once she started dusting the area that was still damp, the powder didn't cling as well and the prints were lost. "Greg—"
"Sara," he said.
"Where's your Physical Developer?"
"Uh, I didn't bring any." They stared at each other as he defended himself. "I didn't think I'd need it here. Processing a wet porous surface on site for prints? What are the odds?"
"You bring everything, Greg, you know this."
"Well, what about you?"
"I rolled out of bed, swung by the lab to get a work truck, and came straight here. I didn't stop off for supplies. I figured everyone else had."
Greg bent down and started searching around for the chemicals to make up a solution to use. "We're going to have to do this old school and figure this out. So, what can we make in a pinch to illuminate prints on a wet surface without ruining—"
It took a minute but then she said, "Ardrox, thenoyl europium chelate, and color dye."
Greg mixed up a spray bottle and then handed it to her. "I should have thought of that. I am a chemical expert."
"True, but I've been a CSI longer. I know all the tricks of the trade," she said as she sprayed the solution over the wall and then got down off the bed.
Greg grabbed the UV light and shined it back onto the wall. Illuminating a single name and letter: Hannah – M.
"Who's Hannah?" Greg asked as he lifted the camera and took a picture.
"Who's 'M'," she seconded.
Then as he took photos of the painting, she grabbed a pen and piece of paper and wrote down the poem.
As she wrote, Greg said, "It's either another victim or a clue to something else. Lecter is like Grissom, always with mind games and riddles. He used the name Red James for his P.O. box, which Nick figured out was code for a species of flamingo, which led us here. This is a puzzle to solve."
On hearing Greg referring to Gil and Lecter being similar, she told him, "Don't ever compare Grissom to that psychopath, Greg."
"I'm not. I'm just saying—"
"I know what you're saying but consider how it'll make Grissom feel if he heard you say that."
"You're right. Sorry," Greg said before going back to searching the room.
She helped. Then they ended in the dining room, grabbed up their kits and started hauling boxes of evidence down to the SUV. Once they left the hotel, it was close to midnight. Gil was gone and so was Nick. Who remained were all the customers. They were back at the slots and tables as if nothing had happened.
"Hungry?" Greg was asking as he shut the hatch to the SUV.
She gave a nod. "I can eat."
"You drive and I'll place a carryout order. And don't worry, I know. No meat for you."
As she drove, her thoughts kept going back to the scene, the poem, and Gil as she drove towards the lab. Out of nowhere, she said, "Grissom may act like he doesn't care what people say about him, but he does. I used to think he didn't feel anything." Glancing over at Greg, she said, "I even told him that once. Then I learned the hard way how wrong I was."
Gil was lounging on his couch, reading, as she finished eating. He'd been extremely quiet all night at work and as soon as he got home, went straight to the bathroom to take a shower and then sat down to read. The only time they spoke was when he called her up and said he was stopping to grab food and if she wanted anything. His food was forgotten and cold on the coffee table.
"Babe?"
He didn't respond.
"Babe?" Still nothing and it appeared that he wasn't even reading the words on the page. He was lost somewhere in his head. "Hey, Gilbert."
He blinked and then his eyes found hers. A scroll on his face, pain in his eyes, and she suddenly felt bad for yelling at him.
"Are you okay? You didn't eat your food."
They had a bad case. Both affected by the experience though in different ways. She'd told him that being around crazy people made her feel crazy. It was almost looking into a mirror and fearing what was hidden behind the reflection she saw. Being in that mental institution had troubled her as she thought about her mother and father. Her fear of how easily she could end up in a place like that if she ever lost it. That had been before she was held at knife point. Before Gil stared down at her with so much worry and fear in his own eyes that he had tried to hide. But she'd seen it. All the fear he had hidden.
He still didn't say anything. It seemed as if he was fighting something inside. A silent war going on in his head. Sitting the book down on the coffee table, he stood and walked over to her, lifted her into his arms, and kissed her so hard it made her head spin. Then he took her hand in his and pulled her with him up to his bedroom. Up until that point all they've done was make out. Gil said he wanted to go slow. Guess he was done waiting.
It'd all been going good, until her hand felt scar tissue. She'd gasped, both surprised and shocked, at seeing the scar that went from his right hip up and around his abdomen to his left rib. Gil even seemed startled, like he'd forgotten all about something that appeared to have been so dangerous.
Then he grabbed her hand and told her, "Old injury," and left it at that before he kissed her again.
The way he made love to her brought tears to her eyes. She could feel so much pouring out of him. All his desperation and love, but also fear under it all, as if it might be the first and only time they would be together. She saw the tears in his eyes as he laid beside her, her hand still in his. Other than his utterance about the old scar, he hadn't spoken a word.
Dusk's sunlight was pouring through the window over the white room and bed, basking them both in the glow. His eyes never left hers. "I'm sorry," he said. Before she could ask him why, he answered, "You needed me and I hesitated. You were so afraid."
She knew exactly what he was talking about. "So were you."
His eyes were so dark as he seemed to look right into her and beyond, saying, "Only because you were afraid, and so was he. God, Sara, he'd been suffering so much, what that woman put him through, all he wanted to do was to get away. He wanted to run. Even if it meant killing himself. Then…there you were. Angry, afraid…so desperate. That's why I hesitated. I felt…stuck. I couldn't figure out how to move. To be honest, I didn't want to go to either of you."
He looked so ashamed of that admission that she let go of his hand so she could touch his face and neck. He seemed to like that. Her touch seemed to settle something inside. "It's okay if you don't know what to do."
"I know what to do. It's just hard to do it sometimes because…" He closed his eyes as he let out a breath, saying, "I, uh…I also wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, and…it's not from sympathy."
But empathy. Her own words were spoken back to her by a man who she thought didn't feel anything. She'd been so wrong about him. Granted she was also pissed off at him at the time she'd said those words, but it was partly the truth. He was always so cerebral and never let his emotions known. He felt their pain because he knew it, understood it, and even possibly lived it. Her tears fell as she felt a twisting inside her own heart.
Then she learned otherwise. Deep down, he felt everything. There were only certain times when it all became too much and he couldn't control it. The time he slapped the coffee pot out of Ecklie's hand, which Warrick had told her about. The times when children were involved. He'd pushed a cart full of blood samples across the DNA lab and told Greg that his case came first. The man had a temper. But it all came from the same place: his heart.
"Did I hurt you when I accused you of not feeling anything?" She had to know.
There was pain in his eyes when he opened them. The amount of guilt she felt nearly made her cry. Reaching his hand up, he wiped the tear off her nose as it fell. He didn't give an answer, but she knew what it was. He gave her a soft kiss that seemed to settle her own unease. He kept kissing her until he finally just held her until he fell asleep. She soon followed.
Going back to driving, she told Greg, "He shuts it down in order to function, but, by doing that, he ends up shutting people out. That's why he can be socially inept at times. Doing this job drains him. People drain him. But he cares, Greg. Maybe too much."
Greg was staring out the window, watching the city go by. "We had a case a while ago. Physical attraction was…a topic. You know, some people get turned on by a certain physical characteristic that excites them. During the case, I asked him about his attraction. What he wanted, what turned him on—"
"Greg, where is this—"
"He said that it was someone who didn't judge him. Not their eyes, or their smile, or any other physical feature. It made me think that I was being shallow, only focusing on the physical, when the most important thing about a person is who they are and what they think. But, then, it hit me. I realized what he'd said. Grissom doesn't judge anyone, he accepts. You are who you are. But, he thinks people judge him, or that they will. He's so afraid of that happening with someone he likes, that for them to not do it is the most important thing."
"A lot of people fear judgment, Greg."
"I know, so do I, but not to that extent. For him, it's everything."
She pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant Greg had placed a carry-out order. As she parked and cut the engine, she asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because…you're his girlfriend, and I want you two to be happy together. You've…There have been times when you have judged him, Sara," he said and she had to look away to stare at the neon lights lighting up the sign for the restaurant.
"I don't—"
"You have," he said, not backing down as he let out a breath. "You just said so, when you told him that he didn't feel anything. I know you don't mean it, but…The only thing he wants is for someone to accept him for who he is. And to love him for it. You want the same thing. We all do. Don't forget that. I don't know what's going to happen, but…I don't want to see either of you hurt by any of this. You two need each other. And, I'm here if you need a friend to remind you of that."
She felt herself smile. There was a time when Greg had the biggest crush on her, still did, but he had always been her friend. He was also a very sweet and considerate guy under all that hair. Reaching over, she ruffled his hair, making him push her hand away as he started laughing. She always had foster families, foster brothers, so it wasn't hard for her to feel that familiar pull in her heart for Greg. They weren't blood, but they were family.
"Thanks, Greg."
He smiled as he got out of the SUV. "You can thank me by paying."
"Ha!" she said as she got out and shut the door. "We can split the check."
"Seventy-thirty."
"Fifty-fifty," she shot back.
"I found the key pieces of evidence. I cracked the case!"
"I uncovered the fingerprints."
They stopped at the door and Greg held out his hand, in a fist in front of her, and said, "Rock, paper, scissors. If I win, seventy-thirty split, with you paying—"
"Did you lose all your money? Why can't you pay half on a forty-dollar order?"
Greg shrugged and said, "I can, but…you owe me," as he opened the door and walked inside.
She let out a breath and shook her head. Maybe she really didn't want a brother after all. "We're splitting the check fifty-fifty, Greg."
"Whoever cracks the case, gets free lunch. Those are the rules!"
"Whose rules? Not mine," she said as she eyed Greg who wasn't reaching for his wallet. "You lost your wallet, didn't you?"
He suddenly looked sheepish as he said, "I didn't lose it. I know where it is."
She could not believe him. After she paid, they grabbed their food and left. "That's why you let me drive. You have no ID—"
"It's in the SUV Grissom took."
"Why—"
"It's in my other jacket." Greg was wearing a CSI field jacket instead of his personal one. "Along with my keys." She really could not believe him. "I forgot. I'm not used to working Swing hours. It threw me off."
Letting out a breath, she said, "Once the evidence is in the midst of processing, I'll drive you to the hospital."
Greg opened the door to the SUV as he said, "You just want to check up on Grissom. Do you not trust him?"
"Excuse me?" she asked as she got in and glared over at Greg.
Greg almost looked scared, but kept going, asking again, "Do you not trust him?"
"I trust him." The words were out of her mouth and she thought she meant them. Yet, in her heart was anything but trust. It was fear and slight jealousy. Residual effects from dating Hank, so told herself. That was all. She did trust Gil. "I just…don't trust her."
"She's a victim. And I saw her. Believe me, she's in no condition—"
"I know that, Greg. I'm not worried," she said as she started driving back towards the lab.
Greg was thankfully quiet the rest of the drive. She was done talking about it, at least with him.
Gil walked off the elevator and spotted Catherine at the end of the hallway. She looked tired and worn down, but didn't they all? He hadn't had a good night's sleep since…Well, he didn't know, but it was before the Hayashi murders. Now every time he closed his eyes, he saw murder. He saw victims displayed in grotesque pieces of art created by a cannibalistic madman. Oftentimes, he was that madman.
Catherine saw him approaching and let out a breath. Before he could ask, she told him, "She's been sedated."
He gave a nod as he stopped outside the room and peered inside. Lying in the hospital bed, bandages covering her eyes and most of her body, was Heather.
"You did good, bagging her hands. I collected samples from under her nails, residue of something from off her palms, knuckles, and wrists. No sexual assault—"
"Lecter isn't motivated by sex. He has never raped a victim."
"What is he motivated by?"
He almost laughed as the first word that came to mind was hunger. But the word wasn't said in his voice, but a nearly metallic one. It was a joke, and one he didn't like. Poor taste. Rubbing his head, he tried to push the thoughts away. They weren't his. It wasn't working.
"Grissom, are you okay?"
"Yeah," he said as he dropped his hand. "I'm fine, just tired. I'm not the one in the hospital bed."
"Why do you think he chose that for her?"
He hadn't expected that question, especially coming from Catherine. He really didn't know what he had expected. He wanted to focus on the evidence. He didn't want to think about why. But, that was what he was supposed to be doing now. He wasn't just a forensic scientist on the case, but the profiler.
"Flaying is, um…a long process. Extremely painful and not lethal unless a mistake is made." His mind immediately flashed to what that must have been like for the both of them.
Heather strapped to the dining table, unable to move. Drugged or gagged, or both. Hannibal taking his time, delicately inflicting every cut, slicing off pieces of skin—
"Grissom?"
"It was intimate," he said without thinking. "He wanted time. He didn't want to kill her. She's…" He trailed off as he realized what Heather was. "Catherine, he's starting to move in closer to my circle of friends. Someone I work with will be next. I want everyone—"
"We've already got the FBI watching us from afar—"
"I want units posted at all your residences."
Catherine gave a nod. "I understand. I'll inform the Sheriff. Want me to get a security guard to watch her room?"
He shook his head. "That's not necessary. Lecter's done with her."
She glanced toward the room and said, "I have to get back to the lab. You're staying with her?"
"I have some questions for her when she wakes up."
As she walked around him, she said, "She might have questions for you too."
He thought about that as he watched her walk away. Then he entered the hospital room and took a seat to wait.
TBC…