CHAPTER 15
After two weeks of disciplinary segregation, Grissom was ready to go to his regular cell. More commonly referred to as "the hole," Grissom paced the cell as he impatiently waited for the guard to release him. He had been put in isolation as punishment for his fight with Tait and possession of contraband. The punishment had given him plenty of time to heal and to think.
He'd quickly learned that both guards and the warden weren't prepared to listen; to them he was either just another inmate or an ex-law enforcement official gone rogue. Those thoughts only made his ever-steady headache feel worse. It was as if he awoke with migraines and they never ceased.
It was time to take matters into his own hands – just has he had with Jake. Threatening Sara and their son, no matter how veiled that threat might have been, had pushed him to his limit.
Once back in the familiarity of his cell, some of Grissom's impatience eased. He busied himself with the task of straightening up the confined space, finding gratification in not finding any hidden contraband that might have found its way into his cell during his absence.
When he found the torn photo under the tossed mattress, he paused. He gazed at it for a good five minutes, before placing the two halves inside his pillowcase for safe keeping.
After the dinner call, Grissom paused to talk to a guard, simply requesting to see his lawyer. It was the same request he had made when he was escorted out of isolation. Making his way to his cell, he could still feel nervous anticipation in the air, and he wanted to keep as low a profile has he could.
Despite the tension in the air, there were fewer guards in the common area then there had been before his segregation. Nevertheless, Grissom remained on the alert, as he eyed the common area, uneasily. Tait Darrow and Loki DeVicariis were nowhere in sight, and it would soon be time for the last count before 10 p.m. lights out. Only then would they be allowed to remain in their cells.
With a sense of dismay Tait and Loki returned from the direction of the dining hall, with a third inmate Grissom wasn't too familiar with. They exchanged a few words, with the third inmate nodding his head vigorously at whatever Loki had said, before quickly separating and heading towards their cells.
A half hour later, Grissom was stretched out on his bunk and reading a book, when Loki and four others, including Tait, entered his cell. One, half closed his cell door, stationing himself as a lookout.
Grissom had sat up and put his book aside. But before he was able to push to his feet, a gang member savagely hauled Grissom to his feet, pinning both his arms behind his back and looping his other arm around Grissom's neck, holding him in a choke hold.
Grissom struggled and the arm around his throat tightened, restricting his air supply.
Loki, who initiated the attack with just a nod of his head, grinned with menacing eyes.
"The guards think they run this wing," he said conversationally. "But they don't; I do. Most of the time nothing happens around here unless its on my say so. Sometimes, someone might take action on their own and that upsets the natural order of things. Like my friend here." Loki titled his head in Tait's direction. "Then I have a decision to make. I'm a reasonable guy; if there's a legitimate reason, I can be persuaded to let it pass. But there are exceptions to every rule, as you well know.
"So you see, your show of defiance can't go unpunished. Young Tait here as a grievance to settle, and I have a reputation to uphold. Karma can be a bitch like that."
Loki settled himself comfortably on Grissom's bunk and looked levelly at Grissom, before turning his gaze to Tait, and give the smallest of nods.
Tait grinned, widely, as his fist slammed hard into Grissom's midsection, knocking the breath out of him. He winced in pain, but had little time to recover as a fist slammed into his face, and blood burst from his mouth.
The arms holding him up, tightened around his upper arms, as blow after blow rained down on Grissom, as Tait was joined by the others in tight circle.
Grissom sagged limply between two men, barely conscious, as Tait delivered another blow to his already bloody and battered face. Blood oozed from his mouth and nose, splattering the front of his prison scrubs and trousers.
Tait was about to deliver another blow, when Loki simply stated, "Enough."
The retribution was swift and barely took five minutes. But it felt like a lifetime to Grissom. He slumped to the floor as the two men released him, and with a look from Loki, they quickly fled from the cell.
With a grunt of pain, Grissom tried to curl into a fetal position, his whole body a mass of pain. His only relief, that the punishing blows were finally over. Even that small movement was enough for pain to lance through his body, and the world blacked out.
Grissom slowly became aware of sounds around him as he struggled for consciousness. There was a hint of antiseptic in the air. He shifted position, unable to hide the groan as pained lanced through his body. His head throbbed to a beat of its own. He felt like he'd been slammed with a sledgehammer.
"Inmate Grissom," stated a male voice somewhere to his left. "If you can hear me, tell me how you are feeling?"
Inmate. Grissom wished he was awakening to a bad dream, but that word brutally battered his subconscious as he reminded him this was no dream. He risked opening one eye before hastily closing it again. The bright light pierced into his brain like a knife. He swallowed reflexively and fought the bile that settled in his stomach.
"...Tired… In pain," Grissom croaked instead, his voice sounding hoarse even to his own ears.
"Well, you took a pounding so that's expected," the doctor said. "If the guards hadn't found you when they did, it could have been a lot more serious."
"How long …"
The medic waited for Grissom to finish his sentence, but instead the battered man closed his eyes and slowly opened them again.
"You've been out for two days. There's cuts and bruises to your face and upper torso, so you're going to be sore and stiff for a few more days. I've recommended you stay in the infirmary for five more days. We've been asked to inform your lawyer when you were fully conscious."
"Can … I.. see him?"
"I'd recommend at least another twenty-four hours."
"I asked… before…"
Again, drowsiness started to overtake Grissom who tried to fight it.
"The warden does have notes of a request to see your attorney before landing yourself in here. But how good is it to see your lawyer today if you can't stay awake?"
Grissom tried to nod at the doctor who moved away from the bed. Drowsiness crept over him, and he gave into it gladly, to escape the pain that consumed him.
A day later, Hobson Nash made his way through the different security levels to get to the infirmary. Because he was meeting with a client, he asked if he could meet in a secure room so they could speak without breaking attorney/client privilege. The infirmary had a small exam room that would have to do, so Hobson was escorted there and asked to wait for a guard to bring Grissom.
As the door opened, Hobson stood up to greet his client but became face-to-face with a Grissom he almost couldn't recognize. The attorney was shocked at the beating his client received.
Grissom could only take small steps because of the shackles on his legs. Thankfully he was without arm restraints, which might have messed with the IV port on his hand.
Before the guard left, Hobson pointed to the shackles and asked, "Are those necessary?"
"Warden's orders," the guard said before leaving the room and closing the door.
Hobson approached Grissom and helped him into a seat. "My God. They really gave you a beating. How… bad is it?"
Grissom let out a pained, sarcastic chuckle. "It isn't good."
"Do you remember anything about the attack?"
Grissom shook his head slightly. "It's still blurry. Nothing I can make much sense of."
Hobson nodded in understanding. "I can imagine."
"Hobson, what the hell is going on with my case? I can't stay in here."
"I know it's difficult."
"Difficult!" Grissom said raising his voice. "What an understatement."
Hobson tried to calm his client by using an even voice. "Remember what we talked about before you went into prison. Stay under the radar. You've got to be as invisible as possible…"
"They found me," Grissom said with resonance. "I didn't ask for them to beat the shit out of me."
"I know that but what about that stint you did in isolation?" The question made Grissom bite his lip. He knew that was his fault. "That will not help your case, Grissom, not one bit. If you are seen as a troubled prisoner no one will be on your side. Look at you now? You got beaten up by a gang of men and you're meeting your lawyer in shackles."
The two sat in silence for a long moment. Grissom swiped his hand across his forehead.
"You in pain?"
"It's all relative at this point," Grissom said before taking a deep breath and speaking. He worked not to let his voice crack. "These men are going to kill me. I am not going to die in here, so being invisible is more difficult than we anticipated."
"OK. Well… it's becoming quite clear that from the severity of this attack your safety is compromised," Hobson said. "This is not the first of such incidents, and I spoke with the warden about this after you told Mr. Jacobson what happened to you in the shower area. Things have escalated again and I think it's time we insist you be transferred to another facility. One where you can be more anonymous. Does that sound agreeable?"
"Yes."
"A transfer might take a few days, a week, you know how things are in here. Can you stay under the radar until then?"
Grissom sighed. This guy doesn't get it, he thought. It's not my decision whether I stay under the radar. "Yeah. I will try, Hobson. Just don't leave me here too long."
"As soon as possible. You have my word," Hobson said. "And don't worry. I'll let Sara know when the transfer will occur…"
"No," Grissom said forcibly. "I don't want her to know anything about this. She has enough to cope with, without burdening her with this."
"Grissom, she's been calling my office. I think she gets why you don't want to see her, but she wants to know why you can't call."
"Can't you hold off telling her about the transfer until I've been settled a few days in the new facility?" Grissom asked. "Once I'm there, you can put money in my account and I can use it to call her. Just… just hold her off a little longer."
"If that is what you prefer," answered Hobson, not sure he understood his client's reasoning, but granting it nonetheless. "Right now, guaranteeing your safety is the important issue."
Grissom winced as he shifted in his chair. Hobson noticed and figured it might be time his client get back to a bed. "Is there anything else you need?"
"I need to get the hell out of here."
Hobson wanted to offer a comforting smile, but couldn't. Instead he rose to his feet and knocked on the door to alert the guard to get the prisoner. "I'm going to concentrate on the transfer and, I promise you, I'll make sure that this matter is dealt with swiftly."
Hobson was as good as his word, and less than a week later, Grissom was escorted by three guards to the waiting prison transport bus. Although the infirmary listed him as fit to travel, he was still feeling pain and discomfort from the beating.
The hot Nevada sun blazed as Grissom clutched the paper sack containing his meagre belongings. He had to look forward to a six hour drive to the Northern Nevada Correctional Center, near Carson City and Lake Tahoe, and Grissom was already feeling the effects of the heat.
Grissom worked to wipe a few beads of sweat off his face with his cuffed hands. He took a deep breath as he boarded the bus behind two other prisoners from his prison. A guard stood behind him and pushed him to get on the bus, when Grissom took a moment of hesitation.
The bus was empty, save the driver. The guard took the three prisoners behind a caged partition that separated them from where the driver and any guards sat.
After Grissom sat down, his guard immediately shackled one foot to the seat. While the other prisoners were tended to, Grissom leaned his head, wearily against the window. He felt a brief wave of relief to be finally out of High Desert State Prison, but he knew today would be a long drive through the desert with intermediate stops.
The first stop to Southern Desert Correctional was not a long drive at all. The prisoners sat in wait as the guard exited the bus to retrieve a new batch of prisoners. But nothing happens immediately in a prison setting, and the trio sat in wait for more than an hour. The heat became oppressive and Grissom could feel sweat bead down his back and legs.
Another guard joined the one from Grissom's prison as two more prisoners were escorted on the bus. Grissom had promised both himself and his lawyer he would follow the "fly under the radar" philosophy, so Grissom put his head down low not wanting to make any eye contact with anyone — guard or prisoner.
He turned his gaze back out the window as the two prisoners were situated somewhere behind him and finally he felt the bus put into drive and pull back onto the highway.
After about an hour, the generic desert landscape combined with the motion of the bus had succeeded in lulling Grissom to the edge of sleep. But the bumpy ride continually jostled him awake. He craned his neck back and forth and wondered how many more stops at other prisons the bus would make.
He continued to look out the window and a feeling of isolation hit him. He felt as if he was alone on a long sojourn he didn't want to take. Nausea overcame his stomach. Yet, he also felt the tension of anticipation. He looked at the window and noticed they had passed Desert Camp Rock. He recalled investigating a number of crime scenes there over the course of his career.
Taking his gaze away from the window, he wished he could pinpoint the source of the tension. But before he could mentally investigate that feeling, the bus jarred violently and Grissom found himself shrouded in black.