A/N. Many thanks to JellybeanChiChi, for another awesome beta on this chapter. She also worked on half of this chapter too. Be warned that this chapter has mature content.
CHAPTER 22
Rory Dunbar hummed a familiar jingle in between taking bites of his second Hot Pocket. He was satisfied his latest visitor fulfilled his request of a small microwave and a box of Hot Pockets. He told Fromansky to surprise him with the flavor of the microwaveable, handheld sandwich, and he was pleasantly surprised.
"Philly Cheese Steak," Rory said as he looked down at the floor where Fromansky laid. "Good choice, buddy."
Unfortunately, Fromansky couldn't appreciate the accolade. A single shot to the head silenced him for good. Rory had Hobson contact Fromansky and pass along a request for a meeting. Fromansky thought he was going to secure his final payment of $250,000. By the final look on his face, hearing the "Thanks for the Hot Pockets" and seeing the barrel of a gun in his face surprised the former cop.
Fromansky was another loose end handled and Rory was sure that Hobson would be handled soon as well. But the man at the crux of his crusade simply was not cooperating.
He had to admit, Grissom could take a beating. The entire evening consisted of taking him from his room, shackling him to the raised hook. Beating him. Taunting him. Beating him again. But he wouldn't admit the truth. Even when Rory used a stun gun to the balls, Grissom wouldn't admit he set-up Rory's brother, Tyler.
And it was pissing Rory off so much. So very much.
Sure, he could see fear overtake Grissom as the prisoner would try to steel himself for a blow that was surely coming. Rory loved to witness Grissom's arms and shoulders tremble with tension.
But the whole ordeal was taxing and frustrating. He wondered if Grissom ever thought about what life would be like if he hadn't made his choices to randomly persecute Tyler. That random choice destroyed Rory's family. Because that's what it was: Grissom's choice. There was no reason to persecute Tyler. He did nothing wrong. He was just trying to provide for his family.
The memory angered Rory, who stood up and furiously flipped over the table where the microwave was set. It bounced off the floor and it's door came off its hinge.
That choice — Grissom's choice — plagued Rory Dunbar since he was 12 years old. Grissom might never have considered how the consequences of his decision affected Tyler's family. His wife. His unborn child. The impressionable, little brother who idolized Tyler. But Rory did.
He needed a new tactic to get Grissom to own up to his destructive, despicable choice. Perhaps the way to do that was to let Grissom witness how one decision could destroy his world.
Rory sat down and outlined his idea in his head. An evil smile fell upon his face. He would gather what he needed and soon the world would see with their own eyes what a terrible man Gil Grissom truly is.
He looked down at Fromansky. The man had seemed to let himself go. He was no longer the thin cop of 10 years past. He was a lot more doughy.
How fortuitous. If a man is going to confess his greatest sin to the world, he should at least be wearing more than boxer shorts.
Before removing the shirt, Rory swiped his hand in the blood pool around the head and wiped some blood on the shirt.
Yet another man's blood sacrificed because of Grissom's choice 29 years ago.
The smell of stale sweat was strong in the small, enclosed room where Grissom tired to remain as still as possible on the metal cot. His body was wrecked with pain from the beatings he'd endured at Rory's hands. He wasn't completely sure how much time had past, but to his battered body it felt like months. He wasn't sure how much more he could withstand of Rory's punishment.
His back burned, and he could feel fresh blood still seeping from the many lacerations from the whipping he had received. His arms and shoulders ached with a heaviness that became worse each time he was bound while assaulted.
He closed his eyes though sleep evaded him. He allowed his mind to drift, seeking a way to keep his mind off the pain. Memories of Sara flitted in and out of his subconscious:
The night Sara had been attacked by Adam Trent was a terrible memory. But the experience changed the direction of their relationship. He remembered some two days later when they ate Chinese take-out at her apartment. He couldn't take his eyes off of the red marks on her neck where Trent held a shard of porcelain at her throat.
"Glaring is not going to make it go away, Gris." She sounded slightly irritated.
"It looks sore." He forced himself to continue eating. "Does it hurt much?"
"Only when you keep staring at it, and reminding me it's there." She smirked and he knew she wanted to soften the harshness of her words.
"I'm sorry." It was said so quietly, almost lost in a sigh. And he wondered if she heard him.
But then she reached over the breakfast bar and entwined her fingers around his. "I know you care, Gris, and that you're concerned, but I'm fine, really. It looks worse than it is, and it will fade in a few days."
It happened as she was making coffee. He couldn't deny his feelings any longer, and he couldn't wait any longer. He approached her. His eyes searched her face, before settling on the red mark on her throat, as he gently tucked her hair behind her ear. He ran his thumb gently over the mark, and then he kissed her.
And she kissed him back.
When they finally stopped, they gazed at one another and he wondered if she thought it was a mistake. Then she smiled wide. "Wow, would you look at that? You kissed me and the world didn't end."
Her flushed face. Her perfect lips forming that trademark smile. Her sarcastic sense of humor. He wondered if he would ever see or hear her embody those memories ever again.
"On your feet, you worthless piece of shit!"
Grissom was roughly brought from his wandering thoughts, as Rory entered the room. Rory uncuffed Grissom from the bed. When Grissom moved too slowly for his tormentor's liking, he was slapped repeatedly across the face.
Finally, Grissom's aching body managed to cooperate with Rory's wishes. But Grissom's left knee made him stumble. Rory roughly pulled him up, and threw the shirt at him.
"Put that on. Now!"
Grissom first pulled his head through the extra large polo shirt. His salt and pepper curls were bedraggled with sweat and blood, but Grissom noticed a blood stain not his own across the chest.
"Don't you look cute," Rory said with an evil smile. "Now, move forward!"
Grissom walked the familiar path to what amounted to his own torture chamber. His eyes immediately focused on the shackles and hook, but then he also spied a table with items on it. As he walked closer he saw the stun gun that had already been used on him set on the table, but also a walkie-talkie, a taser, and a camera on a small tripod.
Grissom had no idea what Rory had in store for him. If death was inevitable, then he didn't understand why Rory didn't just kill him off. Secured in his chains once more, Grissom couldn't prevent the moan of pain that escaped his lips as his body was put once again in such a torturous position.
Rory stood back to look at him. There was no smile on his face. There was no fury. There was simply apathy. "Are you ready to talk, Grissom?"
"I … I don't know what you want from me. I can't give you… anything."
The comments garnered Grissom two, hard punches to the gut. "You know exactly what I need from you. The truth!"
The punches reined down on him until Grissom finally screamed, "Tyler broke the law!The prostitution, extortion, drug dealing, offering protection to the criminals, Tyler did all that himself!"
Rory stood back and paced. "No. You're lying. You choose to persecute him. To target him. To ruin him." His pacing increased like a caged animal. "You were the one who brought this on." He lifted up his arms as if to present the room. "All this is because of a choice you made!"
He punctuated his point further with a quick hard punch to Grissom's face. Blood trickled from Grissom's mouth and nose. "I remember him, telling my father how he didn't trust you. That you were up to something; he just didn't have enough evidence to prove it. Before he could get the evidence against you, he's the one being investigated! "
"N-no...That's not...what...happened..."
His body tensed as the stun gun, was pressed to his left thigh, the chains chinking, as he's body continued to spasm, afterwards.
"S-stop… please!" Grissom whimpered, his voice tortured. "No...m-more...please! If you want to kill me, than do it! Kill me!"
Rory backhanded him, savagely across his face, his eyes filled with fury. "This ends when I say it does, you thick fuck!" He pressed the stun gun once more against Grissom's thigh.
Grissom screamed in agony, his body shuddering. Tears coursed unchecked down his cheeks.
"I'm….sorry!" he sobbed. "I'm….s-sorry, that...Ty...Tyler...Tyler died."
"Sorry?" Rory questioned, in mock disbelieve. "You're fucking sorry!" Rory screamed in rage. He grabbed Grissom by the throat tightly, choking him. "Sorry doesn't even begin to cover it, you fucking asshole!"
Grissom's face turned red as he struggled to breath. Panic set in, as he had no way to defend himself against Rory's punishing grip. He's struggles grew more frantic as his need for air, increased. In that moment, Rory released him, and Grissom gasped, gulping in great lungfuls of air.
Rory circled around Grissom. After three days, he thought Grissom would relent. But apparently he would choose death over telling the truth.
Well, maybe there should be a death. Just not Grissom's.
Seemingly in more control, Rory put the stun gun back down upon the table and picked up the walkie-talkie. "You know, Grissom, you should feel exactly what we felt when Tyler, died. I wonder if sorry would be enough for you if say, oh I don't know, something happened to Sara? Or that cute little boy of yours. Daniel, isn't it?
Weeping, Grissom sucked in air, his face a sickly white. "No. Don't hurt...my- my...family….ple-please!" Grissom begged.
He flinched away, as Rory drew close to him, and Rory smiled triumphantly. Just as Mike Garrett had taken a pregnant Sara to expose Grissom's weakness, Rory was ready to follow suit and follow it to its extreme conclusion. Family was both Grissom's greatest strength and greatest weakness, and Rory had control of that fact.
After a crackle of static, the walkie-talkie spluttered to life. "Sniper, do you copy? Over."
"10-4, base. I've got the kid in sight now. Over."
"What's your 20? Over." Rory responded, watching Grissom carefully.
Grissom had lifted his head as best he could as the frightening words of "sniper" and "kid" filled his head.
"Day care center. I have a clear shot at Daniel. Over."
Grissom struggled against the chains that held him captive, his heart racing at the mention of Daniel's name. "Please!" he begged, in sobbing gasp. "Please, don't hurt my son! Oh God, please!"
Tears coursed down his cheeks, his face contorted with abject fear and distress. Surely, Rory wouldn't go that far?
"Repeat, I have a clear shot. Over," the voice crackled, sounding tinny over the walkie- talkie.
"PLEASE!" Grissom, beseeched desperately. He sobbed brokenly, his bloodshot eyes, fastened on Rory, pleading. "Don't hurt him! Don't ….don't….please...not Daniel, please!"
"This is down to you!" Rory yelled, indicating the walkie-talkie. "You don't want it, then be a man, you son-of-a-bitch and tell the truth!"
"STOP!" Grissom cried desperately, choking back a sob. He swallowed with difficulty. "I set him up!" Grissom gasped, haltingly. He sobbed brokenly, his will to resist completely crushed. "I set...Tyler….I false…." Grissom swallowed heavily. "...it was...my fault..." Grissom's voice trailed off with a gasping sob.
Rory came right into Grissom's face and spoke into the walkie-talkie. "Sniper. Hold your position. Do not yield, do not fire, until you hear my command. Over."
"Copy that, base. Over."
"Did you just hear that instruction, Grissom?" Rory said as he clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt. "Now that you admitted the truth, you're going to do it again on record. The slightest hint of retraction of your lie will lead to the death of your son, do you understand me?"
Grissom swallowed a lump in his throat but couldn't answer. He merely nodded "yes."
Rory put a folding chair about four feet from the table. He went behind the camera on its tabletop tripod and looked through the lens. He seemed satisfied with framing.
He undid Grissom's shackles and had him sit in the chair. "Do you understand what will happen if you make one false move, you son-of-a-bitch?"
"I understand."
After putting the taser withinn his reach, Rory went behind the camera and began to record.
"Look directly into the camera and state your full name and age."
"Gilbert A. Grissom. Aged 51 years."
"Explain the reason for this video. What are you freely confessing?"
"I set up Tyler Darrow for corruption and evidence tampering. I lied about what he did."
"When and where?"
"1979, Minnesota."
"And what happened to Tyler?"
"He was sent to jail where he committed suicide."
"And who is responsible for this?"
Grissom closed his eyes. Was he really going to do this? "I am. It is my fault he was jailed and he is dead." Grissom tried to hold in a sob. "I'm sorry."
Rory pulled away from the camera and looked directly at Grissom. "I suppose that will have to do."
Grissom put his head down in exhaustion. But when he heard the telltale sound of the walkie-talkie being pulled out of Rory's belt clip, he's head popped back up.
"Take the shot. Over."
"NOOO!" Grissom jumped from his seat to charge at Rory but the man had already grabbed the taser and shot at Grissom. The prisoner fell down in the fetal position on the floor practically unconscious. As he twitched, Rory kicked him repeatedly and viciously until Grissom was indeed unconscious.