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The questioning of Abrams had set Grissom on edge once again. Although not as nerve-wracking as his earlier run in with the man, Brass could still see it had taken its toll on Grissom. Normally he would have pinned Grissom’s sullenness on his inability to place all the pieces together in the deadly little puzzles they worked with. Grissom had never done well with open, unsolved cases and had always kept track of them on the Fish board in hopes of one day putting all the pieces together. This was, however, so much more then that.
Brass head called Catherine in on the interrogation. First, because she was the lead in the Karns murder and second because he wanted back up should Grissom melt down.
“Yea, I think somewhere in that rattled genius head of his is the answer but so far we’re battin’ under a hundred,” Brass spoke softly as he and Catherine left the room. Grissom had long since stormed off but thankfully had not tried to enter the room where Abrams smugly spun his novella of lies.
“Damn, even if I didn’t know what that man has done I’d still despise him” Catherine said, the anger that had seeped into every fiber of her being easily resonating in her voice. “I better go find him,”
Brass gave her a gentle rub on the shoulder, a sign of solidarity in difficult times before parting ways and heading to his almost forgotten office.
By mid-shift Warrick and Greg had been pulled into a suspicious circumstance death at the Stratosphere, leaving Grissom to his paperwork in his office. Sara and Nick were in the garage busy with Karn’s stolen motorcycle that Abrams had been riding when the two men had left. Processing the motorcycle, the two CSIs came up with a dozen prints, mostly Karns’ and Abrams’ and some blood trace that they sent to DNA.
“Not much,” Nick said placing his hands on his hips as he looked at the mangled motorcycle.
Nick looked over at Sara who was packing her kit away quietly. She had barely said a word since they had gotten back from the Euthenia and what Greg had termed the warp ten race. They had all been scared, no terrified, was what they had all been but Nick was really beginning to worry about Sara.
“Sar?” Nick said kneeling down next to her. She was desperately trying to get her smaller lift kits to slip into the case with her larger ones and not having much luck.
“Damn it,” she muttered throwing her hands up before sinking to the floor, her legs crossed and her head in her hands.
Nick could see she had started to cry. “Hey,” he said taking her hands and pulling her to her feet before wrapping her up in his sturdy embrace. “Hey now, if we get the porta-power out… I am sure we can get those lift kits wedged back in there,” he teased her.
Sara gave a half hearted chuckle at the end of a sniffle. God! Grissom was making her wreck. Crying at work! IN FRONT OF NICK! “Sorry,” she mumbled at Nick’s shoulder, slightly embarrassed by her behavior.
“Hey,” Nick smiled as Sara pulled away; wiping her eyes with the back of her hand “this whole case is hard on everyone. You and Griss…” Nick had always suspected that there had been, was or could be more to Sara and Grissom’s relationship but was never certain “…well you’ve been friends along time.”
Sara nodded not knowing what else to add. What Nick said was true. She and Grissom had known each other for a decade but even in the beginning it had been more than just friendship. Their attraction to one another had been instant and intense. It had been both exciting and frightening and they had danced around it for years before falling blissfully into its all consuming warmth.
There was no going back. Together Sara and Grissom were whole, the vacant spots in their hearts and psyches filled by the other. Without him Sara knew she would be a ghost of her compete self, only half there. For Sara there was air, food, water and Gil Grissom.
“Thanks,” Sara said still embarrassed by her lack of control.
Nick nodded, was about to tell her if she needed to just talk he would be there for her but decided to try and keep the conversation light. Things had been too heavy for weeks.
“Let’s go let the boss know what we have so far,” Nick said unzipping the front of his coveralls and stepping out of them. “You know how he gets if he’s left out of the loop too long.”
Sara rolled her eyes. Grissom was not a micromanager but he hated being in the dark with an ongoing case. Knowledge was paramount in Gil Grissom’s world. He might not always understand something but he did need to know about it.
Entering the hall that lead to Grissom’s office Nick was almost run down by a seething Catherine. “Cath?” Nick reached out to grab the woman before she toppled to the ground “sorry, you okay?”
Catherine’s face was flushed, her full lips were pressed tightly together in a thin, grim line and the bright, hot flame of anger burned behind her blue eyes. She was pissed and Nick couldn’t help himself when he took an involuntary step back. The women on his shift were tough and when they were worked up, Nick was generally a little nervous. He was a strong guy but right then he was pretty certain Catherine could take him. Make me cry like a little girl, too, Nick thought uncomfortably.
“Catherine shook her head vigorously. “NO!” she ground out “I’ve spent the last hour with that…that…” Catherine visibly shook with anger as she tried to think up a proper descriptor for Scott Abrams. “ASSHOLE!” she finally spat out loud enough for most of the lab techs nearby to hear.
Nick quickly glanced around the lab to see a half a dozen startled expressions staring at them. Taking Catherine by the arm he began escorting her in the direction he and Sara had been going.
“Did you get anything out of him?” Nick asked somberly. He couldn’t think of anybody on the night crew that wouldn’t have given their left arm to be able to just go into the interrogation room and beat the information they wanted out of Abrams. Sara had been adamant that if she had to sit with the man that a CSI needed to be in the hall waiting to process the crime scene because she would shoot him dead.
“He’s just screwin’ with us right now,” Catherine growled as she knocked on the closed door to Grissom’s office. “We’ll see if that holds, though. Grissom?” Catherine turned the knob and let the door swing open to reveal an empty office.
Three heads swiveled in unison looking down either direction of the hall. They had passed most of the open labs and layout rooms and Catherine had passed by the break room. Sara yanked her phone from her hip and with two jabs of her thumb was calling Grissom. Ring, damnit! Pick up Gil! Pickup, pickup, pickup!
“He’s not answering,” Sara said not even trying to hide the worry in her voice.
Catherine looked at her watch. Warrick had sent her a text message when he and Greg had left for their case. “Alright, he was here forty-five minutes ago, according to Warrick. Brass had his bike brought back to the lab, so Sara check the lot for the motorcycle, Nick check the obvious- men’s room. I’ll check with Judy. Let’s make sure he is it here before we start searching elsewhere.
The three CSIs split up and within twenty minutes knew they had lost their supervisor. In twenty-one minutes they were out the door in search of the man.
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The ice clinked in the glass as the amber colored liquid poured over top of it. The warm colored scotch was in contrast to the crystal, cool of the ice as Grissom swirled the glass in his hand and watched the contents chase each other round and round. He laughed at nothing because it felt better than screaming before he swallowed his drink in one mighty gulp.
Refilling his glass he wondered how much of the bottle he was going to have to consume before the voices inside his head would… “SHUT UP!” Grissom screamed to the night sky and the ghosts that haunted him.
Grisssssommm,
Grissom turned his glazed blue eyes at the rippling, clear water of the pool. The pool lights glistened in the water like electrically charged plasma. White hot reflections cut, chased and fell through the shadows as light and dark danced seductively before him.
Are you afraid?
Grissom swayed on his feet, mesmerized by the sparkle of the waters surface as he absentmindedly sipped at his drink
Are you afraid of the dark, the unknown?
Grissom could hear Bathory’s voice as if he was standing right next to him, hissing- his words burrowing like a malevolent serpent within Grissom’s cerebral cortex. Coiling, twisting, twisting…
Are you afraid of your dreams?
He was. He was petrified of his dreams and god he was tired of being scared. All he wanted was to sleep, peaceful, dreamless sleep. The kind of sleep he got after making long, passionate love to Sara and succumbing to oblivion in her gentle arms.
“Sara…” he whispered sadly, his heart painfully flipping in his chest as he thought about her tears and how he was the cause of them
Don’t worry about what’s in there with you. Abrams words and laugh echoed in his mind as he remembered the sadist lowering him into the Tank. Don’t move and they probably won’t bite…much.
Grissom gulped the last of his drink down before angrily slamming the glass down on the poolside table. The glass cracked and broke into three large pieces upon crashing into the wrought iron table, slicing through Grissom’s palm and fingers. With a curse, Grissom flicked his injured hand spraying blood and the remnants of water-downed scotch on the concrete deck.
“Fuck it!” Grissom grabbed the bar towel sitting on the table and wrapped his hand before stalking to the pool side.
He could hear him hissing in the water, waiting for him, wanting him.
“You want me? Here I am,” Grissom whispered as he stepped out over the water and sank within its cool surface.
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Nick drove. He broke protocol and the speed limit as he drove with the Denali’s red and blue lights flashing all the way from the lab to Grissom’s safehouse. Catherine had had dispatch check with the officer assigned to watching the house and had verified that Grissom had headed home. She had tried to get the officer to check on Grissom but the man was only willing to say that he had seen Grissom enter the house and that he had observed movement within, obviously still wary over the last time he entered the premises and had nearly shot the raging man.
Sara sat in the back seat continuously hanging up and calling Grissom every time she was shuttled to voicemail, while Catherine sat tensely in the front passenger seat. They had to find Bathory before there was nothing left of Grissom. The man was disintegrating before their eyes in giant fiery chunks and until they had Bathory in custody, Catherine didn’t know how else to begin to save him. She knew he needed professional help, it was obvious, but she was beyond desperate to know how to get it for him.
The bleating of her cell phone caused Catherine to jump visibly. Snatching the devise from her hip Catherine snapped, “Willows!”
Sara could see that they were getting close to the neighborhood where the safehouse was but felt time was moving too slowly and anxiously started dialing Grissom’s number again.
“No,” Sara heard Catherine say to the person on the other end of her call. “We’ll be there in about five minutes, just meet us there.” Catherine snapped her phone shut with out saying goodbye. “Warrick and Greg are going to meet us there,” Catherine informed them as Nick pulled down the street that lead to Grissom’s temporary home.
Sara jumped out of the SUV before it had come to a complete stop. Running up to the front door she tried desperately to open it, pulling and shoving on the door handle angrily before following the landscaped sidewalk around to the car port.
“He was moving around in there not that long ago,” the cop assigned to the house called out through the open window of his unmarked car.
Sara didn’t even spare him a glance as she checked the side door.
“Locked,” she cursed before pounding loudly on the door. “GRIS! OPEN UP!”
Nick and Catherine came up behind her Nick reaching out to check the doorknob before heading to the wooden privacy gate that separated the carport from the back of the house. He didn’t want to have to break down the door if he didn’t need to. Pulling up on the latch he found it unlocked.
“Come on,” he ordered slightly breathless. There was nothing to indicate anything was wrong. There was no sign or real reason for them to worry that Grissom might be hurt but his instincts told him there was something not right and the look on Sara and Catherine’s face told him he must not be that far of the mark.
With quick, long strides the three CSIs followed the well manicured hedges that lead to side of the pool. They were so concentrated on the sliding glass doors that would gain them entrance to the house that they nearly missed the evidence that lay blatantly before them.
“Wait!” Catherine was the first to notice the blood.
Nick and Sara’s eyes went wide as they followed the blood to the dark wrought iron table. A collective hiss of breaths being sucked in and held could easily be heard over the night’s normal noise as all three saw the department issued 9 millimeter sitting among empty liquor bottles and broken glass. Sara and Catherine immediately turned for the door of the house.
“GRISSOM!”
At Nick’s scream the two women halted and spun to watch Nick leap into the pool. It was only then that they saw Grissom floating in the shadows of the pool’s waters.
“GIL!” Sara wasn’t sure if she had actually screamed his name out loud or not but she did know her heart stopped and started all in the same breath.
The minute Nick’s body hit the water Grissom’s head came out of the water. He had been floating on his back, his lower body mostly submerged while his arms floated lifelessly away from his body. Grissom’s wet head twisted frantically; his eyes glazed over as he desperately sought out the danger his mind convinced him was there.
“Hypnossss…” Grissom growled softly as he saw the dark form coming through the water. He took his place and held it, standing firm, his muscles coiled and ready for the battle. Victor or vanquished, Grissom was prepared for either as long as it was over. No more tortured dreams and hissing taunts, no more sounds of weeping girls and burning rage threatening to destroy him and everyone he loves.
Grissom bared his teeth and raised his muscled arms out of the water, his fists clenched tightly as he prepared for the battle. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply, his eyes never blinking, never wavering as he watched Hypnos shadowy form slow.
“NICK!” Sara warned in a breathy voice. “Don’t…get out of the water,” she said urgently her hand gesturing for him to come to her. Sara had fallen to one knee at the side of the pool when she had rushed forward for that brief hellish moment when she thought Grissom had drowned. Reaching out across the water she implored Nick to come away from Grissom.
Nick’s head spun back and forth between Grissom, who had nearly given Nick a heart attack when his head had bolted up out of the water, and Sara. She acted like he was approaching a rabid animal, gesturing frantically for him to come to her.
“What?” Nick asked confused as he looked over his shoulder to catch Warrick rushing into the pool area with his gun drawn, Greg in tow.
Warrick wasn’t sure what the hell had everyone screaming like murder was being committed but could see that his gun wasn’t needed. Holstering the weapon he asked, a little annoyed, “What the hell is going on? Why is everyone screaming?”
Sara ignored Warrick and continued to try and get Nick to back away from Grissom who was beginning to move in slow agitated movements.
“Please Nick, he’s not himself,” Sara implored.
Catherine had to concur. Grissom looked like he was preparing to take Nick on to a fight to the death. “Yea, Nicky…why don’t you come over here.”
Nick was confused but he was starting to become a little nervous by the women’s behavior and Grissom’s as well. Trying not to give Grissom his back, Nick made his way towards the pool’s edge, walking at an angle.
“Gil,” Sara rose to her feet once Nick began treading his way back. Slowly walking along the pool’s side, well out of Grissom’s reach, Sara tried to ascertain if he was hurt badly. She could just make out a wispy, pink-red cloud of blood being picked up from the lights built into the concrete stairs that lead out of the pool. “Let’s get you out of the pool,” she said softly as she came to halt a dozen feet from him, not daring to come any closer.
The lights from the house picked up and accentuated the unnatural glimmer in his eyes. He looked feral, his wet hair curling and clinging to his head, the glistening water delineating every straining muscle and his nostrils flaring in pent up rage and fear!
It wasn’t just that Nick had startled him and sent his overworked nerves into fight mode. He was afraid. Like a wild animal cornered with no recourse but to fight. Sara’s gaze flicked through the pool’s water. Ever since they had been here, Grissom had avoided getting into the pool- even when she had taunted him with skinny dipping. He would sit broodingly staring at the water for hours but had always sat back away from the edge never daring to enter. She knew he could swim. She knew he was a good swimmer. She also knew why he had come to fear the water.
“Gil, its okay…there’s nothing to be afraid…there’s nothing there…” knowing the name that haunted his nightmares Sara added “Hypnos is not here, Gil.”
In the shadows cast by the dim illumination of the pool lights, Sara could see Grissom’s eyes cross the waters surface before returning to her. With a mixture of a groan and a growl Grissom spun and began sloshing his way up and out of the pool as he mounted the submerged stairs. Aside from socks and shoes Grissom had gone into the pool fully clothed. His white tee shirt and jeans clung to him like a sopping, shining second skin as he stalked the pools edge.
“Why are you here?” he said accusingly. His words directed at all of them as they stared dumbfounded by his behavior.
Sara watched him as he marched past her towards the table that held his gun. The gun! She thought in dismay but instead of the gun Grissom picked up the half empty scotch bottle. Glancing around the table for his glass, Grissom finally gave up and brought the bottle up to his lips.
“You weren’t answering your cell and we got worried about you,” Catherine offered counting the six empty beer bottles before gauging what was left in the scotch bottle. She was rather impressed the man was still standing, if he had consumed this much alcohol all ready.
“I’m fine-“
Catherine huffed at him, while Sara approached and took the hand wrapped in the bloody hand towel. But Grissom was having none of that. Pulling his hand away from her grasp he wobbled slightly before righting himself. Maybe the booze is having an effect on him after all, Catherine thought.
“You’re not fine, you’re anything but fine,” Catherine spoke irately. “Let Sara look at your damn hand, “she ordered.
Grissom glared at the woman before belligerently shoving his wounded hand at Sara. Sara unwrapped the towel carefully to find a nasty cut dissecting his pointer and middle finger and extending downward to cross the top of his palm.
“See,” he said snidely before taking a generous swallow of the amber colored scotch “I’m fine.”
“You’re shitfaced,” Greg sarcastically said from the edge of the group.
Grissom pulled his wounded hand from Sara’s grasp and tapped his forefinger to his nose before pointing at Greg. “There you have it,” Grissom rotated away from Sara and Catherine trying to put distance between himself and everyone there.
Sara quickly snatched Grissom’s gun from the table the moment his back was turned. Shoving the weapon in the back of her waistband, Sara pulled her shirt over the gun to conceal it from Grissom. Catherine, seeing what Sara had done gave her the slightest of nods in approval.
Grissom maintained a fairly straight trajectory as he made his way to the house only swerving slightly as he attempted to pull his wet tee shirt over his head. Forgetting the near empty bottle in his hand as he tugged on the wet shirt, Grissom accidentally dropped it. The bottle shattered with a loud pop-tinkle across the concrete deck.
“Shit,” Grissom muttered as he looked down at the broken glass, his arms still tied up above his head in the wet shirt.
If Grissom hadn’t consumed a large quantity of alcohol he might have been aware of the blatant chorus of surprise behind him as he slipped his arms free and tossed the shirt off to the side. The stitches had been removed and the wounds had changed from an angry red to a pale pink-white but the physical evidence to the depravity they had all witnessed on the videotapes was there before them.
Sara hung her head and swallowed hard at her coworker’s reactions, knowing this was the first time they had seen the physical proof of Grissom’s hell. Over his right scapula was a set of three cuts parallel to one another and four inches long, a cut for each time Grissom had made a maligning statement concerning Richard Bathory. He’d learned quickly to keep that opinion to himself.
Directly below the claw like cuts were two round puncture wounds that had begun to pucker along the outer edge. They had a similar look to gun shot wounds but everyone knew that it had been one of Markus Bathory’s “lessons” with hooked medical probe resembling a medieval meat hook that had caused the wounds.
“Gil,” Catherine whispered as the man stumbled while pulling the glass door open. The tapes were bad enough but to actually see the reality of it broke her heart and made her feel nauseous.
Grissom turned at his name revealing the entrance side to the two sets of puncture wounds and the long jagged scar just below his ribs where he had been stabbed. It had been obvious that he had lost a lot of wait while in captivity and Catherine could see he had lost more since returning to them. The evidence of it was obvious in the slight hollow below his sternum and the delineation of the bottom of his ribcage. He didn’t look emaciated but Grissom’s frame was meant to carry more weight than he had on him.
“What?” Grissom asked annoyed that his attempt to get into the house was being thwarted by the sliding glass door and his unwanted guests.
Catherine hesitated a moment looking to Sara, a silent agreement passing between the women. “Okay, let’s get you into some dry clothes and fed,” she said coming forward and taking charge.
“I don’t need a mother,” Grissom stabbed his finger at Catherine as she effortlessly slid the door open.
“No, you need a keeper,” Catherine declared entering the house uninvited.
Grissom looked at Sara and the others, a look of angry astonishment on his face as if he couldn’t believe Catherine’s audacity. Nick, Warrick and Greg had matching sheepish looks as they tried to look anywhere but at Grissom, while Sara took him by the arm and lead him into the house.
Catherine quickly scanned the kitchen and determined that she was going to make use of the stale bread and whip up some French toast. Of course the stale bread, a few eggs, half gallon of milk and coffee looked to be the only thing in the house. Obviously grocery shopping had not been put on the to-do-list.
Greg tried to make himself useful by helping Catherine and quickly made a beeline to the kitchen. “I’ll play assistant chef,” he said pulling a skillet out of one of the overhead cupboards.
Grissom watched Catherine and Greg in the kitchen a heavy frown creasing his brow. He felt discombobulated. He wanted them all gone, he wanted them to stay. He was angry, he wasn’t angry. He was spinning at hundred thousand RPM in opposite directions and it made him feel numb and on edge at the same time.
Grissom ran his uninjured hand through his wet curls, pulling them out into waves on one side of his head. Tipping and recovery to one side he chuckled when he realized the crying had ceased in his head.
“Ah, thank God,” he exclaimed on an escaped breath. His relief had him stumbling backwards.
Nick rushed forward to help Sara keep the man from tumbling into the stone hearth behind him. “Hey big guy, take it easy,” Nick drawled with a smile.
“Finally…shut up,” Grissom mumbled as if Nick would understand what he was talking about.
Nick smiled, inclining his chin as if everything was clear while his eyes shot a big question mark to Sara. Sara gave a wan smile before she steered Grissom towards the hall that lead to the bedrooms of the house.
“Come on Gris,” she said taking his arm in one hand and placing a supporting hand at his back “let’s get that hand cleaned up.”
Nick and Warrick exchange curious glances as they watched Sara lead a dripping wet, half naked Grissom to the back rooms.
“Do you think…?” Nick asked once the two were out of earshot.
Warrick walked over and picked up the television remote before making himself comfortable in one of the oversized chairs.
“What do I think about those two?” Warrick asked as he scanned the guide for something to watch.
“Yea,” Nick said taking a seat in a matching chair, his head swiveling back and forth to see if Grissom and Sara were still out of the room.
“I think what I’ve always thought.” Warrick settled on a mixed martial arts fight. “They were together, are together or are going to be together. Take your pick. My money is on all three, whether they realize it or not.”
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