Grissom wake up.
Gris-som, Gris-som, Gris-som!
Who was singing his name? What had happened to all the lights?
Gris-som, Gris-som, Gris-som!
“Where are you?” Grissom screamed in the darkness.
Devils danced around a blood fount, their eyes shining with an unnatural blue-silver light as they sang his name.
He had to get away from them! He had to run but his legs would not move. Looking down at his frozen leg Grissom was terrified
Lying at his feet, covered in blood was a beautiful blonde haired girl. Her dead hand bound his ankle like a manacle. Her eyes open, lifeless stared up at him. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish that floundered on land gasping, gasping, gasping.
Someone was crying nearby, whimpering in the dark.
“You’ve never disappointed me Grissom,” hissed a voice in the blackness. The sound pierced his brain, pounding fire cracking his skull!
Gris-som, Gris-som, Gris-som!
The Devils stabbed at him with their pitchforks.
Gris-som, Gris-som, Gris-som!
The dead girl pulled on his leg. Her mouth opened letting out an ear shattering scream that had Grissom covering his ears. The scream went on and on. The girl thrashed on the ground faster and faster. BLOOD! Blood was everywhere, he couldn’t see. His mind went supernova!
Grissom shot up in his hospital bed, his heart racing his breathing strained. Sweat plastered his hair to his head and his tee shirt to his chest. Taking in the hospital room, he collapsed back in the bed laboring to control the effects of his nightmare.
Damn, his head hurt, he complained inwardly raising his hands to his sweaty forehead and pushy back the hair that clung there. His head always hurt anymore. Sometimes more than others but it was always there that dull ache pulsing and pushing against his skull. The medication that Dr. Mutzengarr prescribed didn’t seem to do much but he generally swallowed them dutifully if he was asked.
The only real relieve he had from any of his pain seemed to come from Sara. When he was with her his head ceased its pounding and he finally felt right. Ever since he had awoke in his hospital bed he had the worst feeling off being off balance, out of sorts, with equal measures of unwarranted hostility and nervous wariness thrown in- it was like he had been split in two and was not fully whole.
“You’re awake,” said a young red headed nurse entering the room.
Grissom was shocked by the anger that exploded within him at the nurse’s entrance to his room. What is wrong with me?
“I need to take your vitals,” she explained coming to stand along side the bed. Her friendly smile dissolving quickly at the glowering gaze Grissom leveled at her.
Grissom clenched his free hand several times. Balling his hands into fist, clenching the white sheets in his large hands as he mentally tried to get control of the irrational feelings that were threatening to choke him. He was afraid, he was frightened of himself, and he was terrified for…her!
“GET OUT!” Grissom’s outburst had the young woman jumping back her arms fluttering in fright, her pretty blue eyes enveloping her face.
“Mis…Mister, Mr. Gris…”
“OUT!” Grissom howled waving his arm at her as if shooing away an errant cat. He didn’t dare get out of the bed, so strong was his urge to grab the girl by the throat and throw her from the room. “NOW!” Grissom swung his legs from the bed.
Self preservation won out as the young nurse quickly fled the room. He was choking, choking. There was not enough air, his lungs burned as he desperately tried to fill them. His heart was hammering in his chest as he doubled over in pain. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was having a panic attack but was unable to tap into the logic that normally ran his every waking moment.
His face was screwed into a tight grimace as he tried desperately to think. Out, out, out was the frenetic cadence of his mind. His eyes darted from the door the nurse had escaped through to the giant picture window. His room was several floors up but his mind did not register the irrational thought as his gaze snapped back to the door.
He felt like heavy bands were being coiled and twisted tightly within his skull. Grissom bent over placing his hands on his knees in an attempt to fight the overwhelming urge to run from the room.
“Hey Gris,” Warrick called out, rapping gently at the door as he opened it. Seeing Grissom doubled up, Warrick rushed over. “Whoa… you okay?” Warrick asked worriedly. Placing a hand on Grissom’s shoulder he bent over to try and see the other man’s face.
“Here,” Warrick guided Grissom to the edge of the hospital bed. “I’ll get the nurse.”
Grissom dutifully sat on the edge. His emotions were arcing across the spectrum. He was angry, terrified and then…SNAP! It was like the bands within his mind had suddenly snapped in two and he felt…nothing? He didn’t even feel like Grissom, like himself…he was a void!
“No…no, I’ll…I’m fine,” Grissom breathlessly said while attempting to sit a little straighter on the bed. “It’s okay.”
Warrick hesitated. The expression on his face was one of doubt as he examined Grissom closely. “You sure?” He asked frowning slightly.
Grissom just nodded.
Warrick wavered before deciding that he must not be in too bad of shape. Holding up a white paper bag he said, “Catherine said you are wasting away on hospital food so I brought you sustenance from the outside world.”
Grissom maneuvered his way through the situation like an automaton. He had developed a kind of programming, a list of actions and acceptable behaviors that he often employed over the years to get through difficult social circumstances. Normally, interacting with Warrick would not require those skills but somehow Grissom felt he had become disconnected. It was as if he was far away running his body via remote.
“Wanted to let you know we picked up some suspects in your kidnapping,” Warrick offered in between bites of his sandwich. He knew Grissom and knew the not knowing of something was probably driving the man over the edge.
“Suspects?”
Warrick put his sandwich down on the deli paper it had been wrapped in. “Yea, Brass isn’t a hundred percent on where they fit in the puzzle but…”
Grissom picked at the bread of his sandwich. “What are their names?”
“One guy’s name is Derek Lopez. He’s your generic scumbag but he’s the cousin of a guy we’re lookin’ at for murder.” Warrick wiped his mouth with his napkin before delving into the cast of characters they had thus far uncovered.
Grissom listened carefully as Warrick explained the connection between Lopez and Scott Abrams and how he was a suspect in Jeannie Etts’ murder. How Brass had brought Jeannie’s brother in and had slowly got the kid to roll over on everyone he knew that was involved in the kidnapping.
Grissom shook his head in confusion. “I don’t recall any of those names…did I help put them away? Are they…why would they abduct me?”
“No,” Warrick interrupted “it’s not…Scott Abrams and Mickey Etts, well it’s who they worked for that is the connection to you.”
“O-kay?” Grissom could feel the pressure building in his chest and in his head. An overwhelming sense of dread landed on him like a thick, wet blanket. Outwardly he remained unchanged.
“We think they are all connected in some way to Markus Bathory,” Warrick paused “and his brother Richard.”
Grissom stared blankly at Warrick. “Bathory?”
“Yea”
Grisssommmm
“Bathory,” Grissom could feel the blackness tugging at his psyche like a persistent child. “Yes, I can imagine that they might be up to abduction.”
Warrick nodded dramatically. After going over Richard Bathory’s case file Warrick had little doubt that that twisty tie was capable of Grissom’s kidnapping and much worse. Just because the man was behind bars didn’t mean he didn’t have soldiers on the outside doing his dirty deeds.
Look into the darkness.
Grissom ignored the hissing voice within his head. “Does Jim have any leads on where he might find Markus?”
Warrick gave Grissom a look of disgust. So far all their leads had run dry, dead ended or had just spawned new leads. “No, not yet but Brass is WAY committed on this one.”
“What about Lopez? Besides being this Abrams’ cousin, what is connection?” Grissom asked picking a cucumber slice from his sandwich and biting it in half before tossing the other half on the deli paper.
A partially frustrated expression crossed Warrick’s face as he leaned back in his chair, momentarily halting his lunch. “We have cluster of loosely connected suspects. We’re kind of getting a picture as to how they are all connected but the ‘who knews’ and how much is still a mess.”
Grissom nodded, knowing well the mess that Warrick was speaking of. Sometimes a coincidence was a coincidence and sometimes it was the break that broke a case wide open.
“We don’t know for certain where or if the Hila girl or Shaw are connected but on a different front the prison was able to break into a line of communication between the Bathory brothers.”
Real-ly,” Grissom was rather surprised to hear that bit of information.
Warrick smiled; glad to see the mild look of surprise on Grissom’s face. The blank expression that had permeated much of their visit was unnerving. “Yea, apparently the Brothers Gruesome liked to communicate through classical literature and in Greek.”
“Greek?” Grissom frowned as a vague memory seeped into his consciousness.
Markus the Greeks messenger is here, a voice from the shadows spoke.
Very good the dark wraith with the glowing eyes replied above him. Make sure he doesn’t OD while I’m gone he ordered before slithering from his view leaving him with the shadows and his excruciating pain.
“Gris?” Warrick eyed Grissom, a hint of worry etched across his face.
Grissom stared at his friend for a moment. His blue eyes confused and slightly haunted before the mask of calm crashed down. “Were you able to get it translated?”
“A Professor James at WLVU helped us out. A lot of it was just whack crap, with the two of them stroking each others egos but there were a few references that I’m having Ronny in documents check out.”
Grissom threw himself back in his chair, his hands running through his hair. It was obviously a sign of frustration and Warrick couldn’t blame the man. He’d be crawling the walls and chewing through his I.V. to get back into the thick of it. Knowing Grissom’s innate need to find answers, being stuck in the hospital had to be grating on the man’s nerves, Warrick sympathized.
“What else?” Grissom half-growled in exasperation.
Warrick shook his head. “Hodges found some trace on the clothes they found you in but there’s no smoking gun, yet.”
Grissom chewed his lower lip in aggravation as he pushed his food away. Warrick noted that Grissom did not eat much but didn’t push it, figuring the man had enough people mothering him. Although Catherine was right, he had lost more weight since being in the hospital, he still looked two hundred percent better then when they had brought him in.
Grissom now had the use of both eyes; the left having gone from a grapefruit sized purple hematoma to a slightly puffy black eye. His color had returned to normal, or mostly normal and the cuts and abrasions on his face were healing nicely. A haircut and a couple of days to grow back his beard and people would hardly notice, Warrick thought.
A knock at the door had both men turning to see who it was.
“Oh, look it’s my keepers,” Grissom said with badly concealed cynicism as Drs. Mutzengarr and Thoren entered the room.
Warrick was surprised by Grissom’s behavior. The man had a rapier wit and was know to give even Brass a run for his money in the sarcasm department but rude was really not Grissom’s thing.
“Awww, Vicky said you were in a bad mood today. How are you Warrick?” Dr. Mutzengarr asked his good humor unaffected by Grissom’s scorn.
Warrick smiled at the man as he rose from the chair like a lazy cat. “Tired,” Warrick mused.
“Sleep will clear that right up,” the smiling doctor half heartedly joked. “And don’t worry that prescription is on the house.”
Warrick grinned before saying his goodbyes to Grissom and the doctors. “Check with you later, okay man,” Warrick said with a gentle slap on Grissom’s shoulder before leaving.
Grissom just nodded. He was obviously not happy to see the two doctors and Warrick couldn’t wholly blame him. Who really was ever in a good mood to be poked and prodded?
**************************************************************
Sofia Curtis power walked the halls of the Sheriff’s department, a file in hand. Ducking her head into Brass’s office she found it vacant. Next, logical place would be the lab, she thought making her way to the corridor that connected the two departments. Passing the many glass walled rooms on her way, Sofia, by chance, caught up with Brass at the buildings entry area.
“Jim!”
Brass turned from Catherine at the sound of his name, seeing Sofia holding up a folder he slowed to a stop.
“Catherine,” Sofia greeted.
“Sofia.”
Sofia turned to Brass and held the folder out in front of her. “I might have something on our Ms. Hila.”
Catherine arched her neck, trying to read the file over Brass’s shoulder.
“Looks like Daciana got pulled in on an assault beef with one Donald Kempler three years ago,” Sofia almost sang as she handed the file with the information over to Brass.
Noticing Catherine’s attempt to read over his shoulder, he handed the folder to her to look through.
“Looks like Kempler has a temper,” Catherine noted. “Says here, Daciana wasn’t charged.”
“No, she was in the car with Kempler when an accidental fender-bender turned into a beatdown,” Sofia explained. “Kempler was relatively unscathed but the two guys that made the mistake of crossing his path ended up in the hospital. One of them was eating through a straw for weeks.”
“Damn,” Brass winced
Sofia pushed her long blonde hair behind her ears nodding at Brass’s assessment.
“What’s this address here?” Catherine asked pointing to a list of known addresses.
Sofia took the folder Catherine was holding out for her and looked at the address in question.
“That was a property listed under the mother, Mary Bathory for years. It is an empty lot now.”
“Hmmm,” Catherine pursed her lips. It would be nice if they could get a line on these psychotic animals. The idea of them running free was very disturbing, especially since they had already gotten to one of their own.
Brass had assigned a uniform to Grissom and then had decided to assign one to all of them. Warrick had argued that it wasn’t necessary, that he had a gun and knew how to use it but he did not argue very strenuously and the rest of the team was more than willing to take the protection. Bathory had made Grissom the object of his revenge and they were all damned by association as far as that whack job was concerned.
“Have you checked to see if there was any property held under the mother’s maiden name?” Brass asked Sofia.
Sofia raised her head, arching her brows in a gesture that said she had not but that it was a good idea. With a smile she turned on her heels and headed back to her office to do a little digging.
Brass turned to Catherine, “Are you going by the hospital?” Brass asked holding the door to the building open for her.
“Yea, just a short stop,” Catherine said fishing for her keys before walking across the parking lot “Word has it that he has half the hospital staff running scared”
Brass chuckled, “Well, I can’t fault him there much. I got a little grouchy on my last hospital stay.”
Catherine arched her brows knowingly. “Are you coming by?”
“Later, I don’t think I would pass their hygiene requirements.” Brass cocked his head to one side in an “I can’t help it” motion. “Doubles!” he said with a shrug heading towards his car.
**********************************************************
“What you working on Greggo?” Nick asked seeing Greg frowning at the computer monitor in front of him. “Who’s the picture of?” he asked seeing an archived newspaper article.
“That,” Greg said leaning back in his chair to give Nick a closer look “is the Bathory Clan circa 1968.”
Nick looked at the black and white picture of a man and woman standing in front of a Buick, two young boys standing in front of them. The pale eyes of the twin brothers immediately caught Nick’s attention.
“There is just something about those eyes,” Nick thought out loud.
Greg nodded. “They seem dead or something,” he said trying to suppress the little shiver that tried to tickle its way down his spine.
“WHOA!” Nick blurted out. “Momma Bathory was arrested on assault and battery?”
“Yea, Sofia was checking into it and apparently Mary Bathory had a number of run ins with the law from 1965 until 1971 when she took off with Richard and Markus and just fell of the edge of the Earth,” Greg told Nick his finger clicking the mouse to open up a new window. Another newspaper article populated the second window relating the reunion between Max Bathory-Smythe and his two sons.
“Moapa?” Nick frowned in confusion.
“State Patrol picked up at a gas station outside Moapa,” Greg tapped on the monitor, highlighting the events he was revealing. “According to the owner he had seen the boys wandering nearby for two days and started to get suspicious.”
Nick leaned a hip up against the desk. “What about the mother?”
“Nothing yet,” Greg shook his head as he spoke. “I did find out that she was a sporadic guest at the state sanitarium, though.”
Nick cocked his head to one side.
“She was diagnosed with paranoid Schizophrenia in ’68 when she was 26 years old. The boys were seven at the time but who knows how long she was exhibiting symptoms. The dad was preparing to have her committed fully and take sole custody of the boys when she skipped with them.” Greg turned off the monitor and stood.
“She could be dead for all we knew,” Nick ventured.
Greg twisted his lips and nodded. He had found nothing past the fall of 1973, when Markus and Richard had materialized on the outskirts of Moapa, Nevada. The sons had been returned to their father and nothing else came up until Richard Bathory became a giant blip on the police radar and in turn Gil Grissom.
Nick followed Greg to the reception area of the lab. “Where are you headed?” Greg asked as they began to part ways.
“I thought I’d stop by the hospital and see Grissom,” Nick said as he walked backwards towards the exit.
Greg bounced in place. “Hey, wait for me and I’ll go with you,” he hollered bounding off to deliver a report to the girl working the reception desk.
“I’ll be at the truck!” Nick yelled after the quickly departing Greg as he exited the building.
*************************************************************
He sat quietly watching the comings and goings of the Clark County courthouse. Employees rushed in and out of the building carrying their portfolios, briefcases and giant Styrofoam cups of gourmet coffee. Within the smart looking pinstriped suits and conservative pant suits was a sprinkling of uniforms- LVPD, Sheriff’s department even a state trooper or two passed through the hallowed portals of the courthouse. All were oblivious to the man sitting across the way, watching, waiting, memorizing.
Markus Bathory hid behind a white dress shirt and dark sunglasses, blending in with the natives of bureaucracy. The vibration of his cell phone at his hip told him it was time to go. Folding the newspaper he had not read and sticking it under one arm, he answered his phone.
“Cassie,” he answered exuberantly. “Yes, I will meet you there,” he said his eyes focused casually on the building across the street. “WHAT!” Markus hissed turning from the building listening intently to the woman at the other end. Markus picked a spot on the horizon as he attempted to control his rising anger. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth “it sounds like I need to do some weeding in my garden.” With a curt farewell Markus returned his attention to the task at hand; he would take care of his other problem later.
Where the front of the courthouse was made for foot traffic, the rear was made for cars. The main parking area servicing the courthouse and the courthouse itself were separated by an austere alley that served as a delivery area and auxiliary employee entrance.
A small booth at the head of the alleyway was manned by a single, slightly bored but dutiful security guard. At the approach of the black SUV, the guard exited his air conditioned shack and advanced to meet the vehicle with his hand raised casually. From his spot across the street, Markus could not hear the conversation between the guard and Laney Hale but it was obvious that her credentials and counterfeit Marshal’s SUV had worked as hoped.
With a low swooping wave of his hand the guard ushered the vehicle within the alley and they were one step closer to getting within the inner sanctum of the courthouse. If everything went as planned Laney would escort Donny through the maze of back rooms that were off limits to civilians and up through the levels to the various court rooms.. If all was successful they could move forward to the next stage of his plan and be that much closer to the ultimate prize.
Unlocking the non-descript white four door sedan, Markus sat and waited for the text message from Donny. If they successfully navigated the back halls to the floors containing the court rooms, he would receive an innocuous pre-planned text message that read “Ricky is ready”. After that it would be a simple matter of retracing their footsteps and returning to their little hideout in the desert.
The vibration at his hip created a sly grin that spread across his features like a red wine stain on white linen. Grabbing his cell phone he read the much anticipated message. Markus couldn’t help the cackle that escaped his lips. Startled by the sound in the relative silence of the car he glanced around irrationally to see if his outburst had been noticed. With barely contained excitement, Markus started his stolen car and made for his meeting.