Iron Horse Road was a little strip of dead end road rarely used since Delmonaco Tool and Die had gone out of business. The only real traffic that frequented the road was the semi tractor-trailers that used the leftover parking lot as extra storage space. Hidden among the long rectangular trailers were Brass’ unmarked vehicle and two black Denalis courtesy of the LVPD Crime Lab. At the opposite end of the stretch of asphalt pavement hidden in and between a set a silver metal machine sheds were a half a dozen Las Vegas and Clark County cruisers waiting for Captain Jim Brass’ signal to roll.
            According to Sofia’s information the races would start up within the hour. Already there had been some pre-race activity. At the “T” intersection near the machine sheds a plain white panel truck had parked across the right lane of the road. A pair of Slim Shady wannabes jumped out and were set about painting starting lines by a man that looked to be in his mid-thirties.
            “Everyone hold tight,” Brass spoke into his radio. “Just the host getting ready for the party,” he said to the woman sitting next to him. Sofia Curtis watched the activity at the other end of the road through a set of binoculars.
            “No sign of Grissom,” she informed him, lowering the binoculars to her lap.
            Brass sighed and looked over at the two Denali’s parked a little father back in the lot. The whole night shift had shown up on this stakeout much to Brass’ dismay. Emotions were running high on this and he was no exception, but he was a cop with twenty years of dealing with bad guys with guns not scientists that rarely had a use for their weapon. Then, of course, there was Grissom.
            Brass sighed as his mind worriedly went over the last few hours, days, weeks! Grissom had become a walking disaster waiting to happen. His mercurial mood swings had gained greater momentum since the discovery of the ranch and his disappearing acts were becoming more alarming. He was a roving time bomb with a faulty detonator. Who knows when he will go off!
            Brass’ cell phone twittered from the dash of his car. Reaching forward he flipped it open knowing it was Catherine before any words had been spoken
            “Brass,” he answered habitually.
            “Any sign of Gil?” Catherine asked on the other end. Her voice was a little more clipped than usual, a sign of the growing edginess that was seeping into everyone.
            “No. Looks like race sponsors have shown up to set up the track and we have of few racers, spectators riding through now but no Grissom,” he informed as he watched more motorcyclist pull through the “gate” set up by the panel van.
            Catherine’s sigh came through loud and clear. “Alright,” she said “keep us posted.”
            “Will do,” Bras clipped the phone shut and tossed it back on to the dash as he kept his attention on the growing activity down the road.
            “What did he say?” Sara asked from the Denali’s driver’s seat. Brass had told them in no uncertain terms that they were to lay low and farther back. This made seeing any of the action near impossible and highly aggravating.
            Catherine glanced over at Sara before her eyes landed on Greg sitting in the back seat behind the driver’s chair. “No sign of Grissom, yet,” she said as she turned her attention back to front windshield.
            Catherine tried not to get angry with Sofia. She knew there was no point to it. Sofia had been unaware of Grissom’s growing volatility and instability. There was no reason for her to question why Grissom wanted the location of the race; she was supplying information requested by a CSI supervisor. Still, she couldn’t help but feel the tiniest of annoyance at the woman’s inadvertent slip up, as irrational as it was.
            Sara rolled down her window as she saw Nick gesturing towards her from the other truck.
            “Has anyone tried Grissom’s cell phone recently,” Nick asked leaning out the passenger side window.
            “Only a hundred times,” Sara grumbled with a frown. She had realized long ago, and the stakeout only proved it to her further, that she would make a bad cop. Too much patience required. It was easy to be patient during a scientific experiment but patience, people and Sara Sidle did not mix.
            An hour past by in general boredom as everyone waited for Sofia’s inside man to raise the signal that either Abrams or Grissom had entered the improvised race arena. The informant had been impressed by the photograph of Grissom’s vintage sport bike, at which Sofia had to remind him of his possible return to prison on a parole violation if he didn’t pay attention to his job.
            “Your dude on the Ducati just came through,” the informant’s voice piped through the radio.
            Seven set of eager eyes peered down the road in the ever growing crowd of colorful motorcycles and riders.
            “Where?” Sofia asked to no one in particular. The motorcycles and their owners were all starting to look the same to her. “How are we supposed to find anyone in this crowd?
            Brass sighed, she had a point. He wasn’t ready to throw his net up yet, not knowing if Abrams had arrived or not which meant they needed to get a closer look. “Okay,” he muttered stepping out of the car, Sofia and the CSIs following suit.
            “What’s up, Jim?” Catherine asked coming to stand next to the man with the annoyed look upon his face.
            Pulling the walking talkie up to his mouth Brass said, “Everyone hold until my signal. We are going to take a closer look.” Looking to Catherine and the growing crowd of CSIs gathering around him he added, “Note that there will be friendlies among the crowd.”
            Catherine gave him a “damn straight” nod as Brass pulled on his jacket. “Since I know you hemorrhoids aren’t going to let me go down there on my own this is how it’s going down,” Brass informed them all. “Sofia, Stokes, Sanders- you stick to each other like glue, understand?”
            “Affirmative,” Sofia acknowledged as the two men circled the gold-brown car to stand next to her.
            “No one acts alone. Got it? Abrams is most likely armed and dangerous. If he’s here we throw the net and grab him with maximum man power. Understood?” Brass was answered with a series of nods.
            “Alright… Catherine, Sara and ‘Rick are with me. We’re going to find Grissom and try and contain him,” Brass informed them as he checked his piece “Let’s go.”
            Taking opposite sides of the road the two groups slowly made their way through the boisterous crowd that was gathering to watch the initial races. Like chainsaws on steroids, the revving of engines announced the next race had begun. In a matter of seconds the two cyclists had chewed up the mile track with ease.
            “Wow,” Warrick said as he watched the racers turn around and head back to the starting line, the winner playing to the crowd by riding a wheelie part of the way. “That’s fast!” he said in an amazed tone.
            Catherine arched her brows indicating she was in total agreement. Catherine had dated her fair share of bad boys. There had even been one or two that had owned and ridden motorcycles but none had pushed it like this. “Racing a car is dangerous enough. This…” she indicated with a tilt of her head “This is pure adrenaline junkie smack.”
            “You know,” Warrick began thoughtfully “I guess it shouldn’t be such a surprise that Grissom owns a bike.”
            Brass and the two women looked at him curious to his line of thought.
            Warrick shrugged. “His love of rollercoasters…out of control speed, hint of danger. I think Gris is a closet case adrenaline junkie.”
            Brass gave the younger man a crooked smile. “I told him that years ago,” he said weaving himself through a couple of arguing race fans.
            Sara spotted Grissom before the rest. With a hop she picked up the pace and made her way through the crowd with such ease that it would have made a pro runningback envious.
            “Sara,” Warrick called out trying to close the distance she had created.
            Grissom heard Warrick before he became aware of the determined woman making her way to him. He dropped his gaze as he rolled his head down and away from his approaching co-workers. Striking a defiant pose Grissom stood with one fist on his hip while the other held his helmet along his thigh.
            “Gil,” Sara spoke softly as she walked into his personal space.
            Grissom kept his shaded eyes down and stepped purposely back from Sara as the others caught up. Sara knew he hadn’t stepped back because of Brass, Catherine and Warrick. They had been invading each others personal space for years, to the point where no one outside the lab ever noticed it any longer. No, Grissom was distancing himself for another reason.
            “What the Hell do you think you’re doing?” Brass angrily accused him, his finger jabbing the air with each word.
            Grissom snapped his head up. Sara was never so happing for the fact that the man wore dark sunglasses as she was then, certain that Brass would have been incinerated on the spot with a blue flamed inferno.
            “Your job,” Grissom snapped with a slight incline of his head.
            Brass chuckled sarcastically, “My job? Couldn’t be my job. I’m doing my job. You’re the one out here playing Evel Knievel.”
            A young man that looked like he could have been Greg’s kid brother, with spiky blonde-brown hair pulled on Grissom’s shirt sleeve. Turning away from Brass and the others Grissom leaned in to hear what the teen had to say over the noise of the motorcycles that had just zipped past them. Nodding, Grissom pulled out a hundred dollar bill and slipped it to the kid nearly unnoticed.
            “What’s that all about?” Catherine asked not liking the sense of impending trouble that was slowly washing over her.
            Grissom pulled the sunglasses from his face and handed them to Sara without making eye contact. For the briefest of moments their fingers connected. His index finger slid down the length of hers as he pulled his hand away. Sara looked up from the glasses in her hand to catch his fleeting gaze before he pulled his helmet down over his head, effectively shutting himself away.
            “Gil?” she didn’t know what it was she wanted to ask him, say to him.
            Grissom flipped open the dark visor on the red helmet before he pulled on a pair of black leather riding gloves. “Abrams will be sticking his head up out of his hole any minute now,” Grissom said as he snapped the visor back down and slipped easily through the crowd before his stunned friends fully comprehended his intentions.
            “Gris!” Warrick called out trying to follow the man “Damn it!” he cursed as Grissom made it through the crowd to the starting line.
            Catherine turned startled eyes on Warrick, “What?”
            “He’s racing,” seeing a mixture of confusion and disbelief on Brass and the two women’s face he added, “Grissom is racing and odds are on Abrams as his opponent.”
            This spurred Brass to grab his walkie talkie from under his suit coat. “Victor One seven, CSI Grissom and Suspect Abrams are at the starting line.”
            Several yards away, on the other side of the road three sets of heads snapped in the direction of the starting line as the two opponents saddled their motorcycles up to the yellow-orange line. Nick and Greg recognized Grissom even with the dark red helmet and tinted visor.
            “Is that Abrams?” Nick asked not able to hide the loathing in his voice as the second rider approached the starting line.
            Sofia looked at the print out with the three photos of Scott Abrams on it. The man had shaved his hair into short stubble of a Mohawk but other than that he looked the same. “Victor One Eight confirmed visual on Scott Abrams.” Sofia said over the radio in her hand. “What kind of bike is that he is riding?” she asked Nick and Greg.
            “Looks like a Kawasaki…” Greg tried to get a better view “500 maybe.”
            “Suspect appears to be riding a blue and white Kawasaki, possibly 500,” Sofia relayed wanting the distinction made between Grissom and Abrams should everything go sideways on them.
            Brass hearing Sofia’s confirmation decided it was time to close down the high octane party. The start of the race had Brass pausing, the radio midway to his mouth as Grissom and Abrams catapulted off the line in a half a blink. The racers shot down the track like fighter jets without wings.
            All six CSIs and the two detectives pushed and jostled their way to the edge of the track to watch the race. It only took seconds to finish but the outcome had been obvious midway down the track as Grissom pulled handily away. Abrams may have had more experience in the racing arena but he couldn’t beat the size differentiations between the two bikes.
            Pulling his bike around in a wide arc at the end of the track, Grissom waited for Abrams to pull up along side of him. He had made a wager, through the kid he had paid off earlier, and from what Grissom had learned, Abrams would not be able to resist. If Abrams won, he got the title to the Ducati but if Grissom won Abrams had to pay $300. Grissom knew the egocentric, gambling sadist would take the bet, just like he knew he would want to double up.
            “Another run,” Abrams huffed out as he flipped his visor up.
            “How about,” Grissom began as he noted the police cars moving in the distance “I arrest you,” he said flipping his dark visor up to reveal his face. “And you tell me where your boss and buddies are.”
            Abrams look would have been comical if Grissom had had much of a sense of humor about the man. His eyes darted from Grissom, to the police cruisers that had begun to cordon of the entrance, to the two detectives running down the track their guns drawn.
            Slapping his visor down, Abrams revved up his motorcycle and shot down the road in the opposite direction they had come from. Grissom didn’t hesitate as he followed suit and took off after the fleeing man.
            Brass leveled his gun at Abrams but knew almost immediately he could not take the shot safely. “SHIT!” he yelled dropping his weapon to his side while bringing his radio to his mouth “This is Victor Seventeen… be advised suspect is attempting to flee, CSI Grissom in pursuit on green, red, white Ducati.”
            Sofia, Nick and Greg had been closer to the end of the track, so had made better time to the vehicles parked there. With three sets of screeching tires, Brass’ car and the two Denalis came to a skidding stop in front of the rest of the crew.
            Brass jumped into the passenger seat of his car, while Catherine and Sara jumped in with Nick and Warrick hopped into the Denali that Greg had acquired.
            “You better know how to drive Greg,” Warrick warned before being thrown back into his seat.

            Abrams slowed only slightly as he came upon the police cruisers pulled across the road just beyond the panel van. With an insanity born of fear he sped through the narrow gap made between the two cars bumpers, the uniformed officers plastering themselves against the sides of the cruisers as Grissom followed not even trying to slow down. Taking a sharp left that had his motorcycle running at a forty-five degree angle Grissom followed Abrams out onto the industrial streets of Las Vegas. 
            Seeing Brass’ car and the two Denalis approaching with their lights on the officers quickly recovered themselves from the sides of their squad cars and jumped in to move the vehicles out of the way, Brass cursing the entire time.
            “Dispatch,” Brass called into his radio as Sofia maneuvered around the moving squad cars “I need Air One up and NOW!” Brass had unintentionally yelled the last when an ancient, rusty blue pick up nearly sideswiped the car he and Sofia were in. Looking back through the rear window Brass could see Nick in the black SUV following. Behind Nick were Greg and Warrick and half dozen police cruisers. If Abrams didn’t know the cops were after him now, the man was just plain brain dead.
            “Are the lights not working?” Brass complained loudly as yet another driver nearly ran into them.
            The side traffic was slowing Abrams and Grissom down almost as much as the rest but Brass knew it would only be a matter of time before the cyclist would have an open enough road to lose the rest of the chasing convoy.
            “VICTOR SEVENTEEN THIS IS HAWKEYE ONE, WE ARE AIRBORNE, PLEASE ADVISE US ON SUSPECTS LOCATION.”
            “Finally,” Brass muttered. “HAWKEYE ONE, SUSPECT HAS JUST PASSED VIA DEL NORTE ON TRAPPE BOULEVARD HEADING IN THE DIRECTION OF BISBANE.”
            “ROGER THAT VICTOR SEVENTEEN, ETA TWO MINUTES.”
            Sofia hit the brakes and pulled into the opposite lane to avoid a turning vehicle. Brass groaned as he was thrown from side to side his head bumping loudly against the passenger side window. Stomping on the gas Sofia swung hard to get back into her own lane. It was times like these when Brass wished there was a magical ticket fairy following along giving really expensive tickets out to the IDIOTS that were allowed to drive.
            Brass glanced behind them to make sure the moron driver had not caused Nick or Greg to have an accident.
            “VICTOR SEVENTEEN, THIS IS HAWKEYE ONE, SUSPECT IS IN SIGHT AND HEADING OVER THE GRENADA PASS.”
            “Where the Hell does this idiot think he is going?” Brass yelled.
           
            Nick Stokes had always been told he had a lead foot but he was beginning to think his foot was more aluminum then lead. With each passing block the speed of the chase increased a little more and seemed to get a little more hairy as they slowly emerged from the industrial area. At least when they had been within the confines of the warehouses and train tracks there had been little civilian traffic to contend with but now as they headed closer to the highway he could see the traffic volume increasing.
            His knuckles were near white as he swerved to miss a station wagon followed by a rusted out Honda. Nick was just thankful that Catherine and Sara were not distracting him with backseat driving as he zigzagged back and forth between lanes trying to keep up with the chase. He couldn’t see Grissom or Abrams but Brass and Sofia were still in sight and according to the helicopter reports they were on the right track.
            “Greggo keeping up?” Nick asked breathlessly, seeing Catherine turn and look behind them in his peripheral view.
            Catherine squinted one eye shut as she saw Greg swerve hard to miss the Honda, the Denali tipping dangerously to one side.
            “So far,” she said in a slightly amazed voice.
            “VICTOR SEVENTEEN BE ADVISED SUSPECT HAS ENTERED THE HIGHWAY ON RAMP”
            “That’s the next block,” Catherine yelled not able to control the excitement that was pounding in her chest.
            Nick spun in the driver’s seat looking to the SUVs right as he changed lanes quickly in anticipation of the on ramp.
            “WATCH OUT!” Catherine and Sara screamed at the same time seeing the delivery truck sneak out of the nearby alley. Nick swerved hard left, nearly clipping the car sitting in the intersection waiting to turn across traffic, in doing so Nick over shot the on ramp to the highway.
            “Hold on,” he grunted as he smashed the gas pedal to the floor before slamming on the break and spinning the steering wheel to the left. The SUV skidded into a jerky one hundred-eighty degree turn. Catherine and Sara held on to anything within the cab as Nick punched the gas and headed back towards the missed on ramp.

            “DAMN!” Warrick exclaimed seeing Nick and the girls nearly get creamed by the delivery truck and narrowly missing the car in the intersection.
            Greg blew out a long breath as he followed Brass up the highway on ramp. “Say what you will about wasted youth,” Greg muttered as he weaved into highway traffic “but Z-Mover’s Crazy Driver did come in handy after all.”
            Although Greg’s words were jovial his voice was dead serious as was his focus on the task at hand. Sofia had taken the third lane from the right when they had initially hit the highway but Greg had found an opening in the second lane and was almost parallel with the two detectives in the brown sedan. Greg could see Grissom fifty feet ahead of them still in pursuit of Abrams.
            “There,” Warrick said pointing at Grissom.
            Up ahead of the two motorcyclists Greg could see that the highway was starting to become crowded. In the two center lanes was a fleet of semi trucks, while the outer lanes were congested with generic commuter traffic. Traffic was still moving rather quickly as he and Sofia closed the distance between Grissom and Abrams.
            Abrams seeing the flashing lights of Brass’ car hesitated for a moment before throttling up and shooting between the two lanes of semis in front of him. Greg watched as Grissom’s helmeted head looked back at them.
            “Don’t do it Gris,” Warrick muttered pleadingly.
            Turning to the narrow gap Abrams had ventured though, Grissom launched himself into harms way. “JESUS!” Warrick exclaimed as he ducked down in his chair reflexively.
            “HAWKEYE ONE, THIS IS VICTOR SEVENTEEN, BE ADVISED WE HAVE LOST VISUAL, REPEAT HE HAVE LOST VISUAL.”
            “ROGER THAT VICTOR SEVENTEEN, SUSPECT IS MAINTAINING COURSE…SPEED APPROXIMATELY 110MILES PER HOUR AND CLIMBING. DAMN…IF THESE GUYS HIT A POT HOLE YOU’LL BE USING A SQUEEGY TO PICK’EM UP.”
            Greg ventured a glance at Warrick who only frowned and shook his head.

            Grissom’s vision had narrowed to a ten foot circumference, the effects of tunnel vision as he sped faster and faster, the colors in his peripheral vision blurring to a muted gray. His senses were set on high, his internal radar was focused on the fleeing man in front of him and the rest was survival at warp speed as he catapulted through the narrow chasm left by the semi tractor-trailers.
            Breaking out into more open terrain along the highway, Grissom had momentarily spotted one of the county police copters hovering off to his left. Brass must have called them out, Grissom thought briefly his mind focusing most of his energies on Abrams as the man weaved between cars and trucks.
            Grissom registered that they would be nearing the strip soon and wondered if Abrams was hoping to lose them in the bright lights and traffic chaos of Vegas’s most famous street. He didn’t relish the idea of pursuing the man down the strip considering the amount of pedestrians that traveled the street and sidewalks. The chance of someone getting hurt would increase substantially.
            Taking a hard right Abrams cut across two lanes of traffic causing the driver of a sedan to fish tail as he slammed on his brakes. Grissom slowed enough to shoot behind the swerving sedan and across the first lane to exit the highway directly behind Abrams. It was like threading a needle with a rocket, precision and speed.
            At the bottom of the ramp Abrams feinted right but swung left through the intersection as cars screeched to a halt to miss the man. Grissom used the momentary halt of vehicles through the intersection to his advantage as he leaned into his high speed turn. He had to keep as close to Abrams as possible at this point, if Abrams was able to gain any distance on him Grissom might lose him on a side street or alley. And that is not an option!
           
            “GEEZA- THESE GUYS ARE NUTS! VICTOR SEVENTEEN BE ADVISED SUSPECT HAS EXITED THE HIGHWAY AND HAS…TURNED LEFT ON BARBARY.”
            Greg spun in his seat to check the traffic to his right. Slapping his turn signal he made a hard lane change to slip the large SUV in between two cars. The driver behind him, not happy at his lane changing etiquette honked profusely.
            “Sorry!” Greg yelled even though the driver could not hear him.
            “Barbary!” Warrick exclaimed “There Greg! Exit!” His index finger slashed repeatedly at the exit. “Take a right,” Warrick ordered his head snapping back and forth as he looked for cross traffic.
            The SUV squealed through the intersection as they headed under the highway overpass.
            “I don’t see them!” Greg exclaimed trying to avoid the cars that were to slow to respond to the flashing lights in the grill of the Denali.
            Warrick’s gaze swung left and right down the side streets trying to see if the chase had changed course.
            “HAWKEYE ONE, THIS IS VICTOR CHARLIE TWELVE PLEASE ADVISE ON SUSPECT’S LOCATION.” Warrick said into his radio his eyes never stopping their search.
            Warrick held his breath as Greg hit the gas to shoot through a red light, his legs straightening out and going rigid, pushing hard against the floor board as they slipped by two skidding cars.
            “I swear,” Warrick muttered through clenched teeth “if I get a hold of this guy…”
            “VICTOR CHARLIE TWELVE SUSPECT IS ON BARBARY PASSING THE…MERRIWETHER.”
            Greg could see the bright lights of the Merriwether Casino several blocks ahead. At least we are not too far behind, he thought thankfully.
            “Hey,” Warrick slid up in his seat “isn’t Barbary closed at Beltome Avenue?”
            Greg stole a quick glance at the man next to him. How was he supposed to think about road closings when it was taking all of his focus to keep from crashing the truck!
“I don’t know,” he said in a clipped voice.
            Greg swerved into the mostly open left hand lane as he tried to make quicker time. They were passing the Merriwether and the helicopter crew had not reported anything new. Greg took this as a sign that they were still on the right track.

            Both Sofia and Nick had gotten hung up at bottom of the highway exit ramp. It was inevitable that someone would try and beat the flashing lights and sirens of an emergency vehicle and cause a pile up. Threading there way over concrete median and around the angry drivers and their cars Sofia and Nick reentered the chase.
            “VICTOR SEVENTEEN, THIS HAWKEYE ONE… SUSPECT APPEARS DOWN…SUSPECT ON FOOT…LOOKS TO BE ENTERING THE EUTHENIA CONSTRUCTION SITE…YOUR MAN’S ON FOOT TOO.”
            Brass looked to Sofia urgently as he replied, “COPY THAT HAWKEYE ONE.”
            “VICTOR CHARLIE TWELVE, CONFIRM SUSPECT AND CSI GRISSOM ARE ON FOOT…ENTERING SOUTHWEST CORNER OF CONSTRUCTION SITE.”      Warrick’s voice came in quick breaths, making Brass think he might be running.
            “VICTOR SEVENTEEN, WARRICK DO NOT ENGAGE WITHOUT BACK UP, I REPEAT DO NOT ENGAGE WITHOUT BACK UP!” Brass ordered.
            Brass waited for a grudging confirmation from Warrick but all he received was silence.
            “WARRICK…”
            “VICTOR CHARLIE TWELVE, SHOTS FIRED, SHOTS FIRED!”
            Brass turned startled eyes to the woman who was desperately trying to make land speed record time.
            “WARRICK HOLD FOR BACK UP!” Brass reiterated his voice not showing a hint of the fear he was feeling for his friend and colleagues.
           
            Abrams had been going too fast and was too close to avoid the dark green Jeep that had pulled out of the drive leading to the Euthenia construction site. With his brakes locked up, he skidded into the side of the jeep near the driver’s front tire. The crash crumpled the front spoke of Abrams motorcycle, twisting the wheel down and back as Abrams was launched over the handlebars.
            Bouncing off the far side of the hood Abrams tumbled to the ground rolling several times before coming to a stop on the dirty pavement. Grissom clamped down on his brakes and turned his handlebars slightly, preparing to dump the bike if necessary his right boot sliding slightly across the ground.
            Coming to a halt with a foot to spare Grissom down shifted to pull up and over the curb. Abrams was running with a limp into the fenced off construction site, bowling over the ancient security guard that had exited the guard shack. Grissom parked his motorcycle along the fence. Ripping the helmet from his head and dropping it to the ground he ran after Abrams pulling his CSI badge from around his neck with one hand and his Glock 9mm with the other.
            Grissom new he was headed in the right direction by the stream of workers exiting the area. Sweat trickled along his hairline and down his temple to disappear in the dark scruff at his jaw. Running across the gravel towards the entry of the new casino, Grissom’s eyes darted back and forth searching for Abrams and danger.
            “There, he went through there,” one of the evacuating workers yelled pointing back toward the unfinished entry area.
            The Euthenia’s main doors were going to be concaved with marble steps and Corinthian styled pillars holding up a giant stone carport for arriving guests. The multiple doors and windows to the entry had not been installed making the front opening look like a geometrical cave maw. It also acted like a megaphone when gunshots went off.
            Grissom crouched down, running up behind one of the many pillars planting his left shoulder against the concrete as he peered into the shadowed recesses of the building. Two shots, Grissom noted as he pushed away from the pillar and dashed across the open space that would eventually be valet parking. Taking the two steps in a single stride he crashed his back into the plywood covered front, his gun held tightly in front of him as he darted his head around the corner to get a look inside.
            On the floor just inside the unfinished lobby was a wounded man trying to pull himself to the exit. Grissom crouched low and quickly made his way around the corner, his gun up and at the ready as he kept his eyes moving for the danger he knew was near by.
            The wounded man was startled by his quick presence and jerked away when Grissom reached down to check his injuries. His face and bald head were covered in sweat but the man’s color was pale and he seemed cool to the touch.
            “It’s okay,” Grissom said shifting his gun to his left hand as he grabbed the man by his good arm and began pulling him across the stone floor towards the open portal. Laying the man just outside the doorway Grissom assessed the man’s wound. He had been shot twice but neither would be fatal. The wound to his arm was superficial and only grazed the man, while the second had gone into the man’s outer thigh just below the hip socket. It was bleeding but having missed the femoral artery, Grissom knew the man would not bleed to death.
            “Which way did he go?” Grissom asked breathlessly. His adrenaline was raging through his body but strangely he felt no fear. If he had had more time he might of analyzed this absence but time was racing and he needed to find Abrams.
            The wounded man pointed straight across the soon-to-be lobby.
            Grissom rose up slightly as he prepared to follow Abrams only to have the wounded man grab his arm. “Wait,” he cried pulling Grissom back “what about me?”
            Grissom gently pulled his arm from the man’s grasp. Clapping the man’s good hand down on his wounded thigh Grissom said, “Here, keep pressure on that. Help’s coming.”
            Grissom used the man’s confusion to his advantage and sprinted across the lobby, past the front desk towards the open atrium that filled the center of the hotel/casino-in-progress. His destination was the cover of the concrete casements that would eventually house the casino’s many elevators, knowing that Abrams would use the open area to take a shot at him.
            Two shots echoed out as Grissom dashed across the debris laden atrium. The second bullet ricocheted off the concrete just above Grissom’s head sending bits of cement and dust showering down on Grissom. Spinning his back up against the concrete, Grissom searched the open mezzanine above trying to spot Abrams. Four shots, Grissom noted as he darted his head in and out of the open to get a look at the mezzanine directly above him.
            Abrams fired from his hiding spot behind a pile of 2x4 lumber before dashing along the upper corridor away from the open atrium. Five, six, seven, eight. Grissom knew that Abrams must have used the scaffolding that was set up near the other side of the atrium to get to the higher level but knew that avenue was cut off to him. Circling the far side of the elevator shafts Grissom spotted his ticket up.
            Parked alongside the undone elevators was a forklift with several empty pallets stacked nearby. He wasn’t about to turn the machine on but he could climb on top of the roll cage and hoist himself up and over the edge, which is exactly what he did. With a speed born of determination Grissom was up and over the ledge in a time that would have made a mountain climber proud.
            Scooting his butt back against mezzanine elevator shaft, Grissom’s wary gaze swung right then left looking for any danger. His breaths came hard and deep as he winced a little at the stitch in his side. This would have been where Gil Grissom normally complained about not being as young as he used to be, but pain and age were irrelevant to him at this juncture. His soul purpose at that exact moment in time was Scott Abrams.
            Cloudy memories of Abrams seeped to the surface with the first shot the man had fired at Grissom. He could hear the laughing man within his head and new with the utmost certainty that it was Abrams. His tormentors face was brought forth from the shadows. I KNOW THEM ALL!
            God! A flood of memories crashed across his conscious mind sucking the air from his lungs and the reason from his wits. The bitter taste of fear and shame and guilt nearly gagged him as he fought for control
            “GRISSOM!”
            Shit! Grissom thought as he heard Warrick yelling his name. He couldn’t yell back without giving his position away to Abrams but he sure as hell wasn’t going to allow Warrick to get killed either. Getting to his feet he searched for the sadistic killer frantically before darting across the hall. None of the rooms on the lower or upper mezzanine had doors, slipping into one Grissom could see the walls were stubbed but no drywall was up. A knowing grin spread across his face as he slipped from room to room  without the use of the open air hallway.

            Warrick didn’t know how many shots had been fired, if it was Abrams, Grissom or both shooting, or whether Grissom was wounded or worse. “GRISSOM!” he yelled trying to keep the cold fear that was sitting low in his belly from taking control.
            Nothing. Warrick had left the wounded man at the entrance in Greg’s hands as he carefully made his way into the building. Sliding up to the cover of a thirty foot cement column, Warrick peered out into the open atrium of the hotel-casino. He groaned as he took in the multiple dangers present in the atrium, the worst being he could be shot from just about anywhere.
            If by telepathy the loud retort of bullets being fired echoed in the cavernous area. Warrick plastered his long body up against the concrete pillar as he waited for the chaos to subside. Warrick could see the wide open expanse of the atrium and portions of the upper and lower mezzanine halls but he could neither see Abrams nor Grissom and he wasn’t sure which was more worrisome.
            The shuffling of feet as Greg rushed forward in a crouch caught Warrick’s attention.
            “Damn it,” Warrick cursed quietly “I told you to stay back there.” He motioned to the entryway with a jerk of his head.
            Greg’s eyes darted crazily as he knelt down near Warrick’s feet. He had heard the shots but could not tell from which direction they came. The cement walls did a nice job of reverberating the sounds which didn’t work in their favor. “A couple of construction guys carried him off,” he explained his eyes never leaving the atrium.
            Another shot, the bullet crashing into the plywood near Warrick and Greg, the wood splintering dramatically.
            “I SHOULD’VE TWISTED THAT KNIFE…”screamed Abrams from somewhere above them “A LITTLE MORE, GRISSOM!”
            Warrick looked around, trying to find a way up. Grissom had stuck to Abrams like Crazy Glue thus far, which told Warrick that Grissom was somewhere above them.
            “Stay here,” Warrick ordered quietly his free hand patting the air.
            Circling back towards the lobby Warrick followed the front desk along the front of the building. At the end of the faux stone desk was a doorway that led to another section of the hotel. Ducking past an open section of wall, Warrick slipped through the doorway and into an employee only corridor.
            “I’D A KILLED YOU A LONG TIME AGO, GRISSOM,” Greg could tell that Abrams was moving around as he screamed at Grissom. He cautiously poked his head around the column to search the mezzanines above.
            “BATHORY JUST HAD TO KEEP YOU ALIVE THOUGH…WAS GOIN’ TO GIVE YOU TO THAT SICKO BROTHER OF HIS! YOU’DA LIKED THAT!” Greg caught a glimpse of Abrams slipping into a room or hallway above, he wasn’t sure which.
            Using the man’s disappearance as his opportunity, Greg slipped around the column and quickly, and with us much stealth as possible, climbed up the scaffolding rig sitting just past the check in desk. Every creak and pop the metal made as he climbed up sounded amplified to Greg’s overly heightened senses. Slipping under the temporary wooden 2x4 railing Greg rolled across the hall until he was up against the interior wall. Rising to his feet, he pulled his gun from his holster and flattened his back to the wall.
            His heart was hammering mercilessly in his chest as he took a deep breath trying to calm his scattered nerves. Slipping the gun from one hand to the other Greg wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans before side shuffling down the hall in the direction he had seen Abrams head. He didn’t have a clue what he was going to do if he found Abrams. In truth his only goal was to find Grissom and make sure the man was okay
            Poking his head around the corner that Abrams had rounded, Greg could see the hallway ended at a stairwell. It looked to be a closed hall with no open doorways or exposed walls. Rounding the corner Greg hustled to the end, stopping and crouching at the exit doorframe, he looked for Abrams.
            The concrete staircase was finished; even the metal safety railings were installed. But which direction? Up or down? Greg chose to go up. Slipping into the stairwell he leveled his gun to the floor above as he rounded the landing. Sweat plastered his hair to the side of his head and threatened to drip into his eyes. Angrily he swiped the offending moisture from his brow with his forearm.
            Placing the palm of his left hand on the landing to the upper mezzanine, Greg leaned forward to get a look down the hall that was identical to the one he had traveled down on the lower mezzanine. There appeared to be no open doorways or walls as he scrambled to take cover to one side of the doorframe.
            A set of loud bangs had Greg squeezing his back as tightly to the wall as he could. Sliding down the wall into a crouch, Greg prayed like he had never prayed before. There was the sound of wood and metal crashing, followed by another crash and the sound of metal bouncing across the floor. Greg poked his head around the corner and then ran in the direction of the commotion being mindful to keep his head low as he did.
              
            Grissom had tracked Abrams silently as the man had bellowed his threats, making his way closer and closer to the man. Although he knew he would probably take sick pleasure in killing the man he wanted Markus Bathory more and that meant that Abrams got a “live another day pass”.
            The loud retort of Abrams shooting off a few more rounds echoed through the atrium. Grissom could see he was shooting at Warrick and Greg near the front desk in the lobby. The man was a piss poor shot which made Grissom grin evilly. Sick bastard could kill up close but put a few yards between him and his intended victim and…That was twelve, he thought as the man slipped into a room four doors down from where Grissom stood hidden by sheets of sheetrock.
            Using the construction supplies and equipment as cover Grissom worked his way closer to his prey. He played possible scenarios over and over in his head as he stepped over the plumbing supplies stacked in the room he was slowly crossing. Grissom hoped Abrams was as big a coward as he suspected and would simply drop his weapon when he confronted him. If he had to shoot Abrams his wish was for something non-fatal, at least until he tells me where Markus is!
            Grissom had caught a glimpse of Greg slipping onto the floor below. He needed to get to Abrams quickly before Greg ended up in over his head. He had lost site of Abrams but knew he was somewhere near, probably in the shell of the next room. His gun held in both hands at eye level he stepped silently over a pile of 2x4 studs.
            Grissom was concentrating so intently on the room ahead of him that he didn’t immediately detect Abrams sneaking up on his left hand side. The sound of an aluminum can being kicked across the floor alerted Grissom to his mistake. Spinning to his left he grabbed Abrams right wrist in his left hand, shoving the man’s arm upwards as the pistol went off harmlessly into the ceiling above. Grissom tried to bring his right hand and gun around to get a bead on Abrams but lost his grip on the weapon when Abrams tackled him through the half done wall into the next room.
             The two men stumbled through the debris before being tripped up on a stack of plumbing supplies. Grissom crashed to the ground with Abrams landing on top of him, his hand still holding firmly to the wrist of Abrams gun hand. When Grissom allowed the momentum Abrams had caused by knocking the two of them backwards to continue unhindered he was able to roll on top of the younger man.
            Abrams reflexively pulled the trigger as he lost the upper hand. The bullet shot through the sheetrock of the bathroom wall and shattered the porcelain toilet within. The sound of the toilet shattering distracted Grissom enough for Abrams to get hold of a short piece of 2x4. Bringing the wood painfully across Grissom skull just above his ear, Abrams was able to pull away from the nearly unconscious man’s grip. Raising on unsteady legs Abrams leveled the muzzle of his gun at Grissom.
            “I’d show you real pain if I had the time,” Abrams ground out through clenched teeth as he prepared to pull the trigger. Even if Grissom died quickly it still gave the sadist some measure of joy knowing the man would be cold and in his grave very soon.
            “FREEZE!”
           
            Brass and Sofia entered the Euthenia lobby first their guns at eye level as they scanned for where the shots were coming from. Catherine, Nick and Sara had told him in no uncertain words where he could go when he had ordered them to remain outside until he and Sofia could secure the site. He had at least gotten the three to hang back allowing him and Sofia to take point. Using the front desk as cover Brass ran crouched over to the huge cement pillar that acted as a support to the large airy atrium that took up the center of the hotel portion of the casino.
            “Did you see where those shots came from?” Brass asked Sofia who had taken up a position to Brass’ left.
            Sofia shook her head, leaning slightly forward as she tried to get an idea of the layout within the atrium. Almost immediately she spotted Warrick working his way carefully along an open air hall along a first floor mezzanine. He appeared to be concerned with something possibly above him as he kept his weapon and gaze angled slightly upward.
            “There’s Warrick,” Sofia whispered inclining her head in the direction of the man above.
            Brass had been in the process of waving Catherine, Nick and Sara to stay low when Sofia had spotted Warrick working his way around the floor above. Brass spun on his toes while remaining in a crouched position. He caught sight of the lanky CSI Sofia had pointed out but a quick scan of the area showed no sign of Grissom and if Warrick was here in the building Brass had no illusion that Sanders was too.
            “This is like herding cats,” Brass complained. Turning to the three CSIs nearby he ordered, “STAY!”
            Brass had spotted a pallet of cut stone sitting in the center of the atrium. It wasn’t his ideal place to be defensively; a little too out in the open for his liking but it would offer a better view of Warrick and what he was tracking. Motioning to Sofia to follow him, Brass ran for the relative cover of the pallet of stone.
            Sliding behind the stone Brass checked their backside before poking his head up to find Warrick still following the inner wall of the mezzanine hall. Brass watched as Warrick stopped dead in his track and look straight up, his own gaze following to the floor above. “Sanders,” he whispered just able to pick up the tousled light brown head of the younger CSI.
            Sofia watched as Greg backed out into the hall his weapon raised. “There’s someone up there with him,” Sofia said, rising to get a better look. Unable to see what the threat was Sofia decided to at least close the distance between herself and the two CSIs.
            “Cover me, Jim,” she blurted out as she dashed across the atrium to the metal scaffolding a few yards from where Catherine, Sara and Nick had holed up.
            Brass had sucked in a large breath as the woman bolted from the cover of the piled stone. In a half a beat Nick Stokes circled the protection of the cement pillar to follow Sofia, while Catherine and Sara scrambled towards him. It was like a crazy game of musical cover, except there was no music. Brass was certain he had aged ten years in the last hour and he was going to get his retribution from Gil Grissom and the rest of the graveyard shift by sending them all to the proctologist with a raging case of “boot up their ass”.
           
            Greg wasn’t sure what he had expected when he had yelled for Abrams to freeze. His first and only thought at that moment was that he had to protect Grissom who was groaning half-unconscious on the floor. He supposed he might have thought the man would have dropped his weapon or put his hands in the air if he had actually had time to think on it but turning around and stalking him with a weapon had probably not been on his list.
            Greg backed out into the hall as Abrams threatened to shoot him if he didn’t drop his weapon. He knew that that was last thing he needed to do, as he would be dead before the gun ever hit the ground.
            “Drop it pretty boy before I put hole right through that sweet face of yours,” Abrams threatened with a sneer.
            Greg’s mind raced with any and all options. He tried to calculate variables, constants and realized that no amount of analyzing or mathematical equations or scientific hypothesis was going to help him out of this. This was a matter of instinct and a whole lot of luck.
            “I don’t think so,” Greg said with more confidence than he felt. Warrick was somewhere in the building if he could keep from getting himself shot or Grissom shot he should be able to help. Two CSIs trumped one psycho, right!?!
“I’m gonna count to five,” Abrams took a half step forward making Greg take a half step back “before I air out that skull of yours.”
            Greg could feel the fear that had been coiling in his belly tightened harder.
            “One”
             Abrams was giving him no choice.
            “Two”
             He was going to have the pull the trigger and…
            “Three”
             …hope for the best.
            Greg’s trigger finger began to restrict as Abrams went to count four.
            Abrams was never able to finish his count. With a howl of rage Grissom came crashing into the hall, his left hand grabbing Abrams gun hand while his other went for the man’s throat. Grissom’s momentum sent the two men crashing through the temporary wooden railing, the gun in Abrams hand discharging into the open expanse of the atrium ceiling.
            “GRISSSSSOMMMM!” Greg screamed throwing himself to the edge as he tried to grasp the man.

            Warrick had just made it to the upper mezzanine and was within feet of Greg and Abrams when Grissom had come from nowhere and tackled the man right of the mezzanine hall. He watched in horror as Grissom followed the killer into the abyss and Greg leapt forward trying to save him.
            It had all happened in dual time both fast and slow. Grissom had caught Abrams up so quickly but the two appeared to hang in the air as if defying gravity. Greg yelling Grissom’s name was like the snap of a bullwhip but it seemed to take forever for him to reach the edge when he had jumped. And Warrick knew he was a fast runner but he couldn’t seem to chew up the distance between him and Greg fast enough.
            “Greg!” Warrick exclaimed looking over the edge.
            “COME ON!” Greg yelled hopping to his feet and racing for the stairwell.

            Nick had been in the process of returning to the scaffolding and Sofia after discovering the lower level stairwell had been blocked with pallets of sheetrock. The quickest way up looked to be the scaffolding, not wanting to waste time searching for another staircase.
            Nick wasn’t sure if he heard the crashing sound first or the screams. All he knew was that when he looked up his heart lodged in his throat as he saw two thrashing bodies plummeting over the side of the upper mezzanine. He held his breath as his eyes followed the men’s descent. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered Greg’s scream followed by more screams but his brain didn’t seem to know where to catalog the information.
            It was just by pure dumb luck that Grissom and Abrams fell into a stack of insulation rolls. The loud thud told everyone close enough to hear that the two men still hit the ground hard but the impact of their fall had been reduced. The plastic covered rolls ballooned outwards being displaced by the two men’s falling bodies disappearing into the center of the stack.
            Nick rushed forward his gun at the ready as he watched the rolls tumble and roll off. Abrams limped out of the pile, his gun in his left hand as he tucked his right arms across his chest.
            “Hold it!” Nick yelled trying to keep eye contact with the killer in front of him while his free hand fished for a stumbling Grissom in the disarray of insulation.
            With Sofia standing next to him Nick felt able to help Grissom to his feet. He could see the blood stain covering the right side of Grissom’s shirt collar and neck and tried to check and see where it was coming from but Grissom had gone over the ledge fighting and apparently was still in the mood after falling twenty plus feet.
            Wrenching his arm free of Nick’s grasp he stumbled through the insulation, kicking and batting the hindering rolls from his path. Abrams backed up, jabbing his gun in Grissom direction.
            “You stay where you are,” he screeched still rattled by the fall “I swear I’ll put a bullet in you Grissom. You know I will.”
            Grissom growled in response as he tossed the remaining insulation roll aside.
            Brass was warily approaching Abrams from the other side his gun leveled menacingly at the man’s head. “Put the gun down,” he said taking another cautious step forward.
            At the corner of his eye he caught Warrick and Greg shimming down the scaffolding and knew without looking that Catherine and Sara had drawn their guns and were covering Abrams also. The man didn’t stand a chance. He was outnumbered and outgunned. Now all he had to do is get Gil back before the man got himself shot.
            “Grissom,” he called out trying to get the man’s attention. Gil seemed slightly unsteady as he began to stalk Abrams and even from his vantage point he could see the blood covering the right side of his neck and shoulder. Had he been shot? Brass worried.
            “GET BACK!” Abrams screamed. Watching as a half a dozen uniformed cops poured into the atrium and fanned out to cover him. There was nowhere to run but maybe he could bluff his way into an out.
            “I SWEAR I’LL KILL HIM!” he yelled to the others as he kept the gun pointed at Grissom.
            Grissom laughed a sick laugh void of happiness and threw his arms wide. It put everyone on edge, especially the man in front of him.
            “WE ALREADY DID THAT!” he hollered beating his chest twice before throwing his arms out once again. “Don’t you remember?” he asked in a lifeless voice.
            “You’re CRAZY!” Abrams accused loudly, backing away from the man.
            Grissom dipped his head but still slowly advanced. “Mmmm,” he hummed his head bobbing in agreement “But you’re still going to tell me what I want to know. Crazy or not.”
            Everyone advanced as Grissom advanced. Slow steps taken carefully as they watched Abrams movement carefully. Nick was attempting to flank the man to Grissom’s right in hopes of getting around him before he ran out of space to back up and decided to take action.
            “Grissom,” Sara called out trying to keep the tears from her voice “please” she begged.
            Grissom stopped at her voice his head dropping as if it was too great a strain to keep it up. “You hear her?” he whispered to Abrams “Hypnos falls to her. Phobetor fears her. She chases them back into the darkness and throws wide the windows.” Grissom swayed slightly.
            “Shut up” Abrams ordered becoming unnerved by Grissom’s quiet ramblings.
             “She is a talisman, my talisman, she brings the light in.”
            “I said SHUT UP or I’ll shut you up,” the threat was made more real as Grissom stood less than a yard away from the muzzle of Abrams gun.
            “But not even she can stop the cries,” Grissom whispered as he took the step that brought the cold muzzle of the gun up against his chest.
            Abrams realized in that moment that the man in front of him and nothing to lose. “Grissom,” Nick implored a dozen feet to his right “come on man”
            Grissom ignored him, instead asking in a louder, firmer voice, “Where is Markus?”
            Abrams wet his lips nervously, his eyes scanning the atrium for anything that he could use to his advantage. He felt Grissom move into his gun a half step more, forcing Abrams to compensate by stepping back. He was almost up against the elevator enclosure and between Nick to his left and Brass to his right he was running out option.
            “Come on Scotty,” Grissom growled through his teeth “where…is…Markus?”
            Abrams could see the unnatural light blazing in Grissom’s eyes. The man had gone mad. He had the gun but he was suddenly frightened. In a moment of panic he pulled the trigger.

            Nick was the closest to Grissom. His goal had been to protect him or get him out of harm’s way but the man seemed bent on pushing the killer with the gun over the edge. Somewhere in the back of Nick’s mind he wondered if Grissom had developed a death wish. He didn’t act like a man with any self-preservation skills which was making Nick’s task all the more harder.
            Nick heard Sara call out to Grissom, beseeching him to stop. For a brief moment he had held out hope that Sara had gotten through to him. Grissom had stopped his advance on Abrams his head falling in an almost defeated gesture.
            “You hear her?” Nick could hear Grissom whispering his head still hanging low. “Hypnos falls to her…” Who? What is he talking about? “Phobetor fears her. She chases them back into the darkness…” Nick felt the icy cold hand of fear clutch at his chest “…and throws wide the windows.”
            Shut up” Abrams’ voice was laced with fear.
            “She a talisman,” Grissom said “my talisman, she brings the light in.” Nick could see Grissom close his eyes almost in rapture.
            “I said SHUT UP or I’ll shut you up,” Abrams screamed. He was unnerved by Grissom’s speech and Nick used it to get that much closer to his goal.
            “But not even she can stop the cries,” Grissom whispered and stepped into the cold steel of Abrams’ gun. Nick could almost feel the collective breath being held as he paused mid-step.
            He could see the dread that filled Abrams face as he looked at Grissom and feared the man’s desperation would lead to an outcome Nick just wasn’t willing to think of. “Grissom, come on man” Nick said trying to infuse as much light hearted drawl into his voice as possible.
            “Where is Markus?” Grissom asked.
            Nick watched as the man frantically took in his situation. There was nowhere for him to go, he had been backed into a corner and out flanked.
            “Come on Scotty,” Grissom growled, his eyes flaring “where…is…Markus?”
            Nick’s mind screamed “no” as he saw the panic shoot through Abrams. In that split second he knew that Abrams was going to pull the trigger. He could see it in his mind’s eye the bullet entering Grissom’s chest, propelling the man backwards as the bullet traveled through his torso to exit from his back in an explosion of blood and flesh.
            “No!” Nick screamed out loud as he reached for Grissom.

            Jim Brass held his breath when Grissom stepped into Abrams gun. The muzzle placed firmly in the man’s chest. He could see Nick Stokes slowly making his way closer to Grissom and Abrams. His aim was steady, his gait cautious but Brass would have preferred the man stay put. But none of them did, none of them could, they had all been swept up into a dark rip tide. It was dangerously close to sucking them under and Brass feared there was no hope.
            “Grissom,” Nick implored a dozen feet to his right and closing “come on man”
            Grissom stepped into the panicked man’s gun further, forcing Abrams back further. He was now trapped by the cement monolith behind him and the nine weapons leveled at him. Brass could see the resignation wash over the man and could see his resolve waver.
            “…where…is…Markus?”
            Brass will never truly know what it was that Abrams saw in Grissom’s face to cause such a look of panic, all he could say is that in a blink of an eye and the pull of a trigger anything and everything can change.
           
            Sara saw the man’s face erupt into fear and knew he would kill Grissom. Her heart stopped as time moved at quarter speed. She could hear Nick screaming. He was trying to get to Gil, his arm outstretched. She could see Warrick rushing to aid Nick and Brass maneuvering to take fire. And she could smell the acrid smell of gunpowder almost as soon as she heard the deafening explosion of a single gunshot.

            Warrick ran forward trying to cover Nick as he dashed for Grissom. At the loud retort of a gunshot reverberating off the atrium walls, Warrick ducked his head momentarily as he skidded to a shocked halt.

            Greg wasn’t sure if it was Nick screaming or if it was the frantic voice inside his head, his feet rooted in their spot as terror washed over him.
           
            Catherine could feel the terrifying darkness descend.

            He felt the bullet burn its way through his flesh, blood shooting out of the hole in his body in a fine red mist. The bullet tore through muscle, ripping, shredding as it bore deeper into him. It crashed into his bones, shattering them with piercing white pain. The air sucked from his lungs before he even hit the cold, hard ground. This was not how he had planned it.
            He could hear a low frequency buzz and muffled shouting. The world fell from its axis as he felt his spine impact with the stone floor. The sensation surprisingly numb in comparison to the heavy, burning throb left by the bullet. This is all wrong, he thought.
           
            Gil Grissom had watched the flash of fear crash across Abrams face and knew he would pull the trigger. The man had an itchy trigger finger and had been shooting off rounds ever since he entered the building. Grissom knew he would pull the trigger and with that same certainty he knew nothing would happen. Sure he may have counted wrong but he was confident he hadn’t
            The click of the firing mechanism going off alone caused a flicker of confusion in Abrams. It was replaced almost simultaneously by a bang as shock and pain etched deeply into his face. In another life Grissom would have ducked and covered at the explosive round going off nearby but ironically that had been Abrams favorite past time when they had held Grissom.
            Markus Bathory liked his torture grander, more intricate with a flare of the dramatics- a touch of Faust. There was nothing grand or intricate about Scott Abrams. He was a garden variety bully with a penchant for sadism. He enjoyed inflicting pain and causing fear. So when Markus would allow him he would take Grissom out for target practice and since Grissom didn’t have a gun- he got to play target.
            Nick grabbed a hold of Grissom’s arm and yanked him harshly back as Abrams fell to the ground, nearly causing both men to stumble. Nick twisted towards Grissom facing him at an angle as he trained his gun on the wounded man on the ground. Stretching his left arm outwards he tried to place more distance between Grissom and Abrams, not sure if the man had been incapacitated or not.
            Grissom frowned in confusion as Nick pushed him back. What does he think he is protecting me from? Grissom wondered curiously. Mildly annoyed at being manhandled Grissom swatted Nick’s hand away.
            “Grissom!” Warrick exclaimed in a low voice coming up behind the man.
            Grissom turned to look at Warrick, at all of them, and was truly perplexed. They all looked shell shocked.
            “It’s fine,” Grissom told them a hint of amusement in his voice as he turned and walked towards Abrams.
            Abrams was screeching lawsuit when Grissom knelt down beside him. The fear that had filled his eyes earlier was now replaced with worry as he looked up into the delighted face of Gil Grissom.
            “Hey sport,” Grissom said looking at the injury to Abrams right shoulder. “That’s gotta hurt,” he said in mock concern, the smile never leaving his face.
            Grissom could hear everyone approaching, his senses vibrating with heightened acuity. Reaching out he grabbed Abram’s upper arm, just below his wound and pulled the groaning man to his feet.
            “Grissom,” Brass warned coming to take a hold of Abrams.
            “You know,” Grissom said letting out a long breath to relieve some of the pent up energy he felt. “Not only are you a piss poor shot...” he watched Sofia as she recovered Abrams weapon “…but you can’t count worth a damn either.”
            Brass motioned for two of the uniformed officers to cuff Abrams. “Scott Abrams you’re under arrest for murder, attempted murder, kidnapping and anything else I can think up.”
            “Fifteen, Scotty,” Grissom whispered conspiratorially as Abrams was cuffed. “Fif-teen,” Grissom flashed all ten of his fingers before holding up five fingers again.
            “I’ll go in with him,” Sofia told Brass as she followed the two officers escorting Abrams out.
            Brass nodded solemnly his attention more focused on Grissom. The man was grinning like he had just won a casino jackpot, heard Ecklie was quitting and had gotten laid by his favorite CSI all at the same time.
            “Woo!” Grissom shouted slapping his hands. The sound startled Brass only slightly less than when Grissom playfully slapped him on the shoulder. “Nice shot,” he chimed as he made to walk off.
            Brass frowned; he had fallen into another dimension. Where’s the real Grissom? He thought flabbergasted. “What…” he exclaimed preparing to launch into Grissom only to be interrupted by an extremely angry Sara Sidle punching the man in his shoulder.
            “ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED?” Sara yelled her eyes red from the tears she had angrily wiped away. She punched him again. “ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME? GIVE US ALL HEART ATTACKS?” With each question she angrily struck Grissom who still wore a look of amused bafflement.
            Throwing his arms wide, Grissom scooped Sara up into a big bear hug effectively ending her assault. He chuckled as she angrily struggled against his much stronger arms.
            “Everything’s fine,” he told her with a lopsided grin “No one is going to have a heart attack, no one’s dead-especially not you.” He accentuated the last by giving her a hard, loud kiss before strutting off in the direction of the front desk.
            Sara turned wide, startled eyes on her co-workers, whose looks matched her own. Did Grissom just kiss me? In front of everyone! Oh no, he isn’t going to sidetrack me that easy! “Oh, ho!” she huffed marching behind him. “What do you call walking into a killer’s gun?”     
            Grissom barely glanced back, waving his arm dismissively. “I knew he was out of rounds,” he told her stepping around a pile of lumber.
            “Really?” Sara asked almost accusingly.
            Grissom stopped and turned at the sound of her voice. It was then that he realized that it wasn’t just Sara following him.
            “Yes, really,” he answered his brows knitting together. He could feel the inertia of his delight waning. “I counted fifteen rounds,” he told her, his eyes flickering over the others.
            “What if Abrams had another clip?” Catherine questioned coming to stand next to Sara. Grissom felt the weightlessness as he reached the apex.
            “He didn’t” Grissom announced his hand reaching out for the gray metal of the scaffolding.
            “What the hell do you think you are doing?” Brass asked exasperated.
            Grissom could feel the dark anger pulling at him like a gravity well. The emotional pendulum was about to swing back the other way. “I’m going to retrieve my weapon,” Grissom said the grin now gone from his face as he dropped his arm.
            “I’ll get it!” Greg piped in as he effortlessly made his way up the metal structure.
            Grissom watched the young man disappear over the edge. “Fine,” he heard Sara say “what about that nifty Peter Pan move you did? She gestured towards the broken railing above where he and Abrams had fallen from.
            “I couldn’t let him shoot Greg,” he explained.
            Sara just stared at him. Her ability to think rationally had ceased the moment that she had believed he would die by Abrams hand. She could not comprehend the dangers he willingly dared. Where others would weigh the options heavily in favor of avoiding such dangers, Grissom just picked up speed leaping into the precipice. And Sara was certain that Grissom had no clue whether he would reach the other side or not because self preservation no longer had the weighted factor it should. Gil Grissom had become a danger to himself because his own life held little value to him.
            Sara’s eyes grew wide and teary at her own revelation as she stared at Grissom. How was she going to safe him if he was his own worst enemy?  She opened her mouth but nothing came out 
            “Here you go, Grissom,” Greg said a little out of breath as he hopped down from the scaffolding and handed Grissom his gun.
            “Look Gil,” Brass came forward “Don’t you think I know what’s going on here?” Grissom’s eyes lingered on Sara as he holstered the weapon before turning warily to Brass.
            “I’m not doing anything, except helping to apprehend a known suspect.” Grissom placed his hands on his hips in anticipation of Brass’ tirade.
            “You keep selling that one partner,” Brass said sarcastically “but I’ve been a cop for twenty-five years and I’ve seen my fair share of a suicide by cop and…” he looked sadly at Grissom “more than I care to recall-suicide by perp.”
            Sara’s head snapped back and forth between Brass and Grissom trying to take in what the police captain was saying. Her actions mirrored similar reactions by the other CSIs.
            Grissom began to pace, looking angrily at Brass, “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he accused.
            “Don’t I?” Brass exclaimed stepping closer to the pacing man. “Use that scientist brain of yours Gil.” Brass tapped his own temple. “Who races at asinine speeds down busy streets and highways, chases armed suspects ALONE into an empty building, leaps from God knows how high…” Brass threw his arm high and wide “and threatens an armed killer?”
            Grissom shook his head. “Abrams needed to be apprehended,” Grissom stated defensively. “We need him to get to Hypnos.”
            “Who?” Brass looked to the others.
            “They’re murderers,” Grissom went on becoming agitated “they won’t stop… not by themselves…like it too much.” Grissom gritted his teeth and rolled his head as he tried to keep control of the roiling anger that threatened to rip him asunder. “Always grinning…laughing…waiting, always waiting…”
            “Gil,” Brass grabbed the pacing man by his arm, trying to calm him down “It’s gonna be okay.”
            Grissom looked bewildered at Brass’ hand on his arm. “O-KAY?” he slapped Brass’ hand away “I’m… in… Hell!” he ground out turning to leave.