When Grissom hadn’t shown up at start of shift, it was only a little unusual. Grissom was always there, at least in the building somewhere. If he was late, it was generally because he was doing as the CSIs and lab techs liked to say, “His mad genius thing.” 
            The man’s mind was in constant motion and often that mental energy exploded into kinetic energy. No one could count how many times Grissom had come in off the clock, his mind racing with some experiment that would inexorably crack the case. He was even prone to wandering off when a clue caught his attention, his team members generally following in confusion but inevitably it would all become clear.         
            As time had passed and Catherine had not been able to find their wayward supervisor in his usual haunts, unease had begun to slowly creep in. Because of sheer luck their shift had started off fairly tame. Warrick had been assigned a simple convenience store robbery that had quickly revealed itself to be an inside job, while Nick and Greg had worked on wrapping up a home invasion case from the night before. Sara for her part went through the motions of trying to catch up on paperwork, her eyes alternating between the clock and the hallway that lead from the lab’s reception area into the lab.
            When Brass’s call had come in they had all rolled out of the lab like seasoned firefighters going to a four alarm fire, six hours later they were back in the lab desperately searching for clues and their friend.
            Greg, who had fought to get out into the field from the DNA lab, had taken over his old domain. As soon as the evidence had been processed at the scene he had driven it straight back to the lab and had almost forcibly taken over the equipment from the tech working that night. For Greg this was beyond priority, this was personal. Grissom was more than a boss he was a mentor, someone that Greg had looked up to from his first day. He was family; Greg thought they were all family. Somewhere along the line the graveyard shift had morphed from a crew of co-workers to a family and Grissom was the head of that family.
            Greg smiled inwardly as a vision of Grissom rolling his eyes came to mind. Grissom would be the first to point out that none of the graveyard shift was technically related but everyone knew how hard he had worked to get the team back together after Ecklie had broken them up.
            The beep of the printer caught Greg’s attention. Snapping the paper from the tray, he read it as he briskly made his way to the conference room where the rest of the team had assembled.
            “It’s sheep,” Greg said holding the printout above his head before taking a seat at the rectangular table.
            “The blood?” asked Nick, his dark brows furrowed.
            The Hematrace tests at Grissom’s townhouse had been conflicting. One test had come back positive for human blood, while another had not.
            “Most of it,” Greg answered, a slight hesitation in his voice. Hopping out of his chair he went to the board where the crime scene sketches hung. “The samples that Catherine and Sara took from the entryway here,” he said pointing at the paper “and the blood along the south wall of the living room and in the kitchen was all sheep, as well as in the master bedroom.”
            “Those were all the large stains and where most of the cast off was,” Catherine noted.
            Greg nodded before returning to the diagram. “The blood Sara collected just inside the door and the blood Catherine collected near the bookcase was human and” Greg paused almost afraid to say it, “it matches what we have on file for Grissom.”
            Nick leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his laced fingers. He looked to be either contemplating the evidence or praying or maybe just a bit of both.
            Catherine continued on, “Sara and I collected prints from the back of the tape holding the photograph of Grissom and a partial palm print on the CPR mannequin.”
            “Anything come back?” Warrick asked hopefully.
            “Not yet,” Catherine informed them “both Mandy and Jacqui are working on them.”
            “Warrick and I did find something interesting at the neighbor’s place,” Nick began, forcing himself to stay focused “We found drywall dust in the entryway. It was tracked from the living area.”
            “Was the neighbor renovating?” Catherine asked with a frown.
            “No, that’s what made it so interesting.” Nick answered coming out of his seat and walking to the board. “When we pulled an entertainment center away from this wall” he pointed to the crime scene diagram, “we found a two inch hole.”
            The other CSIs gathered around the table just stared at Nick with confused scowls on their faces. “It went all the way through to Grissom’s side of the wall.” Nick tapped the side of the illustration that represented Grissom’s townhouse.
            “Hole?” Sara exclaimed, “What hole, we didn’t see a hole in Grissom’s place.”
            Catherine gazed at Sara. It was the first time she had spoken in hours and Catherine was relieved to hear her outburst. She had begun to worry that the ever engaged in overdrive Sara Sidle had succumbed to shock. Catherine wouldn’t have faulted her if she had, since she herself had almost fainted away when they had first entered Gil’s townhouse.
            She had worked with Grissom for more than a dozen years. He had been a CSI III, and near legend, when she had first started as a lab tech after graduating from night school. Catherine had liked him almost from the moment she met him. He looked me in the eye, not at my boobs, she reminisced. Gil for his part enjoyed Catherine’s sense of humor and intelligence and fell into the roll of mentor.
            Catherine had never been ashamed of her past. She had overcome and persevered but when it was found out that she had, at one time, been an exotic dancer the sneers and leers came out. Grissom had come to her defense immediately. He had never threatened to get physical with any of the jerks, except for Eddie, but he did have a way of making them wither away by simple intellectual superiority. He had left the rest of the fight to Catherine and once she was able to get beyond the innuendos and prove herself, she had gained a solid reputation as a CSI.
            “The hole on Grissom’s side of the wall was hidden by books.” Nick answered Sara more than the rest. “It came in behind his bookshelf in the living area.”
            Sara shook her head. “What, why would there be a hole that size going all the way through the wall?”
            Nick arched his brows. “That was what Warrick and I had been wondering. At first we thought maybe the neighbor was spying on Grissom but you really can’t see anything because of the bookshelf and books.”
            Sara had a distasteful look upon her face, while Catherine simply shook her head in confusion.
            “What about eavesdropping,” Sara asked staring intently at the scene map on the board.
            Nick cocked his head to one side, “Yea, Warrick and I thought about that too but the hole is almost on the floor, so if the guy was pressing his ear…” Nick shook his head negating the possibility.
            “And if he was using mics or something, why the big hole?” Greg finished.
            “Right,” Nick said pointing at Greg “but Greg here gave us an interesting idea. What if the hole was to put something in rather than get something out?”
            Catherine found herself sitting up a little straighter with the implication of what Nick had just said.
            “Like what?” she asked.
            If on cue Warrick walked into the conference room, a printout dangling in his hand. He handed the paper to Greg since the information it contained was more along the line of the younger man’s specialty.
            Greg read the Mass Spectrometer report Warrick had handed him, a confused scowl spreading across his face. “This is what the Z-nose picked up?”
            Warrick gave a slow, smooth nod in answer as he took the seat across from Greg.
            “Well?” Sara prompted losing her patience.
            “Oxopropyl, piperidinecarboxylic acid, methyl ester” Greg said in a slightly stunned mumble.
            Sara frowned, “Methyl ester?”
            “Yea,” Greg said trying to wrap his mind around this new information.
            “Wait a minute,” Sara said coming up out of her seat. Pacing the conference room floor she rubbed her forehead as if the action would somehow assist her mental process. “Oxopropyl, piperidinecarboxylic acid, methyl ester are,” she paused in stride and word as the thought she had been trying to recover came to the foreground of her mind “are Carfentanil.”
            Greg’s eyes swallowed his face as recognition of the chemical compound washed over him.
            “Yea, yea,” he said tapping the printout.
            Warrick held out his hand, signaling the two CSIs to stop. “Hold up, it’s been awhile since my college chemistry days. That’s why I brought it in here, Methyl ester I get but…Carfentanil?”
            “Bring us up to speed here, guys.” Catherine said half pleading. They all had had to take chemistry at one time or another in their backgrounds but some, like Greg had majored in it and then there was Sara who was like Grissom and just seemed to know everything.
            Greg hopped in his seat, sitting more upright and on the edge. This was a solid clue. “Yea, Carfentanil is an opiate that’s used as a tranquilizer- mostly for large animals. It’s not meant for human use”
            Sara came to stand in front of the board that displayed the layout of the crime scenes, the time line as they knew it and what little evidence they had thus far. There was a thought somewhere deep in her mind that was slowly trying to wiggle to the top. All she had to do is clamp down on her fear, push it aside and stay focused on the evidence. Follow the evidence Grissom liked to say.
            Sara, her back to the others, closed her eyes as the sick feeling rose from her belly to saturate her whole being. She had never known fear like the fear she had been drowning in for the past several hours. She felt as if she was choking on the terror that swirled like noxious gas in her chest.
            Sara’s eyes shot open. GAS! Spinning around like a duelists she blurted out, “What if the reason the hole is so large is due to a hose being inserted?”
            No one answered, they just watched as she turned back to the board and pointed to the townhouses adjoining wall. “Carfentanil can be aerositalized as a gas. It’s what most experts think the Russian’s did… with that theater standoff.”
            “Right,” Greg said bouncing out of his seat. “What if the perpetrators here pumped Carfentanil from the neighbor’s place into Grissom’s place?”
            Nick leaned back in his chair not completely buying the line of thought that was slowly emerging. “But why?” he asked.
            “To incapacitate Grissom,” Greg explained excitedly as he came to stand next to Sara.
            “But why sit there and shoot the neighbor and then turn around and gas Grissom?” Warrick asked in a tone that said he was willing to buy the possibility but that there were still a few holes.
            “Maybe because they knew Grissom,” Catherine said quietly. “Maybe they knew he would be suspicious, or catch onto any game they might be running, or maybe they knew he had a gun and was a crack shot.” Catherine had said all this to the table in front of her, raising her eyes to look at the team surrounding it she finished, “Who knows at this point.”
            “Why not just come up to him and grab when he gets out of his car?” Nick continued to question.
            “Probably wanted to avoid any witnesses,” Catherine offered.
            “Yea, and I doubt they could just grab Grissom in broad daylight outside his place,” Greg added.
            Sara continued to pace. “It could be all of it… but,” Sara said looking at the evidence board “I bet that it was all about the variables.”
            The team stared at her as she turned to look at them. “Look,” she began “Who here can say I will be home at this time … this place… that time?”
            Blank stares.
            “None of us can. The job makes certain of that,” Sara said as she ran her hand over the back of a vacant chair. “They can’t plan to jump him at a specific time or place… so they take over the neighbor’s place and wait.”
            “Right,” Nick says beginning to see a possibility. “Maybe they know he has a gun, he works with cops, who knows for sure how hard it will be to get this guy down and out.”
            Sara shrugged her shoulders. It was all guess work as to the why but they knew the how and that was what she wanted to focus on. Still…
            It was unnerving to them all to think that there was a perpetrator out there somewhere that had gained enough knowledge about one of them to forcibly take them from their home. When Nick had been abducted it had been a manipulation of procedure. This was planned and executed with knowledge gained unwittingly from the victim. Someone had watched Grissom and had calculated the best course of action. If it could happen to Grissom, who was essentially an enigma, then it could happen to anyone of them.
            Sara broke the silence, “I’m going to check and see if any Carfentanil has been sold or stolen in the state recently.”
            “We should check for Naloxone too, “Greg said following her from the conference room “If I was messing with this stuff I’d want the antagonist nearby.”
            Sara nodded and left with Greg in tow.
            Catherine turned to Warrick and Nick. “Nick, find out if Dr. Robbins has anything for us on the neighbor.”
            “You got it,” he answered eagerly coming up out of his seat, ready for action.
            “Warrick, find Brass and see where he is at on Grissom’s and the neighbors phone logs and anything else you and he can come up with.” She rose in unison with Warrick, “I’m going to check up on trace, see if anything has come up that might give us a direction in all this Hell.”
            Warrick nodded as he headed out to find the homicide detective. They all just had to hold it together. They were good at their jobs, they had learned from the best. They’d got Nicky back; they’d get Grissom back too was the thought that Warrick kept repeating in his mind.

*******

            Gil Grissom felt like he was swimming through a sea of Vaseline. His thoughts scattered and muddied his limbs thick, his eyes heavy as he fought to gain full consciousness only to regret his efforts.  His head pounded against his skull like a pneumatic battering ram making him nauseous and unsteady. Every muscle fiber in his being screamed at him with each subtle movement he took and there was the unmistakable taste of blood in his mouth.
            His mind, although still clouded, was clearing enough for him to realize he was not anywhere he recognized. Ignoring the protestations of his body, Grissom pushed himself up into a sitting position and in the process became acutely aware of the chain dragging with his left leg.
            What the Hell? Grissom thought, annoyed that his mental acuity was far below its normal standard.
            Forcing his eyes to open against the bright light that pierced through to the back of his skull, Grissom tried to take in his surroundings. He was sitting on a ratty mattress in a small dark room with no windows. The roof rafters were exposed showing the underside of a hodge-podged tin roof that allowed sunlight to glow inward along the metal seams. What were of the most interest to Grissom were the two doors in the room. One looked to be an exterior door with light slipping in to cast a pale yellow glow across the threshold, the other door might go to another room, Grissom thought.
Grissom looked down at the heavy shackle and chain attached to his ankle. He knew that he would not be able to open the shackle with his hands but knowing and needing to try were two different universes, when all you wanted was away. Grissom didn’t know where he was but he knew he wanted away and the shackle, at present, was the only thing keeping him from fulfilling his wish.
            Slipping both his thumbs into the top of the cuff Grissom noticed he didn’t have any shoes on and was missing the sock on his right foot. Curious, he thought frowning. Pulling as hard as he could the constraint around his ankle moved, not at all. With an expelled groan he gave up.
            Standing uneasily, Grissom tried to take stock in himself and his situation. Aside from the lack of shoes and one sock he looked to be dressed for hanging around his townhouse. He wore his favorite pair of worn out jeans, the knees missing in both legs and a very well worn knit Henley shirt with most of the sleeves cut off. Outwardly he looked like he was ready to sit down on his couch at home and pick up a good book to read, but he definitely was not at his townhouse.
            Where the Hell am I? He thought how did I get here?
            Follow the evidence, follow- what do I remember last?
The graveyard shift had ended like normal, past check out time. The day shift had already been working on their first break of the day when he had left the building with Nick and Warrick in tow. Catherine had asked to leave early since she had to be in court at 1pm the next day and didn’t feel like pulling another double or triple, and Sara and Greg had been lucky enough to wrap up their stabbing case on time.
            I walked with Warrick and Nick to the parking lot. Did I get in my car? Yes, I remember, I was debating on whether to go home or head to Sara’s apartment. Grissom rubbed his head trying to clear the fog from his memories. I, I got home, showered and, and what?
In frustration Grissom yanked on the chain attached to his ankle. It was solidly anchored to a 4 x 4 support beam that tagged into the open rafters above his head. Shuffling on unsteady legs he made his way to the beam and the other end of his chain. The chain was attached to the wooden beam by a large u-bolt, kneeling down Grissom tried to see if he could loosen the nuts on the u-bolt with his fingers. Like the shackle around his ankle it was a bust.
            Before Grissom could try and determine if there was anything he could fashion as a tool to loosen the nuts, chaos broke out. One of the doors to the room burst forth with an indeterminate number of individuals charging through. Bright lights slashed through the room and into Grissom’s face. Squinting, he tried to make out what was going on. In a split second he knew it wasn’t anything good.
            A giant fist slammed into the side of his head knocking him back and down on one knee. Grissom couldn’t tell if he was seeing the auras of the flashlights shining in his face or if he was truly seeing stars. There was no time to contemplate or even react to the assault. A brutal punch to his midsection, followed by another well placed blow to his chin had him on the ground curling into the fetal position as feet kicked at him.
            Just as quickly as the attack had started, it ended. Grissom groaned as he made his way to his knees, trying to crawl as far as his chain would allow from his attackers. At the end of his chain Grissom staggered to his feet to face his attackers.
            “Nobody told you to get up,” the shortest of the four attackers growled and came forward with a fist at the ready.
            Grissom was more prepared for the attack this time and was able to defend himself from the initial blow and would have landed one of his own if he had not been tripped up by the chain at his ankle. Grissom’s assailant pushed forward as Grissom stumbled hitting him hard across the chin. The air was knocked out of Grissom with a mighty whoosh as he hit the floor hard.
            “When I want you on your feet,” his attacker huffed “I’ll tell you!”
            Grissom looked at the young man standing over him. His face was red from exertion and anger that almost matched the color of his buzzed head. He was considerably shorter than Grissom but was massively built, much like a weight lifter. The thick muscles of his arms bunched and relaxed with the flexing of his fists as he glared aggressively at Grissom.
            “Look,” Grissom tentatively began “I don’t know…”
            The thick redhead threw another punch narrowly missing Grissom’s chin as he jerked his head out of the man’s reach. More aware of the chain this time, Grissom was able to circle cautiously away from the young man who was getting angrier by the second. With his hands up and palms outward Grissom tried to convey he was no threat.  
            Grissom was so busy trying to avoid the man stalking him that he didn’t notice he was walking into one of his other attackers. Backing up into the man Grissom spun quickly and was punished with a spine jarring blow across the left side of his face. For a brief, thankful, moment his face and head went numb as white sparks zig-zagged across his plane of vision only to be replaced by a throbbing pain that had him fighting to stay conscious. Letting out a groan he stumbled backed against the wall.
            “Not as dumb as he looks, hunh Donny?” laughed the tallest of his attackers. His dark brown hair hung limply around his face and across his dark eyes and even though he was amused and smiling the young man’s eyes held nothing but anger and cruelty.
            Grissom eyed him briefly, not wanting to give them cause for another beating. It didn’t take much time to size the young man up anyway. He was an easy read. Grissom had seen his type hundreds, probably thousands of times before. They generally sat across from him in an interrogation room trying to lie their way out of whatever crime they had committed.
            What Grissom saw was a bully. This guy enjoyed hurting people and Grissom doubted he reserved his behavior just for middle aged men. No, this was the kind of guy that beat on his girlfriend, knocked his kids around and anyone else unlucky enough to cross his slimy path. If he hadn’t already, he would most likely graduate to more drastic crimes such as rape and murder. And he’d do it all with the same nasty grin and mirthless laugh that he was directing at Grissom at that moment
            A flash in the man’s dark eyes told Grissom he had not guarded his thoughts well enough. Surging forward the man slammed Grissom up against the wall grinding his forearm across Grissom’s clavicle. Grissom grunted with the added effort to breathe as he came eye to eye with his attacker.
            “Don’t you look at me,” the man rasped. “I’ll pluck your pretty blues from your head.” He accentuated his threat by producing a knife, pointing the gleaming tip so close to Grissom’s eye that he could feel his eyelashes brush across the metal of the blade.
            Grissom could feel the man’s hot breath against his face. He could feel the barely restrained violence emanating from his attacker and wondered what is was that held him in check. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy that practice self-control.
            “Scott,” hissed a voice from the pale shadows near the door that they had all entered through.
            Grissom’s brows knit together as he tried to see into the shadows and put a face to the voice. With a flick of his head, the newcomer had the others vacating the room easily. Grissom watched curious as to who the man in charge was. He purposely remained just inside the darkness, the light from the other room backlit him making it even harder to see into the shadows that covered his face.
            “Dr. Gilbert Grissom,” the man’s voice had a whispered-hiss sound to it that had Grissom fighting a sudden shudder. “Crime Scene Investigator extraordinaire!”
            Grissom did not recognize the voice but it was obvious that he had not been mistaken for someone else.
            “You have me at more than one disadvantage,” Grissom said with some sarcasm trying to ignore the throbbing in his skull “you know my name but I can’t place a name to the voice.”
            A chuckle came from the shadows. It was laced with an evil humor that Grissom did not care for. Aside from the six thugs that had left the room, there was something horribly sinister to the situation that he found himself in. This was more than the usual criminal creepiness going on and it made Grissom very uneasy as his mind ran over the many possibilities.
            Stepping from the anonymity of the shadows like a lion from the savannah grass, Grissom’s captor sneered at the astonished look on the other man’s face. Grissom watched the man approach, staring in disbelief his mind trying to rationalize what he was seeing. A decade had passed and the man before him had changed but there was no mistaking the eyes that glared back at him.
            “Bathory,” Grissom whispered in recognition. He could never forget the sadistic killer, his victims or how the case had almost undone him. He had made himself sick chasing the man and had then almost ended up getting himself killed when the time to apprehend him came.
            “Mmmm,” Bathory nodded being careful to stay at chain’s length from Grissom as he semi-circled the man.
            “Richard Bathory,” Grissom said again, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. Criminally twisted but not criminally insane according to a jury, Grissom thought.
            “Bathory, yes,” the man hissed as he leisurely stalked Grissom’s perimeter. “Richard, no,” with a tilt of his head he leveled his icy gaze upon Grissom.
            Grissom did not even try to mask the look of confusion that crossed his face. He could never forget the eyes that stared so feverishly back at him. Pale silver eyes, almost transparent and truly soulless bore relentlessly into his skull hoping to find purchase within his mind. Grissom had been under that gaze before. Steeling himself against the cerebral onslaught of the man before him, Grissom’s face took on a neutral look as he prepared for the psychological battle ahead.
            Bathory cackled, throwing his head back and clapping his hands in front of him as he did. He acted as if he had just pulled the most hilarious practical joke on Grissom and for Grissom’s part he was just not getting it. Grissom frowned trying desperately to figure out what it was he was missing. Something tickled the back of his memory so he knew it was not just Bathory acting oddly, he just needed to catch the partial thought floating in the back of his subconscious to put the puzzle together.
            “Grissom, Grissom, Grissom,” Bathory rubbed his palms vigorously together as if in anticipation. “Perhaps I overestimated you?” he raised a single eyebrow in question “or maybe you are just off your game today?”
            He had spent seven weeks pursuing Richard Bathory originally. The man had preyed upon troubled teens turning them into pseudo-disciples and sycophants to fulfill his sick dreams and twisted desires.  More often than not the kids that he was able to seduce into his fold ended up dead, dying horribly gruesome deaths for the perverse pleasure of their master.
            Grissom tilted his head as realization dawned on him. “Not Richard…” he said slowly, his eyes widening “Markus.”
            The unnatural glint in the man’s eyes flared as he grinned ominously at Grissom. Grissom had to fight the urge to swallow and step away from the man. He had never come across Markus Bathory during his brother’s case but he remembered Gabe Parris had, a CSI Level II out of Seattle. Grissom had gotten pretty twisted up during the Bathory case but Gabe Parris had never been able to work as a CSI again. The last Grissom had heard he was teaching high school science in Texas.
            “Very good,” Markus remarked as he halted his pacing to stand directly in front of Grissom. “I knew you would catch on eventually. After all you were smart enough to catch my brother.”
            Richard Bathory had been put through a battery of tests prior to his trial. His lawyers having him go through psychological and intelligence tests to determine how best they could slip the man through the hands of justice. He was considered a sociopath and had scored at genius level in all tests measuring intelligence. Richard Bathory was also a maniacal sadist with a narcissistic tendency and delusions of grandeur that had nearly gotten Grissom killed. Instead Grissom had ended up with a broken left arm and wrist that could almost set off a metal detector, as many screws and pins that forever would remain.
            Grissom had to resist the urge to tell Bathory that his brother had been handicapped by his own insanity.  He decided baiting the man was not in his best interest or ongoing health. Instead he asked, “Why have I been taken against my will?” Grissom pulled on the chain around his ankle to emphasize his query.
            “Mmm…well, that is my secret for now,” Bathory muttered as he turned towards the door he entered. Before exiting he turned and smiled slyly at Grissom. “That doesn’t mean you can’t speculate, hypothesize and all those other things you CSIs like to do.”
            Grissom watched his captor leave, his mind racing with all the various possibilities. He recalled what Parris had discovered about the brother so long ago, the conversation strangely clear even though a decade had passed.
            Gabriel Parris had been an incredibly likable guy. He was sociable but not annoyingly so, smart but always willing to learn more and idealistic without being preachy. He had transferred to Las Vegas two years after Grissom and along with Catherine Willows they had made up the core of the graveyard crew for two years until Warrick Brown had been promoted from Lab Tech.
            It wasn’t until the death of a young girl named Jessica Fielding that they had been able to firmly tie a suspect to a number of cold case files involving the gruesome torture and death of six teenagers. Richard Bathory had been a thirty-eight year old unemployed computer programmer with an illegal interest in sixteen year old Jessica Fielding. At first the girl had been as much a danger to herself as Bathory but after six months of the parents fighting their daughter, Bathory and the bureaucracy of the judicial system Jessica finally came to her senses.
            Parris had said the brother’s were twins. “They look a lot a like,” Parris had informed him “but I don’t think they are identical. Markus is taller and…more in control.”
            “In control,” Brass had begun sarcastically “by that you mean not as crazy as a loon?” 
            Parris had shimmied his head, not completely discounting the possibility that both brothers were not short sheeted in the mental stability department. “I don’t know that I would go that far,” he had let Grissom and Brass know. “I think he… it is a definite possibility his ship might be listing but he knows it and keeps it a float without most people being the wiser.”
            Seeing Markus Bathory now, Grissom would have to agree with Parris’s assessment of the man. He wasn’t a raving madman and it appeared that he was suitably in charge of his heavy handed bullies but there was definitely an unnatural shine in the man’s eyes and his irrational action of abducting Grissom did not speak volumes in the steady sanity department.
            Grissom grabbed the heavy chain with both hands and pulled with all his might, growling loudly before giving up his biceps twitching with the spent effort. He scanned the room again; looking for anything he might have missed earlier to aid him in an escape. The two doors were on the opposite side of the room as he was and the only window in the room had been boarded up quite securely with plywood. Even if he could reach the window he had nothing to use as a tool to try and make his way out.
            With a heavy sigh Grissom sat down on the only furniture in the room, a dirty mattress. Resting his back up against the wall, he rubbed his forehead as he tried to formulate a plan. Grissom knew he was at an impasse at the moment but if anything he had learned that things can change. A dead end today could be a breakthrough tomorrow, Grissom would just have to be vigilant and prepared when his time came.