James Brass was about to turn his search for an open door back around when Greg had come up with a winner for them. Slipping through a small partially covered window, Brass cursed the fact that he was getting to old to be climbing through windows and threatened Grissom with bodily harm once he got a hold of him. At that precise moment Greg was prepared to hold his boss down for the police detective’s beat down.
            Brass had had Nick and Sara cover the warehouse while he and Greg attempted to get into the office complex unnoticed. It had involved rounding the backside of the building which had lead them to their less than graceful entrance into the building. Brass nearly landed on Greg as he cleared the window sill and tripped over something in the near dark of the room.
            The two men found themselves in a janitorial closet off of what had been a large public restroom. Women’s restroom, Greg figured from the lack of urinals on the wall. A single light glowed over the sinks casting the floor to ceiling tiled room in shades of gray and black. Brass checked the stalls quickly before slipping up to the exit.
            “VICTOR CHARLIE TWENTY, WE’RE IN,” Brass informed Nick and Sara with the radio he had clipped to his shirt.
            Greg could barely make out Brass’ face in the dark shadows but he could see him hold his hand up in a halting gesture. With his gun held low, Greg waited until Brass gave the all clear signal and led them out of the bathroom into a blackened hallway. At the far end they could see pale lights and cautiously made their way towards it.
            Brass took the point as he kept his gun trained forward while Greg held back a few paces mimicking Brass’ stance. The blackness slowly gave way to dark paneled walls and grungy, false ceilings as they approached a t-intersection of halls.
            There was an open doorway to their right, where the light was emanating and Brass decided that was the direction they were going. Crossing the hall, to enter ahead of Greg, Brass poked his head in quickly looking both left and right.
            “Stay close,” he whispered to a wide eyed, sweat drenched Greg Sanders.
            Greg gave a single, determined nod. Staying close to Brass would not be a problem. As far as Greg was concerned he was skin grafted to the cop’s ass.
            The two men had entered a small kitchen, with the wall to their left open to a small dining hall or large break room. Old pallets, boxes and stacked chairs obscured their direct line of sight into the adjoining room, making Brass advance forward one slow step at a time. His eyes panned the room in quick repeated motions, looking for hidden dangers among the long forgotten stacks of discarded materials.
            Upkeep and maintenance was not a top priority for the present owners of the building, so the majority of the light fixtures were allowed to remain dark with burnt out lights. A single fluorescent light buzzed just above and in front of a stack of pallets that fell shy of the ceiling by about two feet. Every instinct that Jim Brass had honed over two decades of police work told him that danger was nearby.
            He could smell it before he saw it- BLOOD!
            “AWW, JESUS!” Brass hissed bringing his left hand to his mouth as he momentarily averted his eyes from the gruesome scene in front of him.
            Greg had been to a fair number of crime scene and seen his share of dead bodies but he had never scene anything as deeply disturbing as the body laid out before them. The woman’s body was pale almost gray underneath the dark, dark red blood that had grown sticky and congealed about her.
            Her killer had left her no dignity. Her naked body bound and tied spread eagle on the long white table had been violated in ways Greg did not want to imagine. Using the woman’s own blood her killer had painted upon her flesh like a child with finger-paints. Swirls and zigzags ran up and down her arms and legs and a macabre smile had been painted over her dead lips.
            The woman’s killer had violated her, mutilated her and then killed her by eviscerating her. The pain she must have felt seemed to echo in the room as her half closed eyes bore into the two men demanding justice.
            Greg had to look away from her face. In doing so he saw a stack of dusty newspapers on a table stacked in a nearby corner. It wasn’t the best thing to use but he felt like it would be better than nothing. Grabbing one corner of the paper, Greg made to cover the woman’s body.
            “No,” Brass shook his head.
            Greg almost looked like he was gong to angrily defy Brass. He wanted to give the woman the dignity that she was denied in her death.
            Brass understood. “We’ll take care of her, I promise, but I don’t want to give ourselves away until I know how many and who we are dealing with.”
            Greg hesitated. The need to help the woman even if it was only in death was a strong one but he understood Brass’ caution and relented. With a sigh he replaced the newspaper and with a silent promise to be back he left the woman and followed Brass to the far end of the room and exited by way of a second set of doors.

            *****************************************************************
 
            Nick winced as his toe caught a piece of scrap metal on the floor and scraped loudly, ground beneath his foot and the concrete floor. Throwing a worried and apologetic look over his shoulder at Sara, he listened intently to hear if his misstep had given them away. Nick and Sara had made it from the door, they sought the relative cover of gray metal behemoths that lined the catwalks and conveyor assembly and separated the open expanse of the warehouse with inner workings of the factory.
            There were three giant grey metal boxes housing the motors and mechanisms that controlled the conveyor system. The twelve foot high, ten foot wide containers were inviting places to regroup for the two CSIs as Nick peered around the corner towards the office complex some forty foot away.
            Frowning he turned back towards Sara. “It’s pretty open,” he informed her distastefully, “not a lot of cover.”
            “We’ll have to make a run for it,” Sara said softly, trying to take a peek around Nick at their hoped for destination.
            Before they could turn Nick’s decision into action the double doors swung open to reveal Toller hastily marching across the dusty concrete warehouse towards the counterfeit SUV parked in the center. His face was a mask of anger and Sara could see that he was muttering something to himself as he stalked to the rear of the truck. Snatching a heavy roll of plastic, the man retreated the way he came.
            “Grissom!” Nick exclaimed on a sigh, startled and relieved to find the man standing a few feet behind him and Sara.
            “Gil,” Sara threw her arms around Grissom’s neck, uncaring of the fact that Nick was there to witness. Grissom’s free hand snaked around her middle and held her close, thankful for the feeling of peace no matter how brief it was.
            A muffled voice had Toller screaming back, “ALRIGHT!” Toller’s screams had Nick ducking and returning his attention in the other direction.
            Rushing Sara backwards, Grissom pinned her body up against the gray metal sheeting protecting her from the danger roaming nearby.
            “It’s Toller,” Grissom whispered, his eyes falling on the woman pinned tightly against his chest.
            Stepping back half a step, his intense gaze collided with hers to melt and weld their souls together. No words were uttered. It was a moment in time, buffered from reality held within a bubble as everything that was Sara and everything that was Grissom mixed and meshed together and became one.
            Nick’s eyes grew wide as he tried to keep a vigilant watch for danger but was drawn to the man and woman standing a short span away. He felt the hairs on his arms stand on end and the questions he had about the pair was quickly and thoroughly put to rest.
            “You need to get out of here,” Grissom spoke slowly, softly.
            “Not without you,” Sara pledged determinedly, trying to maintain their moment but knowing she had to let it go.
            Grissom took a step back watching as Toller pulled the shotgun housed in between the two front seats of the Suburban. The moment was gone, the bubble burst. “I have business to finish,” he stated in a whisper, keeping a wary eye on the retreating man.
            “No you don’t!” Sara stated firmly but quietly. “Brass is here and backup is on the way. Let them do their job, this is not us…this is not our job.”
            As Sara was trying to reason with him Grissom was moving along the cover of the machinery to get a better look at Toller’s exit.
            Looking between Sara and Nick, Grissom reiterated, “You need to go” as he made to pass them.
            “Look Gris, we’ll get these guys,” Nick began to argue. “We just need to stick together, find Brass and Greg and wait for the cavalry…okay.”
            Grissom almost smiled at Nick. “Stay here,” he told Sara, jabbing at the spot where they stood.
            Grissom watched her wary gaze shift from Nick to himself and he almost had the urge to laugh. Smart girl! Sara had impeccable instincts and by the cautious look in her eye he knew she was on to him. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Grissom steeled himself to her. Sara had made him a better man, she had given him strength and Bathory stole it all away!
            It all had to end; the lunacy, the bloody madness, the screams within his…the nightmares. God, he was SO tired! Just…want to sleep.
            Opening his eyes, Grissom looked poignantly at Sara before a blank mask fell and he quickly spun away from her to follow Toller surreptitiously. Sara took a stunned step forward before getting hold of herself. Grissom had slipped undetected behind the Suburban before disappearing into the many heaps of scrap metal and dismantled machinery on the opposite side. Pulling her weapon up to the ready, Sara covered Grissom as he followed Toller to the swinging double doors twenty-five yards away.
            “Damn it!” Nick hissed.
            Grissom slipped through the doors a full twenty seconds after Toller and Nick and Sara were at the brown swinging doors in less than a minute after they lost sight of Grissom. Shooting a cautious glance through the thick plastic portal in the door, Nick could not ascertain any immediate dangers. Blowing out a quick breath, Nick gave Sara a sharp nod before slipping through the doors, his gun held firmly in front of him.
            Sara didn’t know if there was a higher power but she was fond of the Saints and found herself throwing up a silent prayer to Saint Jude, the patron saint of desperate situations. And this situation is definitely desperate!