The scratch of the tires as they momentarily lost traction let Sofia know the locked gate was tougher than it appeared but a little more pressure from Vartann on the gas peddle had the heavy log chain snapping in two different directions. The release of the chain had the heavy metal linked gate whipping open, the metal quivering by the uncontrolled action.
Entry on to the property now secured, Vartann expertly raced the car along the cracked uneven pavement that curved towards the factory.
“Which one?” Vartann asked referring to the many entrances.
Sofia pointed off to their right. “The bigger, the better,” she answered as Vartann pointed the cruiser in the direction of the giant bay doors located on the southeast corner of the building.
Bringing the car to a halt, Vartann and Sofia bolted from their respective doors to the back of the vehicle seeking temporary cover. With Vega and Cavaliere coming to halt nearby and mimicking them, Sofia assessed their options quickly
“Vartann and I’ll take this door …you two take the front,” Sofia ordered pulling her service weapon, popping the clip and examining it before reinserting it with a slap of her hand. “I’ll be on channel 2,” she informed them before motioning for Vartann to follow her to the door.
Vega and Cavaliere gave her a curt nod before running off along the front of the building, stopping and stooping low as they crossed open paned windows. Sofia watched the two men from the corner of the building for a brief second before turning and following Vartann through the dinged up, gray metal door that sat alongside the mammoth rolltop door.
Entering the building Sofia and Vartann found themselves in a cavernous warehouse filled with crates and pallets of stacked sheet metal and scrounged scrap. To their right was the interior portion of the conveyor system and directly in front of them, with rear doors wide open was a black Suburban.
Sofia leaned her face into her left shoulder and keyed her radio. “We have a black Suburban…appears to be the one from the courthouse,” she said. Her voice was slow, methodical, wary.
Vartann approached the vehicle his gun held in two hands as he searched the vehicle in quick snapping movements. “Clear,” he informed her turning his attention to possible dangers outside the truck.
One shot…two, three shots!
Sofia and Vartann scrambled for cover as they searched for the shooter. Vartann kept his back pressed up against the truck as his eyes scoured the catwalks above, while Sofia hunkered down beside the nearby pallets and surveyed the interior of the warehouse. Her eyes were wide, her breathing, although even was quicker as she shuffled forward on her toes to take a better look at the opposite end of the building.
“YUMA FIVE, SHOTS FIRED.”
“ROGER YUMA FIVE,” Sofia responded to Cavaliere’s call.
“I think…it came from over there,” she tilted her head in the direction of the offices as she looked towards Vartann, who nodded in agreement.
“Okay,” Vartann shifted to peer around the corner “cover me,” he said as he bolted across the dusty concrete floor towards the brown double doors.
Sucking in a courage bolstering breath, Sofia forcefully blew it out as she sprinted to catch up with the other detective. Into the breach, Sofia’s mind quoted as they entered the unknown.
******************************************************************
“DOWN!”
Brass knew the proverbial shit was about to hit the fan the minute he and Jake Toller made accidental eye contact. He and Greg had been cautiously making their way towards one of the better lit hallways when Toller had rounded the corner with a roll of heavy plastic sheeting perched on his shoulder. A split second had passed. Their gazes, like sharp, honed steel stabbing into the other man’s mind- watching, judging, weighing the moment as it had quickly erupted into chaos.
The roll of plastic slid from Toller’s shoulder as he made a dash for the cover of the corner where the two halls intersected. Brass threw his back up against the wall to his right, the force of it cracking the dark wood paneling as his arms spread out to his side as if he was a bird about to take flight. In his right hand he held his gun, while his left hand motioned for Greg to get behind him and up against the wall: his eyes never leaving the spot where Toller had disappeared.
As soon as Brass saw Toller’s gun wielding hand snake around the corner he let lose with a single round. The sound filling the shadow laced narrow hall that he and Greg found themselves pinned in. Toller fired wildly while yanking his arm back, the rounds snapping alarmingly but harmlessly into the paneling across from Greg and Brass.
Greg ducked his head, his eyes wide as he tried to get himself even lower to the ground and closer to the wall he was squatting against. His head ricocheted back and forth as he tried to keep his eyes focused at either end of the hall at the same time. Wiping one sweaty palm and then the other on the thighs of his jeans, Greg kept his weapon pointed down between his bent knees, ready but not eager.
“TOLLER, JACOB TOLLER…PUT THE GUN DOWN,” Brass ordered, his eyes never resting as they scanned, rescanned and scanned again the area in front of them. “COME ON SON LET’S-“
Brass heard a loud, crashing thump then…
BANG…BOOM, BOOM!
…the distinct sounds of two different weapons going off and the rapid beat of retreating feet.
Brass fought the urge to wipe the sweat pooling on his brows as he watched and waited for whatever came next. He carefully placed one knee on the floor as he brought his left hand around to join his right in a solid grip of the weapon he leveled in front of him.
“JIM? GREG?”
“GIL!” Brass exclaimed on a breath of pure relief.
Brass watched as Grissom poked his head around the far corner, opposite to the one Toller had been hiding around, to evaluate the dangers. Seeing Brass and Greg knelt down a dozen or so feet away, he ventured into the open.
“Aww, thank god!” Greg cried out, grateful for the sight of friends and not foes.
Brass watched Grissom smirk at Greg’s appreciative outburst. Obviously the gravity of the situation was lost on his old friend. What I wouldn’t give to have the over-thinking, overly cautious Gil Grissom back, Brass thought wishfully.
“I see you found him,” Brass directed his words at Sara and Nick even as he kept an eye on Grissom. Grissom was surveying the hall Toller had retreated down before giving the hall directly ahead of Brass a thorough once over.
Sara nodded, her eyes following Brass’ watchful gaze
Grissom looked as if he was deciding something his weight shifting from one foot to the next. “He’ll expect us to follow,” Grissom thought out loud out turning to face Sara and the three men.
Like a compass that pointed towards danger, Grissom raised his weapon with both hands and slunk forward, following in Toller’s wake. The hall dead ended at a large window that overlooked the factory floor and had a perpendicular hall fed off of it that appeared to parallel the hall Brass and Greg had been traveling.
Grissom rushed up to the corner a lopsided grin on his face as he listened for the danger he knew lurked down the other hall. He could hear the other man’s nervous shuffle as he leaned his left shoulder into the wall. GOD! His body hummed with the exhilaration of the moment as he leaned his forehead into the wall before rolling his shoulder to lay his back flat against the wall, his gun held in both hands was pointed at the floor.
Brass had quickly taken up a position across from Grissom and a few paces back which gave him a better view of the head of the hallway but still left him blind as to what lay father down. It also afforded him the ability to cover Grissom and to watch as the man turned from the corner. Grissom’s eyes darted about and Brass knew the man’s mind was on overload, he had seen it dozens, hundreds of time during an investigation. His mind hunting through the evidence at mach one would zero in on the answer like a ballistic missile.
“Giiilll?” Brass warned seeing the crooked grin morph into a full fledged smile.
Grissom looked to Brass. The man’s worry was like a neon red sign flashing across his forehead. Brass shook his head slowly, warning, pleading Grissom to stop whatever thought had just shot through his cerebral cortex. As far as the police captain was concerned it could only lead to no good.
Grissom forced the giddy laughter that was bubbling in his chest down. Brass just didn’t understand, as far as Grissom was concerned and that was okay. How were they to know that he felt ten feet tall and bullet proof? Grissom brought the index finger of his left hand up to his lips, his eyes twinkling. Show time!
Grissom launched himself from the wall; spinning to his left, his right arm arcing wide to bring his weapon around in time to expend two shots at a startled, kneeling Jacob Toller. Grissom allowed the momentum of his actions to carry him across the divide as his right shoulder slammed into the corner across the way.
“YOU ASSHOLE!” Toller screamed in between bursts of gunfire.
Brass rushed forward and took up the cover of the corner that Grissom had just vacated. Keeping his left shoulder pressed tightly against the wall Brass hissed, “You do that again and I’ll shoot you myself!”
Grissom just smirked. “Take a number,” he threw out nonchalantly before rushing low around the corner, his weapon leading the way as he fired two sets of two shots.
“SHIT!”
Brass ducked and rushed around his corner, covering Grissom as they charged down the hall after their fleeing man. The familiar feeling of heightened senses fell over Brass as he watched Grissom plaster himself against the wall at the end of the hall.
“GRISSOM! HOLD DAMN IT!” Brass hissed slipping up behind the man.
Grissom craned his neck to look through the clear plastic portal of the swinging door. “Looks like the main office,” Grissom informed the man behind him “I can see a receptionist’s-“
The distinct sound of automatic weapon’s fire and the quick, repetitive sound of bullets crashing through doors and walls told everyone the stakes had just been raised.
“I don’t think he’s happy to see me,” Grissom said in a mock pout to the man crouched against the wall next to him.
Brass leveled astonished eyes on the man and was about to tear into him when he heard the soft sound of his radio going off. Recognizing Cavaliere’s call sign and Sofia’s voice he grabbed for his radio.
“THIS IS VICTOR SEVENTEEN BE ADVISED WE HAVE UNKNOWN NUMBER OF HOSTILES ON SCENE,” Brass informed their back up.
Brass heard both teams confirmation before a barrage of gunfire erupted. Exchanging a curious look with Grissom, they both realized the shooting was not directed at them. Quickly turning to the group behind him and Grissom, Brass held out his hand.
“STAY,” he ordered in a harsh whisper.
Before he could turn his caution on Grissom the man rushed low through the doors and almost got his head shot off for his recklessness.
****************************************************************
Catherine and Warrick had tossed worried glance back and forth with the first sounds of gunfire. With the addition of the idiosyncratic sound of machine gun fire emanating from the factory their startled gazes fell on the two uniformed policemen assigned to the gate.
“We need to get in there,” Warrick announced to the two cops, pointing to the building in question.
The two patrolmen were a picture of contrasts. The more seasoned of the two was white, his blonde hair thinning, with a thick almost heavy build. His partner was a slender black man, almost petite with a baby face and a military style haircut. Regardless of their differences, they were of a mind when it came to Warrick’s declaration.
“Detective Curtis told us to remain here,” the senior officer spoke, attempting to put as much authority into his voice as he could.
Warrick turned to Catherine.
“Screw that!” the woman said pulling her weapon from its holster at her hip and rushing past the squad car, through the gate. Warrick was quick to follow.
“WAIT!” the two men called out as they took a few hesitant steps in pursuit of the two CSIs.
Warrick spun on his heel, walking backwards, his free hand held up in a halting manner telling the two men to back down. Spinning back in the direction Catherine was leading, Warrick hastened his pace to catch up to her.
******************************************************************
“I’M OUT!” Toller screamed as he and Richard worked their way down the arterial hallway that led to the storage room and garage on the backside of the building. The cops looked to have the front of the building and the factory covered, making the garage their best bet for a successful escape.
“Here,” Richard said, pulling a 9mm handgun from the rear of his waistband and tossing it to his accomplice.
Crashing through the metal door that separated the hallway from the storage room and the garage beyond, Richard spun around and sent another burst of bullets rocketing down the length of the hall. The hail of ammunition kicked up the silica dust and sent a cloud of pine paneling slivers into the air. The overhead light, nearest the reception area burst into a halo of sparks and light as several stray rounds crashed into the fixture.
Richard grinned evilly at the carnage erupting down the hall. It had been a long time since he had had the warm, vibrating thrill of a chase. The woman that Markus had given him had been enjoyable but there had been no chase, no capture. Richard wanted, needed that buzz, needed it to prove his vaunted superiority over his victims. HE had caught THEM. In Richard’s mind that was physical proof to his claims of greatness.
Slamming the metal door shut, Richard handed his Heckler & Koch machine pistol to Toller, who was sweating profusely, his eyes nearly swallowing his face as his adrenaline and fear surged through him. Grabbing a gray metal filing cabinet standing next to the door, Richard dumped the thing over with a mighty heave. The resounding, heavy, metallic thud echoed in the room and made Jacob Tollers heart rate increase another notch.
“Come,” Richard ordered, snatching his weapon back from his accomplice.
The storage room was used mostly for administrative supplies. Gray metal shelves lined two out of the four walls and were barren except for the occasional dilapidated, cardboard box and some scattered blank forms. At the opposite side of the room a heavy metal, sliding door stood half open and led to the garage beyond.
“Get the door,” Richard commanded breathlessly as he jumped behind the wheel of a silver Buick sedan. Grabbing the keys from the floor, he could hear his pursuers struggling through the door in the next room.
Jutting his left arm out the open door, he sprayed the other room with bullets before screaming for Toller to get in the car as he slid into the backseat and lowered both windows
A twist of his wrist and a stomp of his foot and Toller had the car erupting from rear of the building. Cavaliere and Vega took cover just inside the garage, their shots shattering the back window of the vehicle.
****************************************************************
Sofia and Vartaan had made it to the group of CSIs hunkered down just outside the main office when she heard Cavaliere and Vega shoot their way through the glass entry area, followed by a barrage of automatic gunfire and subsequent covering fire.
“How many are there?” She asked, her gaze shooting between Nick and Sara.
“We’ve only seen Jacob Toller,” Nick informed her, speaking more quickly than usual.
“But he definitely has someone in there with him,” Sara added.
Sofia nodded before falling into a semi-silent communication with Vartaan. With a knowing glance and a deep breath the two detectives charged into the next room, taking cover behind some abandoned furniture.
Sofia could see that Grissom and Brass had taken a position at the far side of the room, using the receptionist’s counter as cover as Cavaliere and Vega rushed the hall on the opposite side of the room. She could see that Brass was yelling something at Grissom but his words were undistinguishable in the cacophony. What caught and kept Sofia’s attention was the almost bored look on Grissom’s face as he turned back, momentarily, to face Brass.
Sofia was temporarily dumbstruck and was only knocked from her stupor by the sound of a racing engine and squealing tires. Cavaliere and Vega were screaming something she couldn’t make out but she could well make out the profanity Grissom shouted as he came to his feet, the bored look turning to rage as he turned in the direction of the shattered entryway.
Taking her cue from Brass, Sofia followed Brass and Grissom out the front door with Vartaan pulling up the rear. The sound of her blood pumping furiously within her veins muffled the noises around her. She was aware of the crushed glass under her shoes and the painful glare of the late afternoon sun shooting through her slowly adjusting eyes as she exited the building.
*****************************************************************
Catherine and Warrick had almost made it to the main parking lot in front of the building when they heard the sound of the screeching tires followed by a barrage of gunfire. At the far, west end of the building a silver sedan slid sideways as it made a high speed turn around the building. For a moment it looked like the driver as going to lose control of the turn and spin out but with a shaky whipping action the car righted itself and barreled down on Grissom and the three detectives that had run from the building.
“SHIT!” Warrick hissed seeing Grissom and Brass pull a bead on the car and begin firing, Sofia and Vartaan joining in.
Catherine and Warrick simultaneously ran towards the friends, their guns drawn, prepared to enter the fray.
At first it looked like Grissom and Brass might have to leap to safety, the hail of gunfire not altering the driver’s course one iota. But then, with only yards to spare the car shimmied and swerved of course, bucking over the curb separating the parking lot from the downward slope of ground that lead to a natural run off leading to the street fifty so yards away.
Leaving the pavement, the car lost traction. Its momentum caused the car to travel sideways, sliding sideways down into the watershed. Dirt and sand erupted into the air nearly obscuring the car and its occupants. The tires dug twin grooves into the ground before coming to a halt, the back passenger side of the car caught in the gully.
Angry voices yelled for the occupants to put their weapons down and exit the vehicle, adding to the intensity of the moment. Brass was calling for Sofia to hold back Catherine and Warrick and the other CSIs exiting the building.
Like a bird trying to take flight, Sofia flapped her arms. “DOWN! STAY DOWN!” she yelled.
“GUN!” Brass yelled seeing Bathory slide through the rear, passenger window, his machine pistol readily visible.
Disappearing momentarily behind the vehicle as he fell to ground, Richard Bathory quickly took cover behind the rear tire of his disabled get away car.
“IS THAT YOU GIL!” Bathory yelled like he had seen an old friend.
Sofia, having secured the group of CSIs farther back from the danger had had the forethought to get the car she had arrived in and backed it up towards the curb where Brass, Grissom, Vartaan, Vega and Cavaliere had knelt and covered their fugitives. They had the high ground but Bathory and Toller had had the car for cover. The battlefield was now tilted in their favor.
The three junior detectives quickly sought the pseudo-security the unmarked sedan offered, while Brass tugged Grissom back towards the bumper of the car. Grissom hadn’t fought Brass, he was just set on a high octane launch that had only one direction- forward.
Grissom sneered as Bathory called out his name. Always with the games, he thought. “YEA, IT’S ME *DICK*,” Grissom called back, his eyes scanning, repeatedly the terrain near Bathory.
Bathory laughed and edgy laugh, bordering between nervousness and psychosis.
“BATHORY,” Brass yelled over the trunk of the car “THROW THE GUN OUT AND-“
A burst of gunfire had Brass ducking lower behind the car.
“I guess that answers that,” Brass muttered sarcastically during a momentary lull in the gunfire.
“THEY’RE RUNNING FOR IT!” Cavaliere yelled from his position near the cars front bumper.
Both Grissom and Brass popped their heads up to see Toller and Richard Bathory work their way under the chain link fence where the gully was lower than the fence.
“SHIT!” Brass cursed, grabbing Grissom by the back of his vest collar. “STAY!” he ordered, eyeing Vega to let him know the CSI Supervisor was his responsibility.
A running gun battle broke out and it was by sheer dumb luck that no one was killed while traversing the gully and ducking under the fence. And luck was definitely on Brass’ side. Bathory and Toller had climbed out of the ditch on the other side of the fence and were making a run for it along the abandoned road, right into the uniforms he had assigned to the gate.
Spotting the two officers in front of him and catching a glimpse of his pursuers, Bathory opened up. The machine pistol sounded like a cross between a chain saw and a jack hammer as round after round after round exited the muzzle. The muzzle flash was a constant bright, white light that nearly consumed the end of the gun.
Spinning in a hundred and eight degree arc, Bathory shot at everything and everyone, starting with the uniformed officers at the gate. Running for cover, the taller of the two cops caught a round in his Kevlar covered chest. The brutal impact had the man spinning sideways as he left his feet, hitting the ground winded and unconscious.
The man’s partner’s screams of “officer down” mixed with cries to take cover but they were all drowned out by the deafening chaos of hundred bullets exploding into the atmosphere. The smell of burnt lead and gunpowder was thick and the moment had a forever quality about it, even though it only took seconds.
Ballistics would have to determine who shot who but Jacob Toller was the first to go down. A round smashing into his left knee had the young man crumpling to the ground like an outdated Vegas casino, screaming and clutching his leg in the process. Bathory, fueled by rage and raving lunacy and maybe just plain evil took more convincing.
Catching a number of rounds in his upper torso, the man jerked from side to side as he stumbled backwards, his weapon dropping from his fingertips to the cracked asphalt below. The man actually looked stunned as he tripped and fell to his knees, his eyes traveling to his bloody chest.
Brass and Vartaan rushed to clear Bathory as Cavaliere covered Toller. Coming across Bathory’s machine pistol, Brass kicked the weapon behind him his gun remaining trained on the kneeling Bathory.
“you fuckerssss,” Bathory hissed softly his body swaying as he tried to stay upright. “I’mmm go-ing to kill, kill you,” Bathory threatened before keeling over sideways with a gurgled sigh.
Brass heard running footsteps behind him. He knew it was Grissom as surely as he knew that the man in front of him was dead.
Grissom came to halt next to Brass and stared angrily at the dead man lying in the street. He couldn’t believe it. Richard Bathory was dead.
‘FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKK!” Grissom screamed to the heavens, his fists going to his temples, gun and all.
Brass and Vartaan stared at the man going ballistic next to them. Their faces were a mixture of surprise and wariness as they watched Grissom launch into high octane, obscenity fueled fit.
“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” he angrily shouted, pacing furiously next to Bathory’s body.
With the shooting over, Sara, Catherine, Warrick, Nick and Greg had all rushed down the hill to se if it was truly over and that their friends and colleagues were all breathing and bullet hole free. Their feet scuffed to a stuttered stop upon seeing Grissom in a full blown rage, screaming at the obviously, very dead Richard Bathory.
“Gil?” Catherine spoke, a worried frown creasing her forehead.
“YOU STUPID… PSYCHOTIC… PIECE- OF- SHIT!” Grissom screamed stabbing his gun in the air above Bathory’s body.
“Hey Gris,” this time it was Warrick trying to capture the man’s attention.
The fact that their friend and boss was raving like a mad man was highly disconcerting. The fact that he had a weapon still drawn was frightening.
“Gil! Put- the- gun- away,” Brass enunciated each word carefully.
Grissom only seemed to pay the police captain half the attention he was due. Absentmindedly he returned his gun to its holster on his hip, while continuing to stalk Bathory’s corpse.
“Where’s your brother, you miscreant,” Grissom growled loudly.
Sara stepped up to stand next to Brass, worry etched all over her face as she tried to reassure the man in front of them. “We’ll find him Gris, I promise.”
Grissom turned his angry gaze on Sara, growling. His growl morphed into a frightening howl as he turned his face to the darkening sky and screamed out all of his pain and anger. The tendons and veins of his neck stood out against the strained muscles, his arms went rigid at his sides, while his hands curled into tight fists.
“YOU ASSHOLE!” Grissom screamed kicking the dead man. “IF YOU...” another kick ‘WANTED TO BE DEAD…” another kick “I WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU…” yet another vicious kick.
“GIL!” Brass warned.
“…MYSELF!” Grissom informed the deceased man, preparing to kick him again.
Brass marched forward, shoving Grissom back away from the dead body. “It’s OVER, okay, it’s over,” Brass said forcefully, his eyes seeking out Grissom’s.
Becoming aware of Brass’ intense gaze, Grissom looked to the man before angrily yanking his arm away from his friend’s grasp.
“It’s not over,” Grissom argued circling away from Brass, his eyes darting between the police captain and the dead man. “It’s not over,” he repeated with an energetic shake of his head.
Brass put up his hand, palm out, trying to calm the man in front of him.
“Thaaaay get in,” Grissom explained angrily his right hand coming up to his head “and they- infect you, annnnnddd twist you.” Grissom made a fist and twisted as if holding a knife. “Annnnnddd twist you,” he twisted his fist again, his face a mask of agony “until you can’t even remember to breathe and…”
Grissom dropped his fist to his side, seemingly spent. He looked lost and broken staring at the dead man on the ground. “…you suffocate,” he finished in a daze.
Sara rushed forward tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. She grabbed a hold of Grissom’s arm, preparing to launch her arms around him.
“NO!” Grissom yelled, pulling his arm from her grasp and stepping away from her.
“Gil?” Sara whispered in a sad, confused voice that matched the look on her face.
“No, get away! Don’t you get it,” he ground out accusingly causing Sara to shake her head in heartrending bewilderment. “I’m not me,” Grissom explained pounding on his chest with his palms “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not the man that you fell in love with.”
Sara shook her head. He wasn’t making sense and she knew it. Grissom was imploding and exploding at the same time and the multitude of emotions that were spinning in him played unfettered across his frowning countenance.
“No,” Sara argued gently.
Grissom waved her off. “Yes, yes it’s true,” he looked directly at her “I’m a fraud, a coward, a liar.” Grissom’s voice was growing in intensity, his body becoming more animated as he rubbed his hands through his hair.
Protectively, Nick and Warrick both came to stand within arms length of Sara.
Grissom pushed the heels of both palms into his eyes, as if doing so would obliterate the nightmares he had witnessed.
“I promised her,” he continued on, throwing his hands down to his sides. “All she had to do was pull the trigger. Why didn’t she pull the trigger?” he implored Sara for the answer that haunted him.
“Gris, man…” Warrick pled, it had become all so plain to see for them all.
In the Hell that Bathory had created for Grissom, Grissom had become his own worst enemy. In his mind his free will had not been taken from him but something he had ceded. He had not been unable to save Kimmi Osborn but unwilling, stumped by fear, his promises unfulfilled by her murder became lies. The man was chewed up by guilt and haunted by nightmares that were poisoning him from the inside out.
Grissom’s head snapped angrily at Bathory, his foot lashing out again as he screamed, “BASTARDS JUST COULDN’T LEAVE HER ALONE!”
Brass came forward, placing himself between the dead man and Grissom.
“DAMN IT GIL,” Brass warded Grissom off with an outstretched “He’s dead, it’s done. Don’t make me have to cuff you.”
Grissom backed away, his eyes wary before a menacing glint claimed them. “You better make sure to put a bullet in my head first,’ Grissom warned as he glared at his old friend.
Brass was taken aback. His mouth hung open but no words came out. In his worst nightmare he could not see shooting Gil.
“No,” Sara rushed up to Grissom, afraid of what he might provoke in his current state. She grabbed both of his arms and tried to get him to look at her. But Grissom couldn’t look her in the eye as he tried to push her away.
“No,” he told her.
“Gil,” Sara implored.
“No,” he held her at arms length “we’re done,” he stated. The finality of his words matched the look in his eyes as he at last met Sara’s gaze.
Sara’s eyes grew wide as she slowly shook her head. This is insane, was the only thought she was able to muster as Grissom threw up his right hand and spun off, marching away from her. She would have gone after him if she hadn’t been so shocked. Sara had lost the command over her legs, so she simply stared at his retreating back and was only minimally aware of Catherine placing a temporary hand of solace on her shoulder.
“Nick,” Catherine said before running off to catch up to Grissom.
Nick nodded and came forward, his strong hands gripping Sara’s shaking shoulders.
Warrick decided to follow Catherine, worried for both her and Grissom.
Whatever it was that Catherine said to try and reason with Grissom, was lost on the four remaining friends. Their voices, although loud, blended together to be nothing more than noise on the horizon and before long Grissom was in the black Denali he had driven to the hideout, speeding away. Left in his self-destructive and self-loathing wake was his emotionally battered friends.