(no subject)
Nick
What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t know where to start, what had happened; all he knew was that his Greg was gone. ‘What ifs’ had been scrolling through his head for the better part of an hour and each time a new one popped up, so did his conscience. You couldn’t have done anything. You didn’t know what was going to happen.
Standing, I reached for the jacket I had haphazardly thrown across the kitchen table when I had first come home. Home. Picking up my coat I noticed a bright yellow piece of paper sticking out of the inside pocket. With shaking hands I reached for what I knew was one of Greg’s post-it note messages. ‘Have a good day, I love you.’ -g
I crumbled. For the first time tonight, I cried.
Greg
Fuck. Twisting my head around, I attempted to look over my shoulder at my bound hands. I glanced around the dimly lit room and observed my surroundings. The woman and her daughter in front of me in line were sitting in the corner, and the man behind me in line was no where to be seen.
My mind went back to what had happened, what seemed like hours ago. I struggled to remember what had happened, but all I could remember were loud noises, and a rough hand dragging me out of the store. The rest was all blurry. Moving into an upright position, a pain shot down my neck, back, to the tips of my toes before traveling back up again. Damn…I forgot about that.
Archie
Archie Johnson had seen many things as an A/V tech. Most of which was camera footage. Rewinding and fast-forwarding through tapes wasn’t Archie’s favorite part of the job, but for once it was something he wasn’t complaining about.
Earlier in the evening Brass had dropped off footage from a hostage situation at some gas ‘n go on the outskirts of town. It was his first run of the night and instead of blogging on the lab’s time, Archie decided to get a head start on his work. When Archie reached the end of the first tape a wild mop of hair caught his eye in the corner of the frame. Shaking his head Archie went back to watching what went on at the register. The mop reentered the frame and raised his head. That isn’t a mop, that’s Greg! Increasing the speed, Archie watched as a little girl attempted to light a lighter that was on display. An obviously harried mother snatched away the device and raised the girl to rest on her hip. Moving towards the camera, the mother and daughter exited the store. As Greg began to pay for what looked like a bottle of ibuprofen, a shadow fell over the bottom left corner of the screen.
Brass
Detective Jim Brass pushed his way through the ‘rubber neckers’ gathered outside the convenience store and entered the Favorite Market. This couldn’t get any worse. “Catherine, you’re with me. We’ve got another 419.”
“Oh, hell no Brass you’re not taking me away from this one,” Catherine protested.
“Don’t worry, I’m not. One of our hostages showed up on the side of I-15.”
Greg
The figure had been leaning against the wall staring at room’s occupants. He wasn’t necessarily excited about his next task, but the pay was good and his boss wasn’t too lenient on feelings. A voice came from the corner of the room, “Can I get some water?” The voice was wavering and the figure obviously had to force himself not to look at the young mother.
Choosing to ignore her request he went back to surveying the small room. I couldn’t take it any longer, “Hey! She asked for some water, are you really that heartless to deny a person of a natural need? Or are you just fulfilling the title of paid goon to do nothing, but follow orders given?” As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I was screwed. Greg’s last conscious thought was, “Well, shit.”
In one fluid motion his arms swept across the counter making room for the masked figure to jump over the counter. Postcards went flying and somewhere along the way he knocked a person down. Ignoring the thud as the man’s head hit the floor, he continued over the counter, and without hesitating put the gun to the clerk’s head. Another thud as her body crumpled to the floor. Hurrying, the man frantically opened the cash drawer only to slam it again in frustration. Turning away from the register his arm stayed behind. The sleeve of his coat was caught in the drawer.
Sara used tweezers to pry the black material from the metal edge of the cash drawer. Bagging and labeling she moved on.
Freeing his arm, the figure headed to the back of the store where he assumed the manager’s office was. He stopped in his tracks as a gun went off. The criminal turned around to see just in time one of his cohorts fall to the ground. In fury the man raised his gun and fired a second shot. ‘Another one bites the dust’, the man thought as he headed once again to the back.
Grissom studied the customer sprawled out next to the masked man. Jonathan Herrod, 25. Much too young. The products in the surrounding aisle had been knocked from their shelves. Signs of struggle. Bruises were visible on the masked gunman’s wrist.
The customer struggled with the masked man, but his strength didn’t level up. Flying into the shelves, Jonathan retaliated with a swift kick. The gun skidded down the aisle a ways down stopping barely out of his reach. Grabbing the gun, Jonathan fired a shot at the oncoming figure. Before he could even turn around another gun shot was heard. His last thought was, ‘I finally got a chance to get the bad guys.’
Slowly rising up, Gil Grissom walked the few short feet down the aisle to wear the gunman lay. One gun shot wound to the chest. Following the directionality of the smeared blood on the floor, Grissom found himself in the manager’s office along with Sara. “They wanted something. And I’m guessing they didn’t have time to finish looking.”
Bursting through the door the man rifled through drawer after drawer only to reveal a fruitless search. Pulling the photographs and work related posters from the walls; the criminal finally found what he was looking for. He began to unpack his tools when another man in black raced into the room. “I thought I told you to stay in the van with Jerry,” he hissed.
The man in doorway replied in an equally nasty tone, “Well, Jack, the cops are on the way and we gotta scram. Jerry’s bring the van ‘round back.”
“Damn it! We were supposed to be out of here by now! Get Taylor to help you get everyone left in here out to the van, they’re coming with us.”
“Wait, what you mean they’re…”
“Fuck, just do what I tell you! I’m coming!” The man in the doorway disappeared. Gathering his things together, Jack fled the room and headed out back through the supply room. Climbing into the front seat of the van, Jack motioned for Jerry to go. The white van disappeared around the street corner just as the first uniform walked through the front doors of the store.
“Look, he left something,” Sara pointed to the tool sitting on the maroon carpet. “I’ll print it and get the serial number back to the lab.”
“Alright, I’m heading out back to the delivery ramp.” Grissom exited the room and entered the now bright room. The sun was up and they were no closer to finding the guys who did this. Removing his glasses, Grissom rubbed the bridge of his nose and pushed the door open to the loading dock.
What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t know where to start, what had happened; all he knew was that his Greg was gone. ‘What ifs’ had been scrolling through his head for the better part of an hour and each time a new one popped up, so did his conscience. You couldn’t have done anything. You didn’t know what was going to happen.
Standing, I reached for the jacket I had haphazardly thrown across the kitchen table when I had first come home. Home. Picking up my coat I noticed a bright yellow piece of paper sticking out of the inside pocket. With shaking hands I reached for what I knew was one of Greg’s post-it note messages. ‘Have a good day, I love you.’ -g
I crumbled. For the first time tonight, I cried.
Greg
Fuck. Twisting my head around, I attempted to look over my shoulder at my bound hands. I glanced around the dimly lit room and observed my surroundings. The woman and her daughter in front of me in line were sitting in the corner, and the man behind me in line was no where to be seen.
My mind went back to what had happened, what seemed like hours ago. I struggled to remember what had happened, but all I could remember were loud noises, and a rough hand dragging me out of the store. The rest was all blurry. Moving into an upright position, a pain shot down my neck, back, to the tips of my toes before traveling back up again. Damn…I forgot about that.
Archie
Archie Johnson had seen many things as an A/V tech. Most of which was camera footage. Rewinding and fast-forwarding through tapes wasn’t Archie’s favorite part of the job, but for once it was something he wasn’t complaining about.
Earlier in the evening Brass had dropped off footage from a hostage situation at some gas ‘n go on the outskirts of town. It was his first run of the night and instead of blogging on the lab’s time, Archie decided to get a head start on his work. When Archie reached the end of the first tape a wild mop of hair caught his eye in the corner of the frame. Shaking his head Archie went back to watching what went on at the register. The mop reentered the frame and raised his head. That isn’t a mop, that’s Greg! Increasing the speed, Archie watched as a little girl attempted to light a lighter that was on display. An obviously harried mother snatched away the device and raised the girl to rest on her hip. Moving towards the camera, the mother and daughter exited the store. As Greg began to pay for what looked like a bottle of ibuprofen, a shadow fell over the bottom left corner of the screen.
Brass
Detective Jim Brass pushed his way through the ‘rubber neckers’ gathered outside the convenience store and entered the Favorite Market. This couldn’t get any worse. “Catherine, you’re with me. We’ve got another 419.”
“Oh, hell no Brass you’re not taking me away from this one,” Catherine protested.
“Don’t worry, I’m not. One of our hostages showed up on the side of I-15.”
Greg
The figure had been leaning against the wall staring at room’s occupants. He wasn’t necessarily excited about his next task, but the pay was good and his boss wasn’t too lenient on feelings. A voice came from the corner of the room, “Can I get some water?” The voice was wavering and the figure obviously had to force himself not to look at the young mother.
Choosing to ignore her request he went back to surveying the small room. I couldn’t take it any longer, “Hey! She asked for some water, are you really that heartless to deny a person of a natural need? Or are you just fulfilling the title of paid goon to do nothing, but follow orders given?” As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I was screwed. Greg’s last conscious thought was, “Well, shit.”
In one fluid motion his arms swept across the counter making room for the masked figure to jump over the counter. Postcards went flying and somewhere along the way he knocked a person down. Ignoring the thud as the man’s head hit the floor, he continued over the counter, and without hesitating put the gun to the clerk’s head. Another thud as her body crumpled to the floor. Hurrying, the man frantically opened the cash drawer only to slam it again in frustration. Turning away from the register his arm stayed behind. The sleeve of his coat was caught in the drawer.
Sara used tweezers to pry the black material from the metal edge of the cash drawer. Bagging and labeling she moved on.
Freeing his arm, the figure headed to the back of the store where he assumed the manager’s office was. He stopped in his tracks as a gun went off. The criminal turned around to see just in time one of his cohorts fall to the ground. In fury the man raised his gun and fired a second shot. ‘Another one bites the dust’, the man thought as he headed once again to the back.
Grissom studied the customer sprawled out next to the masked man. Jonathan Herrod, 25. Much too young. The products in the surrounding aisle had been knocked from their shelves. Signs of struggle. Bruises were visible on the masked gunman’s wrist.
The customer struggled with the masked man, but his strength didn’t level up. Flying into the shelves, Jonathan retaliated with a swift kick. The gun skidded down the aisle a ways down stopping barely out of his reach. Grabbing the gun, Jonathan fired a shot at the oncoming figure. Before he could even turn around another gun shot was heard. His last thought was, ‘I finally got a chance to get the bad guys.’
Slowly rising up, Gil Grissom walked the few short feet down the aisle to wear the gunman lay. One gun shot wound to the chest. Following the directionality of the smeared blood on the floor, Grissom found himself in the manager’s office along with Sara. “They wanted something. And I’m guessing they didn’t have time to finish looking.”
Bursting through the door the man rifled through drawer after drawer only to reveal a fruitless search. Pulling the photographs and work related posters from the walls; the criminal finally found what he was looking for. He began to unpack his tools when another man in black raced into the room. “I thought I told you to stay in the van with Jerry,” he hissed.
The man in doorway replied in an equally nasty tone, “Well, Jack, the cops are on the way and we gotta scram. Jerry’s bring the van ‘round back.”
“Damn it! We were supposed to be out of here by now! Get Taylor to help you get everyone left in here out to the van, they’re coming with us.”
“Wait, what you mean they’re…”
“Fuck, just do what I tell you! I’m coming!” The man in the doorway disappeared. Gathering his things together, Jack fled the room and headed out back through the supply room. Climbing into the front seat of the van, Jack motioned for Jerry to go. The white van disappeared around the street corner just as the first uniform walked through the front doors of the store.
“Look, he left something,” Sara pointed to the tool sitting on the maroon carpet. “I’ll print it and get the serial number back to the lab.”
“Alright, I’m heading out back to the delivery ramp.” Grissom exited the room and entered the now bright room. The sun was up and they were no closer to finding the guys who did this. Removing his glasses, Grissom rubbed the bridge of his nose and pushed the door open to the loading dock.