(no subject)
Jun. 7th, 2005 07:07 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
just1tearforme.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
nickngregNerd Gone Wild
Chapter 2: The Hurt You Sold
R, 1722 words
Chapter 2: The Hurt You Sold
Staring up at the warehouse he set his jaw, he had only been cleared to return to work a little over a week ago but Nick wasn’t sure he was ready for this. Grissom hadn’t been certain either but everyone had been called in, so reality dictated there was no other option. People milled about, some huddled in groups bathed in flashing red and blue. The sound of sobbing was audible over the chatter of police, paramedics, and sirens; every so often someone would begin screaming, the terrified sound unceasing till a paramedic administered a sedative and loaded the victim into a waiting ambulance to be taken away. Nick felt like he was watching some surreal movie as the groups drifted past him, occasionally one would look at him, eyes wide and blank as though they hadn’t become fully aware of events. They tracked his movements until he was beyond their contingent and slowly turned away. As he passed a few huddled on the ground one grabbed his hand, she stared at him with pleading eyes and inhaled, her breath catching like she was about to cry. One of the others wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to them, his hand slipped from her grasp as she crumpled into the accepting arms to cry.
Still watching her, he started to walk away. He collided with somebody. “Nick?” It was Catherine. “You okay?” He nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the girl who was silently crying, her head bent to the dirt. “Listen, it’s not pretty in there. If you need to step out just let one of us know okay?” He nodded, setting his jaw. She patted his shoulder and turned to head back inside. He looked back once more at the girl but couldn’t see her through the paramedics that were circulating checking over everyone. Gripping his kit tighter he set foot inside the warehouse.
The space was massive, lights shown everywhere, sparkling through the haze of settling dust, glitter, and other things. Ethereal instrumental music floated over the scene, adding to the surrealism of the whole thing. The area where the DJ had been was smashed to hell, littered with broken furniture and broken people, yet the music played on, the same ten bars over and over. He took in the scene, stairs wound up the side wall of the building, they stopped on a second level platform that spanned a quarter of the warehouse and then broke off into a series of catwalks. The stairs also continued on up to where a three level had obviously been, but now they lead off to nothingness. All that was left were some broken I-beams and dangling steel cables, swaying slightly as if in time with the music. The second level was bent much like a diving board with a heavy person standing at the end. Bits of metal, and concrete littered it along with bodies and blood. People must have been standing on that section when the third level came down. He shuddered; they never even had a chance. His gaze scanned lower following the destruction to the ground. Furniture, people, pillows, bottles, everything; it all littered the floor, swimming in a pond of blood.
Medics, police hurried past him in an endless relay of ferrying broken and battered people and bodies. Nick took a deep breath and made his way to the pile of people and things were the worst damage was. It was a challenge stepping over smashed bits of glass and objects, and trying not to step in the blood. He set his kit down in a clear spot, next to a girl with pink hair in pigtails. Her eyes were closed like she was sleeping; he thought she looked kind of pretty until he saw part of her head was smashed in. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, fighting back a bit of nausea. Little bits of feathers graced her body, pure white like new fallen snow. There was others like her, dead; some beautiful, peaceful, and some not. He didn’t have to wonder how they died, he knew and it saddened him.
Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, he started checking for pulses to help the paramedics out. Every body he touched made his gloves redder than the last. He grasped a wrist that was sticking out from underneath the mass of wreckage; he felt a little movement beneath his fingers. He pressed his fingers a little more, feeling a pulse and then nothing. Gently he set the wrist back down, they were dead. Even if he could get everything off of them, time would not be on their side. He brushed his hand across their fingers softly and sighed. He made his way through the next few people, they were gone without a doubt. Some of them he didn’t have to take their pulse to see that. He took out his camera to photograph some bits of furniture before he moved it off the pile, letting the medics get to the body. Circling around he photographed everything before moving it. Looking through the viewfinder he saw fingers move. Quickly he took the photo, and shoved the camera into his vest pocket. Carefully he began to move the tabletop that covered part of the torso. Nick pressed two fingers to the blood covered wrist feeling a pulse, and blood ooze from some unseen cut. A body lay across the person, splayed out like some fallen angel. Cautiously he wrapped his arms around the torso and maneuvered the body to the floor. Looking up his breath caught in throat, the face was locked in an expression of total panic, mouth open in silent scream, not a sound emerging though. He stood up, “I need a medic over here!” he shouted.
Crouching Nick tentatively touched his shoulder, “Greg? Can you hear me?” His brown eyes were wide staring at some unseen terror, his breath coming shallow gasps. He skin felt clammy and he was starting to shake. “Greg? Greg, it’s okay. We’ll get you out of here in just a minute.” He rubbed his thumb in little circles on his shoulder, trying to ground the spiky haired man to reality. It was obvious that he was lost in his own reality, every few moments or so a rasp would tumble from his lips, like he was trying to scream but lacked the voice. Nick checked his pulse again, it was fast and thready, and he seemed to be having difficulty breathing. “Greg, I need you to pay attention to me. You have to calm down a bit or you’re going to pass out. I need you to take slow deep breaths alright?” He had no idea if his words even registered with him, but it didn’t matter as the paramedics were at his side, backboard in tow and stretcher waiting just beyond the debris. He stepped back and let them work, carefully manipulating his body so that if he had any spinal injuries they didn’t aggravate them.
As Nick watched them administer to his friend he wondered where he had been when the platform had fallen. Was he on the ground? The third floor? What was he even doing here? He knew he loved all kinds of crazy music, and was a social butterfly, but to see him under the wreckage was disturbing. He didn’t seem like Greg at all, he felt like he was looking at a horrible parody of him. He felt a little sick, and pulled a peppermint out of his vest to help him combat the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He grabbed his kit and made his way over to where Catherine and Warrick were working. “Catherine?” he said. He shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot. “I’ve got to step out.”
She looked up from her work, concern etching her face. “Alright. Are you going to be okay?” Warrick turned to look at him as well.
“I… I don’t know. But Greg,” he stammered a bit. “Greg was here.”
“Where is he now?” she replied looking around for him.
Nick shook his head, “No I mean, here as in being carried out on a stretcher here.” Shock washed over their features. “I… I found him back there.” He said pointing towards the mass of wreckage.
“Oh God.” Catherine replied, he face turning slightly pale. “Is he alright?” She let the question hang, its unspoken meaning hanging before them.
“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking.” Nick replied.
Catherine sighed heavily. “Get out of here and go with him. I’ll let Grissom know. And call us when you hear anything.” She pushed him towards the door, “Go.”
The scene outside had settled down quite a bit, had become more organized. But still some of the witnesses drifted about aimlessly like ghosts unsure of what had happened and if it was real of not. He didn’t see the medics that had brought Greg out, and wondered if they had left already. He caught another paramedic heading back into the scene, “Hey, two of your guys brought out a vic within the last few minutes. Where did they go?” He felt a shiver creep up his spine when they asked alive or dead. Alive he affirmed, and jogged in the direction the medic had pointed where a waiting rig was getting ready to leave. Quickly he climbed in the back, staring at Greg as they pulled away. He took Greg’s hand in his, just a simple measure of comfort to let him know that someone was there for him. He remembered Grissom doing the same for him not so long ago. He wondered if this was how he felt while sitting in the back of an ambulance, looking at the still form of one of his friends and colleagues and wondering if, wishing that they would be okay. Did he feel like he was in a nightmare while looking at shell of the person he knew? Was it hard to reconcile the person lying on the stretcher with who your friend was? Was this how everyone else felt that night? Or was he alone in the feelings of helplessness, confusion that knotted his stomach and sent cold shivers up his back?
Chapter 2: The Hurt You Sold
R, 1722 words
Chapter 2: The Hurt You Sold
Staring up at the warehouse he set his jaw, he had only been cleared to return to work a little over a week ago but Nick wasn’t sure he was ready for this. Grissom hadn’t been certain either but everyone had been called in, so reality dictated there was no other option. People milled about, some huddled in groups bathed in flashing red and blue. The sound of sobbing was audible over the chatter of police, paramedics, and sirens; every so often someone would begin screaming, the terrified sound unceasing till a paramedic administered a sedative and loaded the victim into a waiting ambulance to be taken away. Nick felt like he was watching some surreal movie as the groups drifted past him, occasionally one would look at him, eyes wide and blank as though they hadn’t become fully aware of events. They tracked his movements until he was beyond their contingent and slowly turned away. As he passed a few huddled on the ground one grabbed his hand, she stared at him with pleading eyes and inhaled, her breath catching like she was about to cry. One of the others wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to them, his hand slipped from her grasp as she crumpled into the accepting arms to cry.
Still watching her, he started to walk away. He collided with somebody. “Nick?” It was Catherine. “You okay?” He nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the girl who was silently crying, her head bent to the dirt. “Listen, it’s not pretty in there. If you need to step out just let one of us know okay?” He nodded, setting his jaw. She patted his shoulder and turned to head back inside. He looked back once more at the girl but couldn’t see her through the paramedics that were circulating checking over everyone. Gripping his kit tighter he set foot inside the warehouse.
The space was massive, lights shown everywhere, sparkling through the haze of settling dust, glitter, and other things. Ethereal instrumental music floated over the scene, adding to the surrealism of the whole thing. The area where the DJ had been was smashed to hell, littered with broken furniture and broken people, yet the music played on, the same ten bars over and over. He took in the scene, stairs wound up the side wall of the building, they stopped on a second level platform that spanned a quarter of the warehouse and then broke off into a series of catwalks. The stairs also continued on up to where a three level had obviously been, but now they lead off to nothingness. All that was left were some broken I-beams and dangling steel cables, swaying slightly as if in time with the music. The second level was bent much like a diving board with a heavy person standing at the end. Bits of metal, and concrete littered it along with bodies and blood. People must have been standing on that section when the third level came down. He shuddered; they never even had a chance. His gaze scanned lower following the destruction to the ground. Furniture, people, pillows, bottles, everything; it all littered the floor, swimming in a pond of blood.
Medics, police hurried past him in an endless relay of ferrying broken and battered people and bodies. Nick took a deep breath and made his way to the pile of people and things were the worst damage was. It was a challenge stepping over smashed bits of glass and objects, and trying not to step in the blood. He set his kit down in a clear spot, next to a girl with pink hair in pigtails. Her eyes were closed like she was sleeping; he thought she looked kind of pretty until he saw part of her head was smashed in. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, fighting back a bit of nausea. Little bits of feathers graced her body, pure white like new fallen snow. There was others like her, dead; some beautiful, peaceful, and some not. He didn’t have to wonder how they died, he knew and it saddened him.
Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, he started checking for pulses to help the paramedics out. Every body he touched made his gloves redder than the last. He grasped a wrist that was sticking out from underneath the mass of wreckage; he felt a little movement beneath his fingers. He pressed his fingers a little more, feeling a pulse and then nothing. Gently he set the wrist back down, they were dead. Even if he could get everything off of them, time would not be on their side. He brushed his hand across their fingers softly and sighed. He made his way through the next few people, they were gone without a doubt. Some of them he didn’t have to take their pulse to see that. He took out his camera to photograph some bits of furniture before he moved it off the pile, letting the medics get to the body. Circling around he photographed everything before moving it. Looking through the viewfinder he saw fingers move. Quickly he took the photo, and shoved the camera into his vest pocket. Carefully he began to move the tabletop that covered part of the torso. Nick pressed two fingers to the blood covered wrist feeling a pulse, and blood ooze from some unseen cut. A body lay across the person, splayed out like some fallen angel. Cautiously he wrapped his arms around the torso and maneuvered the body to the floor. Looking up his breath caught in throat, the face was locked in an expression of total panic, mouth open in silent scream, not a sound emerging though. He stood up, “I need a medic over here!” he shouted.
Crouching Nick tentatively touched his shoulder, “Greg? Can you hear me?” His brown eyes were wide staring at some unseen terror, his breath coming shallow gasps. He skin felt clammy and he was starting to shake. “Greg? Greg, it’s okay. We’ll get you out of here in just a minute.” He rubbed his thumb in little circles on his shoulder, trying to ground the spiky haired man to reality. It was obvious that he was lost in his own reality, every few moments or so a rasp would tumble from his lips, like he was trying to scream but lacked the voice. Nick checked his pulse again, it was fast and thready, and he seemed to be having difficulty breathing. “Greg, I need you to pay attention to me. You have to calm down a bit or you’re going to pass out. I need you to take slow deep breaths alright?” He had no idea if his words even registered with him, but it didn’t matter as the paramedics were at his side, backboard in tow and stretcher waiting just beyond the debris. He stepped back and let them work, carefully manipulating his body so that if he had any spinal injuries they didn’t aggravate them.
As Nick watched them administer to his friend he wondered where he had been when the platform had fallen. Was he on the ground? The third floor? What was he even doing here? He knew he loved all kinds of crazy music, and was a social butterfly, but to see him under the wreckage was disturbing. He didn’t seem like Greg at all, he felt like he was looking at a horrible parody of him. He felt a little sick, and pulled a peppermint out of his vest to help him combat the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He grabbed his kit and made his way over to where Catherine and Warrick were working. “Catherine?” he said. He shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot. “I’ve got to step out.”
She looked up from her work, concern etching her face. “Alright. Are you going to be okay?” Warrick turned to look at him as well.
“I… I don’t know. But Greg,” he stammered a bit. “Greg was here.”
“Where is he now?” she replied looking around for him.
Nick shook his head, “No I mean, here as in being carried out on a stretcher here.” Shock washed over their features. “I… I found him back there.” He said pointing towards the mass of wreckage.
“Oh God.” Catherine replied, he face turning slightly pale. “Is he alright?” She let the question hang, its unspoken meaning hanging before them.
“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking.” Nick replied.
Catherine sighed heavily. “Get out of here and go with him. I’ll let Grissom know. And call us when you hear anything.” She pushed him towards the door, “Go.”
The scene outside had settled down quite a bit, had become more organized. But still some of the witnesses drifted about aimlessly like ghosts unsure of what had happened and if it was real of not. He didn’t see the medics that had brought Greg out, and wondered if they had left already. He caught another paramedic heading back into the scene, “Hey, two of your guys brought out a vic within the last few minutes. Where did they go?” He felt a shiver creep up his spine when they asked alive or dead. Alive he affirmed, and jogged in the direction the medic had pointed where a waiting rig was getting ready to leave. Quickly he climbed in the back, staring at Greg as they pulled away. He took Greg’s hand in his, just a simple measure of comfort to let him know that someone was there for him. He remembered Grissom doing the same for him not so long ago. He wondered if this was how he felt while sitting in the back of an ambulance, looking at the still form of one of his friends and colleagues and wondering if, wishing that they would be okay. Did he feel like he was in a nightmare while looking at shell of the person he knew? Was it hard to reconcile the person lying on the stretcher with who your friend was? Was this how everyone else felt that night? Or was he alone in the feelings of helplessness, confusion that knotted his stomach and sent cold shivers up his back?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 01:21 am (UTC)I was wondering, in the first chapter, how you were going to get Nick and Greg together after Greg'd taken a fall off such a high platform.
::sniffle::
I like though. It's dark, but in a good way. Edgy.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 02:21 am (UTC)WOW
Date: 2005-06-08 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 05:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-09 03:35 am (UTC)