A/N: I was inspired to write this when I read Sapphire Stones' story, "Old Soul". I also wanted to take a stab at a suspense, adventure/action type of story. It isn't my area of expertise but I felt like I wanted to at least give it a try. I hope you guys like it.

Summary: 6 years ago Jazz was abducted and Huey had been looking for her ever since. When he finally gets a lead about her disappearance, as well as the possible background of it, he finds himself in one life threatening incident after another. It's as if someone wants him silenced… permanently. Is he just becoming paranoid or is the disappearance of his friend more than it appears to be?

The Lost Ones

One: His Malady

Huey

Everything that happened that day had gripped and fastened itself onto me like a malady without a cure, or without any hope of finding one for that matter. All I could do now was treat the disease, pacify it with noisy distractions and artificial obstacles but whenever I was left alone, whenever silence was my company and solitude came knocked at my bedroom door, the symptoms would come back. First, I would think of her in all of her 11 years old glory, as naive and innocent as ever. I would think of her tan skin, her odd, strawberry blonde afro that she would try to alleviate by putting into ponytails or buns, and her huge green eyes that held the gullibility of a child but the potential for something more. Then, I would remember every word that she had said to me that day, starting from our meet up spot at the top of hill, overlooking the predominately white suburbia of Woodcrest, to the last words that she had sai- well, screamed to me as I tried to reach her. Next, I would remember her face…

At this point, I would close my eyes, pushing myself not to make a face or clench my jaw while I thought about the way her usually carefree, cherubic face had shifted and contorted into a look of horrific fright. Finally, that last symptom to the list would come rushing at me, flowing without mercy or pause like flood waters that had been repressed from its full destructive capacity; I would remember everything that happened to her in the last moments of seeing her. I would remember he small little limbs, flailing wildly around her as she struggled to get free from her captors' arms. I would remember the hard beating of my heart resounding in my head as I raced towards her with as much speed as my adolescent legs could muster. I would remember the pain that racked my body as I was beat back by one of the intruders which landed me a broken arm and several cracked ribs. I would remember how she screamed my name over and over again like a mantra or a prayer, as if it would give me the edge I needed to reach her in time. I would remember her small little body as it disappeared into the eerie darkness of the getaway van, like her very existence had been disappearing right before my very own eyes.

Her names was Jazmine DuBois, she was one of my only friends and she had been taken right before my eyes. I did everything in my power to save her but even though I was a 2nd degree black belt at the time, I couldn't run down a getaway car and I couldn't… save her.

I wanted to blame myself for being to weak to save her. I wanted to blame her parents for being to involved in themselves to notice their daughter being dragged away from their home. I wanted to blame Granddad for paying more attention to his beloved unhealthy foods than the intruder that had so scrumptiously infiltrated upon a place where one should feel the most at peace. I wanted to blame Riley for not being there to help me. I wanted to blame everyone there for being so damn ignorant to everything that was going on around them… but I knew I couldn't. The captors were professionals at leaving no traces. He knew what he was looking for and he would have gotten away undetected if I hadn't spotted him as a chanced coincidence. Even so, I can't even begin to tell you how many time I went over the whole scenario in my head, wondering what would have when down if I had spotted him soon or, even better, if I had noticed him the very moment he set foot upon the DuBois' property.

I tried to forget her and move on with my life. I tried my basic schedule of reading news papers, watching CNN, getting on my soap box in the middle of a busy sidewalk, and beating my dumb ass brother, Riley, into sanity but something would always be missing. I couldn't look across the street without hoping that Jazmine would skip out of the DuBois' residence towards me, giggling annoyingly about her absence having something to do with terrorists. I couldn't even go to school without glancing at the seat next to me every now and again- be it during class or at lunch, she was always next to me- frowning at it's emptiness or how someone who came in late would sit there as if defiling it. As much as I hated to tell myself during the time, I had changed drastically since that day and I hadn't been the same since…

September 10th 2010

6 years later…

"Don't you think it's time for you to move on now Huey?" Dr. Baker, a psychotherapist that Granddad had forced me to go see, asked me in a calm, moderate voice. I was sitting across from him on a couch that was so annoyingly soft that it seemed to swallow me whole every time I sat down on the damn thing. He sat crossed legged before in a leather rolling chair equipped with nothing but a pair of squared framed glasses, a Papermate ball point pen, and a notepad as his weapons of choice. You'd think after seeing this man for the past two years that I would at least gain some sort of tolerance for his presence but, sadly, I didn't. This man didn't want to help me; he just wanted to get his money while repeating the same damn things over and over again, like they were helping: Why don't I move on? Why do I constantly torture myself with memories of her and the kidnapping? Do I blame myself for what happened to her? Did I blame anyone else for her currently missing status? Was I still hopeful in my search for her?

It was always the same. He knew it and I knew it but he just kept on dragging these bull shit sessions on like they were "healing" me.

"Hmm… let me think abo- no," I said dryly, narrowing my eyes at the man across from me like the capitalistic prick he was, "And I don't plan on moving on until I at least have some form of evidence that she's either dead or alive. Since I have neither, I ain't moving on."

"Huey," Dr. Baker said with a sigh, leaning back slightly in his chair, "You can't keep holding on to that 10% percent chance that you'll find her. People go missing everyday and their loved one have found the peace they needed to go on with their lives."

I sucked my teeth, resisting the urge to my roll my eyes, "People don't move on. They repress their grief and hold onto the burning feeling in their gut that wont go away. In reality, they're sick of not knowing if their missing loved one is dead or not and even if they are dead, they'd have some piece of mind in knowing where they're buried. Wouldn't you feel better knowing where to pay your respects rather than guessing about it."

"That is very true but why you? Why are you the one searching for her? Shouldn't the parents be the ones looking high and low for their little girl?"

'That's a very good question,' I wanted to snare out, thinking back to the DuBois and their behavior over the last couple of years. For the first two years, they had been with me, doing all they could to look for Jazmine. They'd help me in getting the word out so that people could keep a close look out for a girl with green eyes and a strawberry blonde afro puff. Then, they gave up. They stopped trying to look and they stopped believing she was even alive. They went on with their lives, thinking of Jazmine DuBois as nothing more than an unfortunate happening to their long lost daughter. They removed all her pictures from around the house and even went as far as clearing out the room that she used to live in, wiping the slate clean for a fresh start. They had a new daughter and that's what they had put all their energy into now. Jazmine was nothing but a memory to them now… and I didn't like that one bit. It was because of this that I didn't talk to the DuBois' anymore, even when they came over for Sunday dinner. When Tom tried to make a stab at a conversation with me, I would brush him off. When Sara offered me her peach cobbler (which had improved over the years) I would refuse it as politely as possible. The only DuBois that I did talk to was their 3 year old daughter, Roselyn, since there was no point in holding a grudge against someone who knew nothing of Jazmine's existence, let alone a toddler.

"Does it matter who's looking for her?" I answered him with my own question, "All I know is that if I went missing, I would want my parents to still have faith in my existence. Even if they moved on and found happiness, at least they'd still have me in mind. I wouldn't want to be forgotten."

"No one has forgotten her though, Huey," He said, shifting legs while dragging his eyes away from mine to jot something down on the vacant page of his notepad, "Don't you think it would be a bit hurtful for them to think about it day in and day out? Don't you think it would bother them to have their hope's crushed with each day they don't hear anything about the situation?"

"What, so I still somehow have hope that my friend is alive but her own parents throw their's out the window?" I all but growled, crossing my arms over my chest firmly while simultaneously leaning back, allowing the couch to pull me further in, "That's some bull shit."

"Now, now. They just want to let go of hurtful things, just like you should be doing Huey," He said, offering a small smile (which I didn't return), "You're only seventeen years old. Shouldn't you be out with your friends, worrying about school and girls rather than a six year old missing person's case?"

I looked at the man, slight offended, "What does my age and standing as a student have to do with this? There are plenty of people out there, who are far younger than me, that have done more than I have. They've made organizations and lead riots. I, myself, am a founder of twenty-three radical leftist organizations; adding this six year old missing person's case into the mix doesn't stop me from living my life though. That's hardly an excuse to stop trying."

"What about for your own peace of mind?"

I shrugged one shoulder, "Even before all of this happened, I've never had peace of mind. How could anyone have peace of mind when the world is as messed up as it is now?"

Dr. Baker stared at me for a long time before he released a sigh, removing his glasses from his face before folding one of the legs onto his sweater vest, "You are… a very controversial teen."

"… No shit," I said simply.

Dr. Baker chuckled at my dry response, choosing to ignore the rudeness in my voice, "Really, you have to be one of the most radical personalities I have ever crossed paths with. You really aren't planning on moving on from this, are you?"

"Nope, no time soon," I didn't even have to think about it, "Not until I got some sort of sign that tells me to stop doing what I'm doing. If our places were swapped, I know for a fact that she wouldn't give up on me…"

"…What?" I asked to my friend of five years, stirring a cup of straight black coffee with a spoon, "That doesn't make any kind of sense."

He frowned, sticking his lower lip out in a childish pout that caused me to promptly roll my eyes. He was a grown ass man and he was still putting childish antics to get what he wanted, "How does that not make sense? I mean, think about it. Cindy is known for playing hard to get, right?"

I gave him a dull expression in response to his rhetorical question, "I wouldn't know…"

"So it would make sense that she's testing me to see what my reactions are to her dating someone, especially if that someone isn't her type in the slightest, right?" He said, completely ignoring my two cents. I inhaled deeply, allowing the rich, bittersweet aroma of dark roasted coffee beans to fill my senses, helping to unwinding the tension in my shoulders and the business of my never ending stream of chaotic thoughts.

I exhaled in a huff, raising an eyebrow at him from across the table booth that we were currently sitting in, "I don't think she would go as far as testing you, Caesar… and even if she was participating in some elaborate scheme to make you jealous, she wouldn't choose Riley, knowing that I would start all kinds of hell if I found out she was just using my little brother to get to someone else."

Caesar blinked at me, sitting back in my set, slumping his shoulders slightly with mild defeat, "True… man, I just can't believe it. I mean, Cindy and Riley? What has this world come to?"

After I had left the Psychology Center and that ignorant, little money grabbing doctor- that was somehow or another able to get a doctorate's degree in his supposed area of study- I had met up with my best friend, Michael Caesar, at a local diner just a couple of avenues away from our homes; we went to it on a regular basis, seeing that it was pretty much one of the only place we could go that didn't either have racist assholes running it or boisterous teenagers that had nothing better to do than cause problems all the damn time. He was a strong revolutionary, much like myself, but with a far more optimistic edge for life and the human race than I did. Not only that but he like to sugar-coat things where I liked to tell things as bluntly as possible. He liked to spare the feelings of others where I could careless what my words did as long as it got across. We both had the voice of reason, just with different ways of persuasion.

I shrugged one shoulder at him, taking a quick sip of the hot, dark liquid before I set it down again and spoke, "All you did was miss your chance. If you wanted to date her so badly, you should've said something to her the moment you realized you liked her."

Caesar blew raspberries at my comment, causing a stray dark brown dreadlock that had escaped captivity from his hair tie to stir, "You make it sound so easy. What, you're a relationship guru now?"

One of my eyebrows twitched as I rose the mug to take another sip of coffee, "No, I just have common sense."

"What, so I don't have common sense?"

"No," I said without hesitation, smirking.

He sucked his teeth at me, "Shiiiit," He drew out unnecessarily, "If you're such an expert at relationships and common sense then why don't you have a girlfriend, huh?"

I stared at him; the answer was obvious, "Cause I don't like anyone."

He gave me a dull expression, as if he didn't believe me, "You're telling me that you've never liked a girl enough to actually start a relationship with her? Really Huey?"

"Nope," I said bluntly.

"… Are you gay?"

I stared at him as if he had grown another heard, my eyebrow twitch again but this time it was in annoyance, "…No."

He leaned over the table slightly, his arms crossed over the table top to look at me closely, as if the answer would be displayed on my forehead or something, "Are you sure? I mean, you might not even know if you are. You could just be that deep in the closet."

I glared at him, resisting the urge to throw my napkin encased fork at him, "Caesar, what the hell-"

He quickly uncrossed his arms, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, "I mean, if you are, it's still cool. I don't mind having a male friend that roots for the other team."

"Do you even hear yourself right now…?"

He continued as if he didn't hear me, causing a vein near my forehead to start throbbing, "And you are somewhat of a metro sexual, Huey. I mean, look at you. You're kind of pretty for a guy and you do get kinda anal about organization and cleanliness so-"

My nose wrinkled at him, pinching the bridge of my nose with one hand and using the other to gesture him to end his rant, "Stop. Just… just stop. I'm straight, damnit. I'm just picky about who I get involved with. Jesus Caesar…"

Caesar laughed, waving his hand as if to swat away my comments, "I'm just kidding man. You one of the straightest people I know, no matter how pretty you are."

"Can you stop calling me pretty?" I asked harshly, turning my eyes away from him when the waitress, a shy sista that always served us whenever we came to eat here, came up to us with my plate in her small hands- a grilled chicken salad with extra lettuce. I provided a small smile to her as she set it down before me, "Thank you Dinah."

She blushed bashfully as she moved back, "You're welcome Huey. Would you like salad dressing with this order or do you want it bare?"

"Bare is fine," I said while I unwrapped my silverware, giving a grateful look before she moved away to retrieve Caesar's dish. When I turned back to the optimistic revolutionary across from me, I saw him staring at me with an amused expression, "…What?"

" 'Hello there Dinah, how are you this fine evening'," He said, mimicking my tone, " 'Well hello to you too Huey'," He mimicked her tone too, lifting his voice up by several octaves, "Seriously man? I didn't know you two were on first name basis. I think you just lied to me when you said you didn't like anyone enough to ask them out."

"Are we still talking about this?" I gave him a dull look of my own, "Anyway, can we get off of this nonsense, please. We have more pressing issues to talk about."

"Pfft," He breathed, grumbling something about avoiding the subject before he turning in his seat, rummaging through his book bag that sat beside him. A few seconds later, he had placed a manila folder on the table just a few seconds later, sliding it across to me quietly, "Here you go."

I blinked at the folder, sliding it further towards me before I grasped it tentatively in my hands. The folder wasn't insanely thick but I could tell that there was enough reading material inside induce another all nighter, "What's this?"

"You know that new guy in our math class, Hiro," He said, grinning at Dinah when she came back with his dish- a fattening pill of American shit many know to be a hamburger. I nodded at him before he continued, "Not only is he gifted with the art of music and dropping them sick beats, he's one hell of a computer genius. Check it for yourself, man."

I blinked at him, wondering what he was getting at. I looked back at the manila folder before opening it up carefully, staring at the first page and scanning over the words quickly before I felt my eyes widen the tiniest bit. I stopped, internally shaking my head before I decided to read the words over again at a snail's speed. I couldn't be reading this right… right?

"Where did he get this?" I said, looking up at Caesar with surprise, not believing what I was reading. It was rare that I was surprised by anything these days but this… I didn't know how to react to this.

Caesar, after taking a huge bite of his purely hand held food, looking around to make sure no one was listening in on us. He leaned over the table again towards me, holding his hand up to the side of his mouth and muffling his answer so that only I could hear, "He hacked into the FBI database in Quantico a couple of nights ago."

My eyes widened further, "Are you serious? Why would he do that? We barely know him and he hacks into a highly classified system like the FBI's?"

"Shh!" He hissed, kicked my foot under the table, inducing a wince, "Not so loud, homie. And he said it was no problem. He said that hacking into the FBI's system was like breaking through a wall of tissue paper. Besides, he likes to test the limits of authority, as he put it. That dude has some serious balls, man."

'Either that or he's an idiot thrill seeker…'

I looked down at the small pile of confidential papers in my hands, reading the first page one more time before I turned to the next page, "This has… happened before?"

"…Yeah," Caesar sighed, I detected a hint of remorse or sympathy in his voice but I wasn't sure if it was directed at me or at the sadness of the information I was reading. He was getting serious now, which was odd to see even in the most serious of situations, "And it happened numerous times, as far as Hiro could see. He was only able to dig up seven missing-persons files without getting caught but he said that there was more under the same classification."

That caught my attention, causing me to look back up at him, "What classification?"

Caesar's eyebrows frowned, "You said there was a mode of operation with the kidnapper, right?"

I nodded slowly, trying really hard not to continue reading this new, unexpected information in my hands, "Yeah…?"

Caesar gestured towards the small stack of papers, "Everything you told me about that day happened to, at the very least, ten other little girls between the ages of eight and twelve in the past decade."

I continued to read but out loud this time, continuing the listed M.O.s after him, "They were taken during broad day light in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. They were children who lived a upper-middle to higher class life. They were taken during a time when there was a lot of people around, like a celebration or a party. The kidnapper appears to only have a preference for bi-racial females and…" I stopped, reading the last of the list to myself before meeting Caesar's eye with a knowing glance. We both said it this time…

"They were all abducted on their birthday…"

The FBI, just in case the string of kidnappings were noticed and exploited by the media, gave the unknown subjects the title: "The Little Lady Snatcher(s)". It was a fitting title… for a suspense novel but this wasn't the case. There were girls out there that were either alive and hidden or dead and buried under a dishonorable, unmarked grave and the FBI had the nerve to do nothing about it but give the perpetrators a possible head lining title, waiting on their asses for each case to grow cold. Hell, they didn't even think of the possibility that there were more than one suspect until I had given them my testimonial of what I had witnessed. It was like they tried with all their might to find them at first but after that 48 hour window period of possible recovery ended, they completely dropped it.

I cursed at the thought as I left the diner, the file tucked safely away into my book bag for me too read when I got home. Caesar had left me a while ago, when his mother had called him home. I had stayed behind, slowly finishing my salad while reading though each document carefully, adding my own notes between the margins and blank spaces of each page. All I needed now was my computer, then I could really start getting down into the nooks and crannies of this new find.

Just as my feet touched the gravel of the sidewalk, I heard the distant, rumbling sound of thunder. My eyes turned towards the sky, not expecting to see the deep, dark grey of stormy skies. Just a couple of hours ago, the sky had been clear.

'Better get home quick before Granddad starts complaining about me tracking water through his house,' I thought, pulling up my black hoodie to block out as much of the oncoming rain as possible.

The walk was surprisingly quiet and peaceful; my sickness didn't kick in and I was glad for it. The loss of a good night's sleep for the past six years was enough. Maybe the symptoms weren't attacking my mind yet because I finally had some kind of solid, tangible lead after who knows how long. I knew the malady would assault me again soon though, probably when I least expected it to; it never stayed quiet for long, no matter how hard I tried to drown it out with music or school work. The only cure to this disease was to find out what happened to Jazmine DuBois and locate her… dead or alive. My pessimistic mind had told me over and over, time and time again, that the possibility of finding her at all was less the 10% but for some reason, this unfortunate weight on my brain wouldn't allow me to apply my usual statistics to this situation. I mean, come on. I'm Huey Freeman, one of the bluntest people you could ever know… but here I was, almost eighteen years old, chasing down a missing person's case that everyone had lost their faith in. Ironic, right?

I was half way home when I felt it, the prickling sensation in the back of my neck that always seemed to come out of no where. It was a feeling I got when I feel someone's eyes on me or when someone is deliberately following. I stopped sharply at a street corner before swiftly looking over my shoulder, only to find that no one was there… or at least they didn't appear to be there. My eyes glared at the empty space behind me before I turned back around and kept on moving forward, my pace was slightly quicker this time as I did.

It was 6:00 in the evening when I got home, the feeling of eyes still at the back of my head as I closed the door behind me. I was lucky enough to get in at the time that I did, since the rain hadn't began to pour down until I reached my block. I slide out of my loosely tied combat boots, placing them next to the welcome mat at the front door before I lifted myself to stand. Just as I did, I looked up and out of the view window directly next to the front door to see someone standing on the sidewalk… right in front of the house. I paused, like I was the one that was caught red handed, as I looked back at the person who had, more likely then not, been following me. I couldn't tell if they were female or male, all I could see was that they were short and relatively lithe. They're rain-obscured form was wrapped in nothing but black, from head to toe, and their posture was certain and strong. I blinked at them, tempted to fling the door open and confront them but before I could, I heard Granddad call me from somewhere on the second level of the house, causing my shoulders to tense further.

"Boy! Where you at? Don't be tracking no water into my house!"- what did I tell you?

I sighed roughly, turning to look up at the top of the stairs like he was going to be there staring back, before I turned back around to glare at the indistinguishable stranger in the rain. I blink in bewilderment to find that the stranger was no long there, causing me to ponder if what I had seen was an actual person or if my imagination was beginning to play tricks on my sanity.

Question: Would you like to see a flash back of what happened to Jazmine sooner rather than later? Tell me why you choose one or the other? If you have any ideas about how we get to know about Jaz's abduction, let me know.

A/N: I don't know how to describe the windows around the doorway of the Freeman household but if you look at it in the television show, you'll see what I'm talking about.

The malady that Huey is referring to, if you haven't guessed right already, it the memory of everything that happened to Jazmine, being the only one that witnessed her kidnapping head on. He can't keep the incident out of his mind and the events have played over and over in his head every since, tormenting him. He believes that they only way to ride himself of this "sickness" is to find Jazmine, no matter what it takes.

Huey Freeman is different from his cold, purely statistical self when he was ten years old; he has a spark of optimism in his soul now that drives him to find out all he can about what happened to his best friend.

Let me know if Huey is in character, out of character or a little bit of both.