Disclaimers: Numb3rs belongs to Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci…I think. (NOT me! NEVER me!)
Summary: If Bonnie Parks' kidnappers had wanted her dead, they would have killed her. But if they just wanted her out of the way for a while, wouldn't they just want to do the same thing for Dr. Eppes? Grab him and get him out of the way so that the reporter would not be found before they were ready to release her?

Warnings: Spoilers for Season 4, Episode 11: "Breaking Point", and possibly other episodes that relate ... I can't think of any warnings other than that. If you think of any that I should mention, please let me know!

AN: Here's Chapter 1. It's a bit rough right now, and I probably should get a beta-reader for this. Any volunteers? I'll say more at the end, but for now: Enjoy! ^_^

Revised: 3/12/09.


Abduction

By Jess S

Chapter 1: Missing

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

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Don frowned, glancing towards the elevator doors for the third time since Charlie's phone call. He'd said fifteen minutes, and so far an hour had passed. Big brother couldn't help but worry. There shouldn't be much traffic now, but accidents could happen, especially with how the absent-minded genius drove.

"Any word from Charlie?"

Don glanced over towards Colby and shook his head in response. "He's on his way in."

"From where?"

"Home, I think."

"Maybe he stopped to grab something to eat," David suggested, his eyes fixed on his computer screen as he scrolled through pertinent files.

Don glanced towards the clock on the bottom of his monitor again, then nodded, "Maybe." Though a part of him didn't think Charlie would even notice that it was dinner time without someone suggesting it to him.

Brilliant as Charlie was, normal, day-to-day tasks like eating three real meals a day at reasonable times frequently gave him problems. Though he'd definitely improved a bit under Amita's influence, undoubtedly finding it easier to remember lunch—most of the time—when he had a hot date waiting for him. But sometimes he still forgot, especially if he was caught up in math.

Don started as the ring of a cell phone broke the air and glanced over at Colby as the younger agent answered.

"Granger." Colby frowned after the first few seconds, shaking his head. "All right, we'll check it out." He hung up and turned to his two waiting colleagues. "That was LA General. One of the Jane Does in their morgue matches Bonnie's description."

Don winced, shaking his head as the gloomy prospect. "Right," he glanced at David, nodding towards the computer. "You almost done with those?"

"More than half, yeah," David shrugged. "You two go check it out, I'll have 'em finished by the time you get back."

"Alright," Don nodded, rising and grabbing his coat, checking to make sure his badge and gun were still on his belt before grabbing his own cell phone off his desk and slipping it into his pocket. "Give me a call when Charlie gets here, OK?"

"Will do."

Don nodded and made his way towards the elevator, where Colby was waiting for him. He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling that he was missing something really important. As the elevator doors slid shut he hoped that whatever it was wouldn't come back to bite him. And that the dead Jane Doe they were going to check-out wasn't Bonnie Parks.

An Unknown Location

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Charlie woke up suddenly. And was immediately aware of why: he couldn't breathe! Water was flooding his mouth and nose and eyes.

It took only a second of panic for him to also realize that strong hands were holding him facedown in the water, but that the rest of his body was dry. He tried to jerk backwards, desperately kicking out, attempting to strike his assailants. But he hit open air and another set of hands grabbed his legs, pinning them to the floor. He continued struggling as his lungs screamed for oxygen, growing more and more desperate with each passing second.

Then the arms that were holding him under suddenly pulled back, dragging his head into the open air.

His eyes watered as he started coughing up the water he'd swallowed even as he took in desperate gasps of air, his body shaking and his stomach rolling from the scare.

"There, his face is clean, ya happy?" he heard an unfamiliar man's voice ask gruffly as he was pulled to his feet.

"The boss said he didn't want any permanent damage done to 'em," another unfamiliar man replied as another set of hands grabbed him on the opposite side of his body from the first, and he was easily picked up by the two men as they continued to talk, all but ignoring his feeble efforts to escape their grasps. "And chlor'form can burn ya skin. We had ta wash his face, it was already red. If you hadn' put so much on the rag, it wouldn't 'ave gotten on his skin, now would it?"

Charlie heard the first man snort just before he was dumped on cold cement ground. One of his arms was snatched and pulled toward something, only to be released after a cold band of metal had closed around it. His vision still a bit blurry, he struggled to look up at the two men.

Both were large, tall and muscular, dressed in all black and wearing black ski masks.

"Ha," the second voice came from the slightly smaller man, who was glaring down through the holes of his mask, his hands on his hips. "Looks like the prof's joined us."

Charlie stared at him, swallowing slightly as his stomach continued to roll uncomfortably, his mouth feeling oddly numb and his hands still shaking. "Wh-Who are you?"

Both men laughed, shaking their heads.

The larger one shook his head. "The boss saw ya on the news the other night, and he's no' ready to see Bonnie off jus' yet, so 'e wants you to keep 'er company."

Charlie glanced over to the side of the dark room the man had nodded at and his eyes widened as they met a pair of shadowed blue eyes that he'd been seeing on the news and all around his brother's office for several days now.

"Think ya can do that, prof'?" the smaller man asked, forcing Charlie's attention back to him by kicking out at him, a booted foot hitting none-too-softly in Charlie's gut.

Charlie grunted in pain and immediately started coughing again as he bent over himself, hugging his middle while his stomach woefully rolled over again.

"Come on you two," the voice of a third man called, a distinct echo—like from a staircase—trailing his call. "He's breathing and conscious, like the boss ordered. We don't leave now, we'll miss the end of the game. And I ain't watchin' it here."

"Yeah," one agreed as both turned, the other one echoing him.

A moment after both had passed through the entrance to the room, which strangely didn't seem to have a door, the smaller man came back in, walking over to him and dropping a small bag at his feet. "Here ya go. Make it last, cause we won't be back for awhile... See ya, Bonnie." Then he walked out, and a few seconds later he heard several grunts as something heavy was moved into the opening, completely blocking the passage.

Charlie stared at the blocked exit, his still fuzzy and panicked brain struggling to comprehend what had happened to him.

"D-Dr. Eppes?"

Charlie jerked towards the hesitant voice, meeting Bonnie Parks' eyes with a frown. "Y-You know me?"

"I'm a reporter. And your book was a bestseller." The woman shrugged, a small smile making her pale face pretty. "A good reporters got to keep track of the news."

"You read my book?" The mathematician murmured, always surprised when someone brought it up with him outside of book signings or academia. Even in academia, among his peers, he was frequently surprised by mentions of it.

"Y-Yeah. My editor gave it to me." The reporter shrugged. "I'm not very good at making friends."

Charlie stared at her for a moment before sighing and shaking his head, as his weary, frightened mind slowly accepted where he was. "Good friends are hard to find."

Bonnie gave a short laugh, "Yeah, but I'd probably have some if I tried any of the things you suggested. My editor's always telling me I should at least play nice with my co-workers, but I..." she shrugged again and shook her head. "I get caught up in my work."

"I can understand that." Charlie chuckled, shaking his head and immediately wincing as his brain protested painfully. "I can work on math for days without really noticing them pass by if someone doesn't stop me. I think the only difference is that I work at a university with many people who are interested in that work. And I liv—well, my Dad lives with me. So I can't ignore the world for too long."

"Must be nice," Bonnie sighed. "My Mom and Dad both died years ago. Dad had lung cancer and a few months after he died Mom was hit by a drunk driver. And my brother, Clay, was in the military. H-He was killed in Iraq."

"I'm sorry." Charlie murmured, and winced again as he received a shrug in reply. "My Mom died a few years ago, too. From breast cancer."

"Hm, what are the odds?" Bonnie joked, then shook her head. "No, wait. You're a math-genius, right? You can probably tell me."

The mathematician shrugged. "I'd need to do some research first, gather data." He winced again, a hand going to his forehead, where he found a slightly bloody bump seemed to be the source of his pain. "Owe."

"You should drink some water," Bonnie told him, and when he looked at her she pointed to the bag their captors had left with him. "If they used chloroform on you, too, you're probably dehydrated."

Charlie obediently reached for the bag: a plain brown-paper shopping bag, rolled closed, and unrolled it. Inside he saw three bottles of water, a few packets of peanut-butter crackers and three sandwiches in plastic-wrap. He reached for a bottle and opened it, quickly taking a gulp and rinsing his mouth out with it before swallowing it and several more gulps.

"Careful, you don't want to make yourself sick," Bonnie cautioned.

Charlie winced as his stomach rolled again, almost like it was agreeing, making him dutifully slow down and take smaller sips. A few moments later he sighed as he closed the half-empty bottle down and set it on the ground beside him. "D-Do you know where we are?"

"One of Taylor's properties, I think." Bonnie replied, sighing again as she leaned back against the wall. "Has to be somewhere out of the city though. I yelled myself hoarse the first few days, and no one heard me."

Charlie frowned, struggling to think as his headache grew more and more painful. "...Who?"

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

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Don frowned as he made his way across the bullpen again, Colby a few steps behind him. He glanced at David. "Charlie's not in yet?"

The younger agent shook his head. "Not yet."

"Weird," Colby commented, also shaking his head as he sat down as his desk. He raised an eyebrow at the other two agents. "You think he's having car troubles or, I don't know, something?"

"I'd think he'd call if that happened," Don shook his head, taking his cell phone off his belt, quickly dialing his brother's phone number from memory. His frown deepened as the phone went to voicemail, his brother hardly ever went anywhere without his phone and he'd had it with him when he'd supposedly been on his way in. Maybe the battery had died? "Hey, Charlie, where are you? You were supposed to come into the office, remember? Give me a call."

The FBI agent struggled to dismiss the irritation his brother's forgetfulness inspired. All of them knew better than to get caught up in a case like this, but they were probably Bonnie Parks last hope. The LAPD had all but dismissed her as dead. And all of the dead-ends they kept hitting were not helping the team's morale. So having Charlie say he'd come in to check out a new lead–since it was numbers–and then just not show up really ticked him off.

It hadn't really helped that the dead Jane Doe in LA General's morgue wasn't Bonnie Parks. They didn't have next of kin to check with, but he and Colby had spent more then enough time staring at pictures and recordings of the reporter to be able to tell that, even under the heavy bruising on the poor woman's face, she definitely wasn't Parks. Though that meant Bonnie might still be alive somewhere, the act of going to the morgue to see if it was her was trying and tiring after too many too long days.

As his phone's familiar ring made itself know, Don snatched it off his belt, glancing at the ID on the view screen before answering it with a small frown. Amita didn't usually call him unless she was helping them on a case, and Charlie hadn't asked to bring her onto this one. "Eppes," he answered, hoping to keep it brief, especially if Amita was calling on her boyfriend's behalf. Don liked his brother's girlfriend and didn't want to snap at her if that was the case. She was just the messenger.

"H-Hi, Don," Amita's voice came through, "Is Charlie there?"

Don shook his head, frowning. "No, he's not."

"Oh. Did he head home—already?"

"No. He hasn't made it in yet."

"What? But he—hours ago!"

"Are you sure he was coming straight here?" Don asked, his frown deepening slightly in response to the bad connection and the topic. "Maybe he stopped at CalSci and got distracted by something?"

"No, he wa—right in. He—show you. I—im to stop for—but—"

"Amita, you're breaking up," Don cut in, shaking his head as he took a quick glance at his phone to confirm that his battery wasn't low, so he knew it couldn't be him.

"Sorry it's d—lot lately." Amita told him quickly, having raised her voice a bit as though that would make up for the technological problem. "I'm al—home—call you—"

"OK, drive safe." Don nodded as he hung up and glanced over at David, who was still reading tips files on the computer. But then again, the helpful/gossipy side of the public always ensured that they had more then enough tips to rundown. Whether the ventures would bear fruit or not was another question entirely. "Found anything?"

"No. Did Amita know--?"

"Nope, I'll call his office at Cal-Sci in a bit, but Amita said he was going to stop for dinner, I think. The connection wasn't very good. She's gonna call me back from her apartment." Don shook his head, throwing another useless file into a half-full box of them on the floor. He glanced at the desk across from David's and raised an eyebrow. "Where's Colby?" he asked, frowning at not knowing himself since he'd come in with the junior agent a few minutes ago.

David nodded towards the media room. "He's looking for plates, again. Got halfway though them this afternoon. I think he wants to finish that before heading home."

"Heading home?" Don glanced at the wall, then sighed as he saw it was well past ten o'clock in the evening. "Yeah we probably should, shouldn't we?" With no leads to run down there was no point in running themselves ragged. Something Megan probably would have pointed out had she been there. He shook his head, then frowned again. "Have we looked at her home yet?"

"Parks?" David shook his head. "No. We have a report from the LAPD on it," he rummaged through the files on his desk for a minute, then pulled one of them out and handed it to Don. "Here."

Don nodded his thanks, quickly looking through it. "There's not much here."

"Yeah, well. If it's anything like her office, there wouldn't be. Her producer called her 'an absolute professional,' and said she was really secretive during her investigations. Colby and I were gonna check the apartment out tomorrow, to see if she did any work there." David shrugged, "But from the LAPD's report it doesn't look like it."

Don nodded, suppressing a sigh at the sorrow that rose up as he was presented with yet another example of how little Bonnie seemed to have in her life besides her work. And how similar he, himself, was to that. It was one of the reasons stopping by his brother's house for his Dad's dinners was often appealing.

Outside of work and his family, Don really didn't know anyone. He worked all the time. Almost all of the women he'd occasionally dated over the years were women he'd met while at work. And really the major difference between the two of them and their work was that Don worked with a team of fellow agents while Bonnie worked alone...

Don shook his head, forcefully dismissing the thoughts and looked at David again, to see he was still going through files. Don looked at the files on his desk wearily then shook his head, rising to his feet. "I'll grab Colby and head over there now, no sense—" he cut off as his cell phone rang again and checked the ID again, "one minute," he said to David, before opening the phone again. "Eppes."

"Donnie, hello."

"Hi, Dad," the Agent replied and then rolled his eyes when he saw David look away with a grin. "How are you?"

"Fine, fine. But I was hoping you'd heard from your brother?"

"No," Don sighed again. "Not since I asked him to come in a few hours ago. Did Amita call you?"

"Yes, she did... So he's not at your office?"

"No, Dad, he's not."

His Dad was silent for several long moments before he demanded, his tone now clearly worried. "And he's not at home or at CalSci. So where is he?"

Don sighed, dropping into his chair again as he shook his head. "Are you sure he's not at CalSci, Dad? There are plenty of places he could be working on something, besides his office. I mean, they're on winter break still, right? So he could be working in any one of the classrooms if he needed more boards..." Don ignored the part of his mind that insisted that didn't make sense, not with the number of boards Charlie had in his garage, his office, and here at the FBI, where the genius was still currently supposed to be.

"Well, I think Amita would still be able to find him, Donnie. She went back to check after she talked to you. He's not there."

"Yeah, well," Don frowned as what his father had said fully registered. "Wait, I thought Amita was on her way home?"

This made his Dad sigh wearily, "She wanted to make sure he didn't stay on-campus overnight again."

Don's frown deepened, "Stay on—he didn't come home last night? Why?" He remembered Charlie saying he had to finish work that he hadn't gotten to because of the case, but had assumed at the time his brother was exaggerating. He had to suppress a twinge of guilt—that was becoming irritatingly persistent in regards to Charlie lately—at the thought of his brother needing to pull and all-nighter to finish his own work after devoting time to Don's case. And then coming into to get chewed out, nonetheless. Not that Charlie hadn't deserved it, but still.

"He wouldn't say. I assume he had work to do." His Dad replied, another assumption in his tone that made Don shake his head defensively, respect for the man that raised him just barely keeping him from snapping the words.

"Dad, I had to yell at him for—you know I'm right about this!" the FBI Agent insisted, shaking his head. "He shouldn't—"

"He shouldn't have said anything to that reporter. You know that. I know that. He knows that. But he's not one of your agents, Donnie. And he's not perfect."

"I know that, Dad—"

"Do you? Some times I'm not so sure." After a moment of silence, his Dad sighed, "Well, I'll try to get some sleep, then. And you should too—the hours you keep are ridiculous. Call me if you see your brother."

Don rolled his eyes but nodded in compliance, "Will do, Dad." While hanging up, he glanced at the clock again, shaking his head. "David, we should call it a night. I'll tell Granger."

"I'll tell him, Don," David shook his head as he rose, nodding towards Don phone. "Weren't you going to call Charlie?"

Don shook his head, but sighed as the younger agent walked away, then got his phone out again, dialing Charlie's office phone from memory.

An Unknown Location

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Charlie frowned, still struggling to concentrate through a pounding headache as Bonnie explained her current investigation to him. "What was wrong with the numbers?"

Bonnie sighed, "Obviously something. Because my source at the County Assessor's Office called me and told me that some of Taylor's thugs had shown up at his office and he'd spilled. The next day Taylor's thugs ambushed me in the parking lot when I was on my way to meet another source before she started work." The reporter shook her head ruefully. "I got careless. I knew Taylor was dangerous, but I didn't pay it much mind when I found out he knew I was investigating him."

"But you said there was something wrong with the property values. What was it?"

"My source didn't know," Bonnie shrugged, clearly frustrated. "He just said that there was something wrong with them..."

"Wait, is your source an assessor?"

Bonnie looked at him a moment, then shook her head. "No. He's still in training, just out of school. But he's smart... When I went to see his boss to ask questions about Taylor's properties the man wouldn't give me the time of day. Then as I was leaving this kid followed me out, and..." she shrugged again. "My gut said that he had my story, so I started pumping him for information. He got me all of those numbers... it took him a few weeks, because he wasn't really supposed to be looking at Taylor's files. But eventually he gave me a list of the forty-nine properties Taylor had brought for insanely cheep prices."

"So," Charlie shook his head, trying to ignore the migraine that was building up inside it, "you think he paid someone in the Assessor's Office to undervalue the properties so that he could get them cheap?"

I thought he'd just bullied them all into selling at low prices, with his thugs, but..." Bonnie looked at him for a long moment, her eyes wide before she nodded. "Y-Yeah. That makes sense. If he owned someone in that office, he could've easily tricked those poor people with false values. Most of the people he cheated never went to college, some didn't even finish high school." She shook her head. "So anyone from the office in a nice suit who had the language down would probably be able to fool them. Especially with all of the stress Taylor's thugs were causing them... Damn it! I am so stupid!"

"What? Why?" Charlie asked, unable to follow the sudden switch in tone with his rapidly developing migraine choking his thought process.

"How could—I should have seen this! I saw the way the senior assessor acted when I mentioned Taylor. And I knew something was wrong with the numbers. If I'd just followed that line of thought—"

"Hey, listen. The FBI's looking for us, when they find—"

"It doesn't matter, Charlie!" Bonnie protested, frowning fiercely. "I can't link Taylor's thugs to him. Neither of us have seen their faces. They've never mentioned Taylor's name. And it's not like we can make any of the assessors talk. Besides, I've been gone for two weeks now, right?"

Charlie shook his head slightly, stopping as it protested furiously. "Almost. Ten days."

Bonnie sighed, "The only thing stopping Taylor from tearing down all those houses to start his big redevelopment is he still needs to be cleared by the zoning commission. That vote is at the end of the month. And that's, what, twelve days from now?" she shook her head, a hand going up to rub her forehead to fight off the tension headache she was undoubtedly developing. "The only thing I can link to Taylor are the numbers—and I don't see how that can help the FBI. I know that the men that grabbed both of us work for Taylor, because I've seen them terrorizing people he wants to sell, but I can't prove it. All I have is a few pictures of Taylor talking to one of them on a crowded street, and only one of those was any good. I don't even have pictures of the thugs doing anything. And I certainly don't have anything to give the FBI to put him away!" She shook her head again, her eyes damp, "And the city thinks Taylor is some big hero, so of course the vote will go through!"

Charlie winced again, struggling to find something reassuring to say in response, but a particularly painful pang inside his head made him whimper, drawing the discouraged journalist's attention back to him.

"I'm sorry," Bonnie murmured, her tone now softer and warm again, sympathetic to his obvious pain. "You should eat and try to get some rest. It'll make you feel better. Let me," she rose from her seat on the floor, shuffling around the pipe she was cuffed to, stopping as she got just barely close enough to reach his bag. Looking inside, she nodded and took out a sandwich. "Here. Eat this," she handed it to him, and shook her head when he grimaced at it. "I know you don't feel well, but that's probably because you haven't eaten anything in hours, and—"

"I was out that long?" Charlie frowned, trying to remember how long the effects of chloroform were supposed to last. He didn't think it was anywhere near that long.

"No. They dropped you down here a little over an hour before they, uh, before they woke you up. But the bigger one was complaining about how long the drive took. Said they might not even get to see the end of the game, which I assume is one of the football games this month and those usually ends pretty late. When did they grab you?"

"Just before seven, I think. Oh, wait," Charlie raised the wrist that wasn't handcuffed, "I forgot." He glanced at the face of his watch and then grimaced at the time. "It's just after midnight."

"We've been talking a while," Bonnie murmured, then she nodded to the sandwich she wanted him to eat again. "I do know that one of the effects of chloroform is nausea. Believe me, I remember it. But as much as your stomach might not want food, it does need it. So please, eat."

"What about you?"

"I ate my 'dinner' a while ago. And I'm trying to ration what they do give me. In case they—" she shrugged and shook her head. "I'll be fine till morning. You should eat."

With a sigh, Charlie complied, hoping his body would take pity on himself and keep the much-need sustenance down despite its tendency to refuse food when he had headaches, especially migraines.

Eppes' Home, Pasadena, California

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Alan Eppes frowned as he went to the front door as he glanced at the clock. It was awful early for a social call. His frown deepened as he opened the door, not recognizing the two men in suits that stood their waiting for him. "Can I help you?"

"Alan Eppes?" the slightly older one asked. His face was altogether serious but his green eyes were kind, making Alan nervous.

He'd just talked to Donnie a few hours ago, he shouldn't even be at work yet considering how late it must have been when he went home. If he actually went home last night.

Nervously, Alan wetted his lips quickly, before replying slowly perhaps to put off whatever terrible news they might bear, "Yes, can I help you?"

"I'm Detective Philip Reynolds, this is Detective Adam Wilson, LAPD," Detective Reynolds told him, as both showed him their badges and credentials. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Oh, um, of course, of course. Please," Alan stepped back, holding the door open for them and waving towards the living room. "Come in."

"Thank you," Reynolds nodded and moved in, his partner following.

Alan closed the door behind him and then followed the detectives into his living room, wringing his hands nervously as he tried to think of what they could possibly be here ask him about. "What can I do for you, detectives?"

"Your son, Dr. Charles Eppes, drives a Toyota, correct?"

"Charlie – What—?"

"Please answer the question, Mr. Eppes." Detective Wilson cut in, his tone firm.

Alan nodded slowly, though he could still feel blood draining out of his face. "Y-Yes, Charlie drives... uh, he drives a Toyota Prius. A Hybrid."

"What year?"

"Wh-What?"

"What year is—" Detective Wilson paused as his partner put a hand on his arm before stepping forward to take Mr. Eppes and pull him towards a nearby chair.

"Here, have a seat, Mr. Eppes."

"Th-Thank you." Alan replied, a part of him remembering his manners even as the rest of his mind was trapped in a horrified daze.

"Can I get you a glass of water? ... Mr. Eppes?"

After a moment Alan shook his head and looked up at both detectives again. "Wh-What happened to Charlie?" then at the look the two exchanged, he demanded. "I-Is he okay?"

Detective Reynolds sighed, shaking his head after another moment's silence. "We're currently investigating that, sir. Now, please describe his car for us."

"But—"

"We can't answer any of your questions until you answer ours, Mr. Eppes," Detective Wilson cut him off again.

Alan stared at both of the detectives for a moment before nodding. "I—he, it's a 2004. Um, the model's a, uh, NHW20, I-I think." He glared at the detectives as they exchanged looks again. "My older son, Don, is an FBI Agent, can I—"

"We'll be talking to Agent Eppes shortly, sir," Detective Reynolds told him, before continuing with a nod. "He works at the Los Angeles Office, correct?"

"...Yes."

"And Dr. Eppes does consult for him on occasion, correct?"

"Yes, Charlie consults for a lot of people in the government and big companies. I've, uh, I've honestly stopped trying to keep track of them all."

"But Dr. Eppes does consult for the FBI?"

"I just said that he did!" Alan protested, glaring at both detectives.

Detective Reynolds raised his hands slightly, shaking his head. "Relax, Mr. Eppes."

"How can I rela—?"

"We just have a few more questions. We'll tell you what we can after you've answered them, all right?"

Alan glared at both of them, but nodded.

"And Dr. Eppes was working on the Bonnie Parks case, correct?"

Alan opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning at them. "I'm not supposed to talk about that. Don't you watch the news?"

Both detectives sighed, and Wilson put the small notebook he'd been referring to for his questions away in a coat pocket, before glancing at his partner.

Reynolds nodded. "Well, it looks like we'll probably be handing this over to the FBI, so as you just pointed out, we really can't tell you anything."

"Now wait a—"

"The Agents that are assigned to the case will undoubtedly be contacting you shortly. Our chief already told us to report our findings there this morning. So you can ask your son what's going on after that, if you'd like."

Alan shook his head, his earlier shock and worry disappearing in the wake of his anger towards the detectives continued silence. "Then we'll drive there now."

"The Assistant Director won't be available—"

"If my son can't get a hold of his boss for his younger brother, I'll start going through all of Charlie's contact lists until I find someone that can!" Alan snapped at both of them, even as he stepped around them to grab his car keys and wallet off a nearby table, stopping momentarily to open the table's single drawer and pull out the small phonebook full of emergency contacts Charlie had told him about a few years before. He thought it was a joke before, but now... Shaking his head he slammed the drawer shut and turned towards the front door.

Detective Wilson stepped in between him and the front door, easily blocking the older man's path. "We'll go now, sir. It'll be faster, and probably safer, if you come with us."

Alan glared at him, but after a moment sighed and nodded.

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

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Don shook his head, clipping his cell phone onto his belt as he rose. After a moment's thought, he glanced at David. "What's Colby doing again?"

"Looking up license plates from the mall's security cameras. He should almost be done by now. Unless there were more plates visible in the later half of the tapes. You were going to go check out Bonnie's apartment this morning, right?"

Don sighed, nodding, "Yeah." Noticing the elevator doors opening out of the corner of his eyes—into the mostly empty office, as it was still very early—he turned towards them and blinked as he saw Amita coming his way, her face streaked with tears. "Amita? What's wrong?"

The Agent's frown deepened as his brother's girlfriend started babbling through her tears. He picked up something about her 'phone' and 'Charlie,' but not much else as words flew out of her mouth, half-choked by sobs.

"Hey, hey. Whoa. Hold on a sec," Don told her, gently taking hold of her shoulder and leading her to the nearby, and break room. He gently pushed her into a chair before nodding in thanks as David closed the door behind them, while he quickly grabbed a new bottle of water out of the fridge and placed it on the table in front of her. "Here, help yourself. Gotta replace some of the water you're losing. Now what's this about Charlie and your phone? Did he call you?"

A random thought popped into his head then, one that he dearly hoped was wrong. Because it'd be really awkward. One, even if Charlie wanted to break up with Amita, he couldn't ever be callous enough to do it over the phone. Two, last time he'd checked, Charlie had been head-over-heels for this girl. And Don didn't think Amita would come to him for something like that. Hopefully. Because that would be really awkward.

"N-No," Amita replied, clearly holding back a sob as she grabbed a tissue out of the box that was on the table and started dabbing at her eyes, then she frowned. "W-Well, yes, he did. B-But not now."

As more tears started to overflow from her wide, dark eyes, Don held up his hands, and shook his head. "Calm down, Amita. Everything's all right, okay?" He waited for her to nod, though she looked as uncertain as he was now starting to feel, the concern he'd been suppressing since he'd talked to his brother a some hours before coming to the forefront of his mind even as he ruthlessly pushed it back, forcing himself to stay calm as he tried to calm her down. "Now tell me what happened. When did Charlie call you?"

"L-Last night, I-I think," the mathematician replied, suddenly reaching into her pocket to pull her cell phone out and hold it out to him. "I-I called my v-voicemail an-and..." she shook her head. "I-I turned my phone off a-after I talked to you! Th-The battery was low, a-and—"

"Hey, hey," Don gently took hold of one of her hands again, and then took the offending cell phone out of her other hand. "I'm sure Charlie won't hold a bad-phone against you. Did he say where he is?"

"N-No." Amita shook her head, her sobs finally seems to let up as her tears abated. Still dabbing at her eyes, she pointed, a bit shakily, towards her phone. "I-I saved the message."

"Can I listen to it?" Don asked patiently, waiting for her to nod and ignoring the look she gave his practical question, "Speed dial #1?"

"If there's a way to reset that, I don't know it." Amita laughed shortly, before hesitantly taking a sip from the water bottle Don had given her.

Don smiled slightly while putting her phone up to his hear and listening to her voicemail pick up.

"You have, three, old message..." the automated voice reported, "First, saved message.' BEEP 'Hi, Dr. Ramanujan, this is Kelsey Sm—"

Don pulled the phone a little away from his ear as the young girl's voice kept going, "How do you skip messages on your phone?"

"It's, uh, nine." Amita murmured, "You hit nine."

Don did so and started listening again as the automated voice told him: "Second, saved message.' BEEP 'Hello Dr. Ramanujan, this is Lois Tildbury, I was—" This time an older voice came over the line, but still the wrong one so Don hit 'nine' again. "Third, saved message.' BEEP..."

And then all he heard was dead air. The line was definitely still active, but—

Don tensed as a loud noise that he couldn't quite place resounded through the phone's speakers, the small frown that had already settled over his face awhile before now deepened.

Don kept listening as the distinct screech of tires, followed by a louder sound blared through the speaker.

"Oh God!" came through next, but his brother's voice was distant and quickly overpowered by that same strange, loud noise again, followed quickly by the sound of squealing tires a few short seconds before he heard his brother yell, "No!" This immediately followed by the loud noise again, followed by a much louder version of it.

Don gripped the phone tightly, trying to hear more in the sudden silence that followed, more dead air like before, but somehow quieter. It took him a moment to realize why. The car had stopped! The engine was off.

Had Charlie crashed? He'd barely had his license two months this time. How'd he manage to crash on an easy, fifteen to twenty minute trip that he'd done countless times before, with no traffic and perfect weather?

And if he had, why hadn't anyone contact Don? He knew he was listed as one of Charlie's primary contacts.

Suddenly more sound came through. It almost sounded like someone hitting a punching bag, but too weakly to move it. Again it took Don's mind a moment to make sense of it. Charlie's airbag must have deployed. If Charlie was struggling with the airbag he was conscious and he couldn't be badly hurt, right?

Then the sound of the car door opening was quickly followed by a loud popping sound.

What would Charlie pop the airbag with? Those things were not easy to escape! Maybe he had a pen or pencil handy? That might work.

"Mmmphh!" Another, even more muffled sound came through the speaker, then movement again, accompanied by an unfamiliar voice.

"I got 'im..."

And then dead air.

Don waited several seconds more, and then a tone echoed through the speaker, followed by the original, automated-voice.

"End of message. To delete this message, press 7. To save it in the archives, press 9. To hear mo—"

Don pressed nine and then hung up the phone, finally turning to look at Amita, who seemed to have gotten her tears under control and was watching him hopefully. "Did you—"

"I came here after I f-first heard it," Amita cut in, shaking her head slightly. "I-I couldn't... I couldn't think of anything else to do."

"Okay," Don forced a small smile for her, nodding slightly as his mind flew threw a dozen different scenarios. Obviously Charlie had crashed somewhere last night, but where? And where was he now?

Don pushed aside the worry that his brother might still be in his wrecked car on some back road, telling himself that there wasn't any place within fifteen minutes of the office that someone wouldn't have noticed within the last several hours. Especially since everyone should be on their way to work now. And if Charlie had been in between fifteen minutes from the office, coming from the house, he should have been somewhere LAPD would have spotted easily.

But then why hadn't Don been notified? Why wasn't his dad notified?

Don grimaced as he realized that if the car was really wrecked and Charlie badly injured, he could be a John Doe in one of the LA's many hospitals. Don and his Dad had both caught Charlie forgetting his license before. The genius would be caught up in some math problem or another, just grab his notebook or his laptop and hurry out the door, with his wallet still on the counter. Usually he came back a few minutes later, but some times he didn't notice.

Don clenched his jaw as a dozen possible scenarios raced across his mind.

The unfamiliar voice could have been anyone, but was probably someone pulling Charlie out of the car. If it was dangerous enough to drag him out, he could be badly hurt. Don refused to think about the fact that he could be a dead John Doe in one of those hospitals, quickly shaking it out of his head. He glanced toward the break room door as it opened, to meet David's concerned expression.

"Sorry, guys, but you're kinda holding the coffee hostage in here." David nodded to both of them, before indicating several people waiting—somewhat—patiently outside. He paused a second, then asked, "Everything all right?"

Don shook his head, even as he gently pulled Amita to her feet and towards the door. "No, I don't think it is." He sighed, nodding in apology to the clerks and techs waiting for coffee outside, before jerking his head towards the media room Colby was still looking through his never-ending supply of license plates in. "Let's get Colby, I'll tell you in there."

David's concerned frown deepened, but he nodded, easily falling into place behind the two of them.

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Charlie winced as he felt something tug on one of his feet lightly, then more firmly.

"Dr. Epp—Charlie. Charlie, wake up."

It took him a moment to recognize Bonnie's voice, and a moment more for his still slightly aching head to register what she was saying.

"Come on, Charlie, you want to be awake when they're here."

Charlie forced his eyes open and met hers. She'd again come as close to him as her chain would allow, and was watching his face closely for a moment, before clear relief spread across hers.

"Good. I don't think you want to be sleeping when they come in."

With a glance at the ceiling above them, from which he could hear heavy footsteps resonating through, Charlie nodded. "Yeah, probably not. Thanks."

Bonnie shook her head, while moving back towards her own corner a bit more. "Don't mention it."

"What time is it?"

"I don't know," Bonnie shook her head, frowning slightly. "They usually only come once a day. Sometimes a second time at night. They usually let me wash up in the shower upstairs. They only give me about fifteen minutes in there before they start banging on the door, I've pushed it to twenty before though. But that's only every few days. Most days they just let me use the bathroom, then they leave that thing for the rest of the time," she grimaced, jerking her head towards the bucket in the nearby corner, before shaking her head again. "But they're usually not here this early."

"Is there a window in—?"

"There is a window, but it's way too small to try and climb through," Bonnie told him, before offering a rueful grin. "Not that I didn't try."

Charlie nodded, then stopped and turned towards the room's only entrance as whatever was blocking the opening was pulled partially out of the opening, and one of the men from before—the smaller one—entered. His clothing was different, blue-jeans and a t-shirt, but he was still wearing the ski-mask.

Charlie winced slightly when he noticed one other difference. This time, their smaller—but still bigger than Charlie—captor was carrying a gun.

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

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Don shook his head, sighing as he hung up his phone again. "Well, LA General's sure they don't have him now. Apparently all of their John Doe's are either more than five years too young or twenty years too old. Why the administrator David talked to an hour ago didn't know that is anybody's guess."

"So he's not in any of the hospitals?" Amita asked quietly, drawing the eyes of all three FBI Agents to her. "I-I mean, it sounded like an accident...didn't it?" she asked Don, her dark eyes tired despite the fact it was barely past noon.

"Yeah," Don nodded, the other two agents—having listened to the voicemail themselves before David took it to one of the available techs—also nodded. "That's what it sounded like."

Colby shook his head, "So either he got really, really lost and is still in his car somewhere within an hour's drive of the office—"

"Twenty-minutes," Don cut him off with a frown. "He said fifteen or twenty minutes."

"Well, yeah," Colby agreed with an easy shrug. "But if he got turned around after that we don't know how long or how far he could have driven away before he wrecked."

"We won't until the techs get back to us with the time of the call, at least." David agreed, then glanced at Amita. "Could you use the time to—?" he waived a hand at some of the nearby dry-erase boards. Charlie's boards. Well, they were really the FBI's, but everybody really thought of them as Charlie's.

"Calculate a search area," Amita nodded, looking more hopeful now that she could help. "Yeah, I can do that," then she bit her lip and shook her head slightly, sighing, "Not like Charlie can, but—"

"Just do what you can, K, Amita?" Don cut in gently, shooting her a tired but hopefully warm smile, "I'm sure it'll help."

The smile she shot him in return was just as small and tired but also grateful.

Don nodded, then closed his eyes in thought for a moment, falling back on years of training and experience and hoping that it would be enough. He sighed as he opened his eyes, but paused as he heard a familiar voice in the bullpen, muffled slightly by the media room's closed doors.

"Donnie!"

"Dad?" Don frowned, and quickly crossed to the door, knowing the others were undoubtedly following but not particularly caring as he saw his father hurrying towards him from the closing elevator doors. "Dad, what is it?"

"Where is your brother? What happened?!" Alan demanded, his rapid movement across the room and overly-loud, panicked voice drawing a number of eyes, and Don reacted by gently pulling the older man into the media room with his team and closing the door behind him before the question really registered.

"Wait—Charlie?"

"Yes! Where is he?!"

"I—uh, I don't know, Dad." Don shook his head, his frown deepening as he studied his father's panic-ridden form. After less than a second of thought, he quickly reached up and caught the older man's arm again, gently pulling him towards one of the nearby chairs. "Here, sit down."

"No, I don't want to sit down," Alan jerked out of his hold, glaring at him. "That's all everyone keeps telling me is to sit down and keep calm or drink water and keep calm and—I'm not going to be calm until I know where your brother is, Donnie! Where is he?!"

"Whoa, whoa," Don shook his head, sighing slightly as he held his hands up and made calming motion but wisely chose not to say any words to that effect. "Just slow down, Dad. Tell me what happened." He pressed, carefully restraining himself from any further soothing motions as he watched his father's already deep frown deepen.

After several deep breaths, his father finally relented. "The police came—"

"LAPD?"

"Yes, a pair of detectives." His Dad confirmed, shaking his head. "They were asking about Charlie's car—he drives a Toyota, right?"

"Yeah, a Prius." Don confirmed, wondering how his father could be unsure of that bit of information, considering how many times Charlie had tried to walk them through all the data for hybrids and why he chose the one he did. Personally, Don just thought his brother was trying to balance out his SUV. Even as he thought this, though, his heart sank as the possibility of a bad car crash made itself known again.

"Yeah," Mr. Eppes shook his head, "Anyway, they kept asking about his car, and then about you and Charlie's interview and then—after all that they wouldn't tell me anything!"

"Why would the police be—" Amita shook her head in confusion. "No. Wh-Why wouldn't they tell Alan anything? That-that doesn't make sense."

"It does if they think whatever happened to the Whiz Kid could be tied to our investigation," Colby interjected, clearly as uncomfortable with the idea as all of the others were, but pushing forward anyway. "I mean, his interview was played on the news just two nights ago, and they've been replaying clips of it since then."

"So it's not an illogical assumption," David agreed, nodding even as he shot their senior agent a sympathetic glance.

"B-But wh-what happened to him then?" Amita demanded, her eyes clearly starting to shine as though with tears.

David replied before Don, his Dad or Colby could even attempt to. "I think we're about to find out."

Everyone looked at him, and then followed his line of sight through the nearby window that looked out into the bullpen, which they could see the Assistant Director crossing with two LAPD detectives in tow.

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Charlie winced as Bonnie was roughly pushed back into her corner by their armed and masked captor.

"You know the drill, Bonnie."

The reporter sighed, glaring up at the man as she locked the handcuff around her wrist that she'd been given the key for a few short minutes before, and then handed him said key, still glaring.

"Good girl," the thug said, clearly mocking her as his tone was the kind one would use while training a difficult dog. Then he moved back and turned towards Charlie, his gun coming up again as he tossed the key to him. "You saw how it worked, prof. Unbuckle your cuff with that and then you can walk through the door and up the stairs into the bathroom across the hall. You can use the sink and the toilet, whatever, for five minutes. You try anything else, make too much noise or cause any kind of trouble, and we'll have ta hurt you. Got it?"

Charlie drew in a slow breath and nodded, carefully picking up the key that he'd let bounce off his chest a few seconds before, still nervously eyeing the thug's gun.

He didn't like guns. And since the two times he'd been shot at, once by almost-accident and the other time by an actual sniper, he really didn't like one being pointed at him. Though he doubted he would've liked the gun pointing at him even without his close encounters with Nathan Crane and Alec Schane.

He jerked back, grunting as the thug suddenly kicked him in the stomach, making him drop the key and cough several times before looking up at the other man.

"Hurry it up, prof! I don't have all day."

Resisting the urge to glare at the man, Charlie nodded and hurriedly grabbed the key off the ground again, fumbling a moment with getting it in the cuff lock, before turning it and releasing his hand. He then dropped the key and re-cuffed himself, like Bonnie had, and rose slowly, eyeing the volatile man—that was pointing a gun at him—nervously.

The man stepped back again, turning to the side, and jerked his head towards the door. The gun remained aimed at the professor as he said, "Through there. Slowly."

Charlie nodded and moved slowly—as ordered—towards the room's exit, resisting the urges to glance back at Bonnie or their captor repeatedly. As he moved through the opening, he saw that the object they blocked it with was a bookcase that was weighted down by paint tins, cleverly disguising the opening. The rest of the room was all shelves with similar equipment stored on them. He winced again as he was suddenly pushed forward from behind, jarring his abused ribbed as his captor snapped at him again.

"Move it!"

Charlie nodded and looked around, slowly making his way up the stairs. As he reached the top it was only a few steps across to the bathroom.

Before he could be pushed along again, he hurried into the bathroom and slowly closed the door behind him, relieved when his captor let it close all the way, but disappointed to find no lock on the inside. Or more specifically, the that the lock that had been there had clearly been recently removed.

FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California

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"So he was driven off the road," Don summarized, not really paying attention to the LAPD detectives response as he stared off into the distance, his mind focused on what Charlie might have gone through less then twenty-four hours before, what he might be going through now.

"Our forensics experts are sure of that," Detective Wilson confirmed, nodding firmly. "They picked up an impression of the perps vehicle further back from the car, where we think they stopped to grab him. And we have two sets of footprints. Both from larger boots, they're still working on the exact brand from the tread pattern."

"They'll be sending those to our lab, of course." Assistant Director Merrick spoke up from the seat he'd claimed by the door. "Along with Dr. Eppes' car."

Both LAPD Detectives nodded at the foregone conclusion, but Detective Reynolds was frowning as he pointed out, "There is the possibility that Dr. Eppes' kidnapping has nothing to do with the Parks case."

Merrick spoke up again before anyone else could, "It's possible. But we're going to be investigating that angle nonetheless. And even if it isn't related, Dr. Eppes is a consultant for the FBI, the NSA and many other government agencies."

Both detectives immediately nodded, and this time Wilson spoke up. "Yeah, but your office must be stretched pretty thin with the Parks case as it is—"

"Which is why," Reynolds cut his partner off when he noticed Don's frown, "Our Chief offered to attach us to the case, if additional man-power is needed."

Don opened his mouth to reply, but paused when he saw the look Merrick was sending him, and instead watched his boss nod.

The Assistant Director of the Los Angeles FBI shook his head, "We'll appreciate any and all help the LAPD can offer, of course. At the moment we are short-handed, but our missing Agent is on her way back now," Merrick smiled slightly at the surprised smiles his three agents exchanged at that news. "Yes, I've asked for Agent Reeves to return for at least this case, and the DOJ has agreed to send her back. Your brother has some friends in high places, Eppes," he nodded to the SIC, before shrugging at the younger agent's surprised expression. "After the Chief of Police called me, about an hour before these gentlemen showed up," he nodded to the detectives, "I started making phone calls. The DOJ wasn't even willing to consider my request when I called them, but five minutes after I spoke with AD Thompkin's secretary while he was in a meeting, the DOJ called back to tell me Reeves was on her way and would be here within the next few hours."

Remembering the surprise—and pride—he'd felt when he'd heard that his little brother had consulted on a NSA case high enough up to call Assistant Director Robert Thompkins 'Bob', Don nodded and couldn't suppress a slight smile. His smile faded as he noticed the speculative looks the LAPD detectives were sending him. "The FBI will be leading the case, right?"

Merrick nodded again. "Yes. And I'm going to leave you in charge of the Parks case, but I will personally be overseeing it from this point on. You will not be participating in any of the field work—"

"We still need to check out Parks' home," Don cut in, shrugging when the AD raised an eyebrow at him.

"Sinclair and Granger can handle that," Merrick shook his head. "You're gonna have to get used to working entirely from the office at some point, Eppes. That's what happens as you move up in the Bureau. And it's all I can give you with your family involved. Hell, I probably should have the LAPD take the lead on Dr. Eppes' case, since your whole team and most of the Agents in this office are close to Dr. Eppes. But I'm going to have Agent Reeves take up the roll of acting-SIC in the field and expect to be kept up to date."

"Yes, sir." Don acknowledge with a nod, knowing he'd hate be stuck in the office or the van for the rest of the case, but also knowing that it was the call the Assistant Director had to make. He could have taken Don off the case entirely, possibly even put him on leave until Charlie was found. "Thank you, sir."

Merrick nodded, before raising an eyebrow at him again. "Well, where do we go from here, Agent?"

Don blinked, but then nodded quickly, opening his attention to everyone in the room even as his conference reminded him his father and Amita were still waiting for them in one of the nearby conference rooms. "David, how are you coming on the tips?"

"I finished sorting all of them out, Don. Most of them are worthless, but there are about two-dozen I wanted to check-out. I was going to give them to Charlie, see if he—" David broke off with a shrug and everyone nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah, I was gonna ask for his help on some of these plates, too," Colby admitted, before explaining to the LAPD officers, "Charlie's become our go-to-guy for everything involving math or numbers or—"

Reynolds cut him off, "Yes, we know how helpful Dr. Eppes can be. He's consulted for the LAPD on a number of cases the last few years. Lieutenant Walker started calling him in on some stuff a while back. Then some of the other lieutenant's started calling occasionally it too, so most of us have met him."

"Really?" Don frowned, shaking his head as he wondered why Charlie hadn't told him about something like that. He knew that Charlie consulted for other government agencies and for some big businesses occasionally, but not often enough for a random LAPD detective to know him. Seeing his boss's eyebrow starting to rise again, he turned his attention to Granger. "Colby, any luck with the plates?"

The blond agent shook his head, "Nah, Don. Too many incompletes. I was hoping Charlie might be able to give the techs something for that, but," like his partner a few moments before, he shrugged, spreading one hand in a gesture of helplessness before dropping it.

Don nodded, "Okay, you two," he nodded to his agents, "Can check out Parks' house while Reynolds and Wilson run down some of the tips David flagged. Any questions?"

Merrick nodded when everyone looked at him. "Sounds good. Get to it." As the younger agents and detectives left the room he locked gazes with Don, keeping him there to ask. "And what about your family? Your father and Dr. Ramanujan?"

"Well, technically Am—Dr. Ramanujan's cell phone, her voicemail, is evidence now. So the techs' will have to make a copy of that before we can give it back to her. She was also the last person to see Charlie, as far as we know. Though I might be the last one he talked to. I called his cell when he was on his way in from home."

"And it sounds like that's when he was grabbed," Merrick nodded. "Well, that'll be part of the timeline anyway, which Dr. Ramanujan can help us construct. I believe she's also a fairly skilled mathematician?"

"Yeah, I was planning on calling her and Dr. Fleinhardt in as consultants."

"Very well, you call Dr. Fleinhardt then talk to your father while I brief Dr. Ramanujan, whom you may need to actually interview later." Merrick nodded, rising from his chair even as Don did the same. He stopped before opening the door, looking Don over quickly before meeting his eyes straight on. "Watch yourself on this, Eppes. Give me even the slightest reason to doubt you and I will pull you off the case faster than you can blink, understood?"

Don bit back the angry retort that the idea of losing the case inspired and nodded, "Yes, sir." As he followed his boss out into the bullpen he asked, "Sir? Do you know when Agent Reeves will get here?"

"As I understood it, she should be here very soon, Agent."

Don almost didn't ask, figuring from what he did know about her assignment that he probably wouldn't get a response, but decided to try anyway. "Where's she flying in from?"

"I didn't ask."

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"Time's up! Come on out!"

Charlie winced as his captor's voice shot through the door, and quickly finished washing his hands. It had only taken a few seconds to see that Bonnie was right. The window—even if it hadn't been boarded up—was much too small to escape through. There was nothing he could use as a weapon either. Or anything to dry his hands with. When his captor pounded on the door again, he hurriedly opened it and stepped out, his head slightly bowed as he murmured, "There's no towels."

"What?" the larger man snapped.

Charlie winced again, resisting the urge to back away from the explosive man. "Th-There's no towels t-to dry my hands," he repeated hesitantly, holding said hands up slightly, dripping water on the floor.

His captor rolled his eyes, but stepped back slightly, shaking his head before jerking it to the right. "Walk that way."

Charlie obediently did so, taking the opportunity to look around as he did, but careful to avoid turning his head, keeping it tilted towards the ground, stopping when the man told him to.

"Stop. Face the wall." The bigger man snapped, stepping around behind him as he obeyed. "Don't move."

Charlie watched out of the corner of his eye as his captor went into the nearby room—the kitchen—and then took off in the opposite direction.


End of Chapter 1: Missing.


AN: There's the revised Chapter 1!

Hope you liked it, and would LOVE some constructive criticism!

Bye for now! ^_^

Jess S


NEXT: Chapter 2: Searching.