Neither man spoke all the way back to the precinct. John glared out the window, his heart beating a violent tattoo against his chest. He hoped Casey was not cold. He realized how ridiculous it was that he was concerned about that, of all things, but he did not want to even consider what else might be hurting her. All he knew for sure was that it was snowing, and she did not have his sweatshirt.

In contrast to an hour previous when he and Fin were moving at lightning pace in their fear and desperation, now the two could hardly move at all, much less sprint. They trudged into the bullpen, eyes downcast. John immediately collapsed into his chair and Fin leaned against his desk, staring at the floor.

Olivia and Elliot came in, equally silent. They stood next to John who looked up when Cragen came over to them all. "What'd you get from forensics?" he asked tiredly.

Olivia shook her head. "Nothing. The only prints were Casey's." She handed the ring back to John who clenched it in his fist, breathing hard.

"He made her do it herself," he said icily. "He made her take the ring off and put my card in and everything."

"She's gotta know he's gunnin' for you as much as her," Fin put in angrily. The others looked at him in confusion, and he explained the trick with the blood at the crime scene. "Someone's pissed at John."

Cragen glanced at his watch. "Everyone get out of here. There's nothing else we can do right now."

The detectives all looked at him like he was crazy, but John said, "You expect us to rest when Casey's missing?"

"What do you propose we do, John? We have no prints, no leads…they have dogs trying to track her but we all know he's not slinging her over his shoulder and running; he's got a car. They'll lose the scent at the street." He put a comforting hand on John's shoulder. "If this guy really does have something against you, he'll give us a clue. And he'll probably keep her alive."

"It might be better if he didn't," John said coldly, but he got to his feet anyway. He knew Cragen was right. There was nothing they could do but wait. He hated that. He could not stand to abandon Casey when she was scared and in pain.

John could tell he was about to cry and he refused to do so in front of the others. He turned and went up to the roof, closing the door behind him and walking over to the wall. He rested his hands on the ledge despite the snow, leaning over to watch the city below him. His eyes darted around as though he was hoping to see Casey amidst the bright lights.

He realized that he was still holding the ring and he held his hand open, palm up, to look at it. The white diamond reflected the countless lights of Manhattan. It looked beautiful, but it did not look right. It was just a ring unless it was on Casey's finger.

A few tears rolled down John's face and landed on the inch of snow on the ledge, melting little holes through to the cement. He could not even imagine the sick bastard who would hurt an innocent woman just to get back at him for something. He hated more than anything that Casey was in the middle of it.

Finally getting himself under control, John put the ring in his pocket and kept his hand there too so his fingertips could constantly brush against it. He went back into the bullpen, expecting to find it empty, hoping to find it empty, but Fin was still there, sitting at his desk.

"Ready to go?" he asked, and John could not help smiling at his partner.

"Yeah. Thanks." He was so grateful to have Fin. Fin often complained about being John's chauffeur, but he did not really mind.

They returned to the car and Fin started it up. "Your place or hers?"

"Hers." He did not think he could handle being in his apartment. It might hurt to be in Casey's, but at least he could be in a bed that smelled like her.

When they reached her building, Fin said, "I'll pick you up tomorrow."

"Thanks," John said again, getting out of the car and waving. He then went slowly up the stairs, unlocking her door for the second time that day but with none of the happiness he had felt earlier. He locked the door and flipped the light switch on the wall, bathing the living room in a dim glow. He noticed an envelope on the floor, identical to the one that had been delivered to Cragen.

Without wasting a second, John bent and snatched it up, tearing it open and removing its contents.

He fell back against the door, sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor, shaking violently. The top sheet was a photograph of Casey.

She was lying in the snow, obviously unconscious. Her skin was tinged with blue and streaked with red. She was wearing only a sports bra and sweatpants, and her stomach bore the marks of a violent beating. There were bruises and cuts, and her arms were similarly brutalized. Only her face seemed untouched, and if John looked at nothing else, she just appeared to be asleep.

He was not sure how long he stared at the horrifying image; he simply could not look away. Finally, however, he noticed the second item from the envelope. Forcing himself to set the picture of Casey aside, he saw that the paper was a note.

Detective Munch,

Looks pretty bad, doesn't she? Somehow I couldn't bring

myself to do anything to her face. It's just too beautiful,

don't you agree? Well, this one should be right up your

alley…rape, torture…all in a day's work. Don't forget

that this is your fault. You are the reason Casey has to

suffer. Don't worry. I promise I'll let you find her, and

me, eventually. I just don't know what kind of shape she

will be in. Keep up the good detective work, but don't

even bother sending the picture and this note to your lab.

They won't find a thing, I assure you.

John stared at the words for ten minutes as though he was trying to make them change into something less ominous, but of course nothing happened. Part of him wanted to look at the picture of Casey again, to try and find some evidence that the picture was fake or something, but he knew it was not. It was completely and horribly authentic, and it was only the beginning. And the man was going to rape her….

He quickly stood, setting the photo and the note face down on a shelf by the door. He went into Casey's kitchen and poured a huge glass of gin, preparing to drink himself into oblivion. He raised the glass to his lips and was about to take a sip when he decided he could hardly be more selfish. Casey had no choice but to deal with what was happening to her. He could not be there with her, or instead of her, as he wished he could, but he was not going to abandon her completely by making himself forget the truth and pain.

He poured the gin down the drain, the strong smell making him slightly light-headed. Getting out of the kitchen and away from temptation as quickly as he could, he went into Casey's room and shut the door, falling fully clothed onto her bed. He buried his face in her pillow, breathing in the scent of her hair and almost feeling her beside him.