A/N Ten chapters, I feel like celebrating! If...anyone is...reading this still after those horrible typos last chapter. *sniffles* Oh well, they say that you should write because you love it, and that's what I'll do, I'll continue to write this story because I love creating evil, Hitchcockian villains.

If anyone doesn't know who Alfred Hitchcock is, look him up, he's my inspiration. When I become an author one day, I hope that I can be as good as he was with his movies. In fact, the flashback contains some of the dialogue from his TV series as my late tribute to him for Halloween. I couldn't resist.

This chapter explores several point of views, confirming an omniscient writing style. I really need to work on writing emotionally from different point of views. So, this chapter is looooonnnnnggggg since I wrote some of it in math class(shh, this'll be our secret!)

He had her in his arms, holding her close to him, her head resting against his shoulder as he caressed her hand tenderly, planting kisses on her temple. She had almost fallen asleep again-she was so relaxed, but fortunately for him, she was still awake. They had been talking for hours, sitting like that. They never got tired of being close to each other, and if anything, they couldn't get enough. The only disturbances were the rustling of the leaves, the park trees swaying gently in the night breeze. They were alone, peacefully alone, no distractions; nothing to tear them away from each other. Unlike when they saw each other on the street, or at school, they could display their affection to each other. They didn't have to hide it. They didn't have to avert their eyes when the other walked past, just in case they stared for too long, or smiled too much. That was the painful part, not being able to even smile...

"Sometimes, when I'm not with you I close my eyes, and I can't remember what you look like. I wonder why, I mean, I should have you memorized by now." Tony wrapped his arms around her stomach as he talked with her,

"That's...well, I don't know." Whitney said as she sat in his lap, leaning back against his chest.

"I think it's because I'm afraid that...afraid that I'm going to lose you," he confessed, "I couldn't live if I did."

"That's never going to happen, darling," she comforted, concern written on her face as she turned sideways to wrap her arms around his neck and touch her forehead to his, "you could never lose me."

"Why shoudn't I, what did I do to earn you as a reward?" Tony spoke softly, tightening his hold on her,

"Maybe something horrible. I'm probably a punishment, not a reward."

"Then you're some punishment."

He couldn't stop thinking about her, even as they kept asking him questions about the phone call, he couldn't keep his mind off her.

"No, I did offer it, but he...he refused." Tony put his head in his hands, covering his eyes.

"I'm sorry we have to keep asking you questions, I know all of you are hurting, but this is important. Every possible clue is important." Agent Sherman spoke to the teen on the couch, Roberta standing behind him, with comforting hands on his shoulders after noticing the distress he was in.

"Can you tell me again what the number was?"

"Umm," of course he knew exactly what it was, area code and all, "838-481-549." he said without any difficulty. How did they expect him to forget something like that? Something so...so horrible.

"Okay, now can you remember what this man said in the phone call?"

He squeezed his eyes shut even though they were already closed, he lifted his head, opened his eyes, and stared straight into Agent Sherman's deep brown orbs, "I can do better than that. I remember every detail, I remember every word. It just depends on what you want to know."

"Any little thing could be a big help, you never know, maybe a noise in the background, maybe an echo could be a clue. In fact, the area code you gave tells us his location when he made the call, and we have a team tracing his past movements now."

"There was a small water drip, I know that." but I didn't see any water when I was there, " there was an echo...because...she, she screamed." his head went back in his hands.

Roberta squeezed his shoulders, "I think we had better save this for another day."

"No, I need to tell you all something," he said, lifting his head again.

He knew the man from somewhere, personally, like he had seen him before. He recognized the name, he knew the man, but from where?

Rhodey was sitting beside him, silently comforting him, he needed that. Over on the other side of the room, Pepper's father, Virgil, was talking to her, soothing her,

She looked so sad.

Tony remembered when her and Whitney...didn't get along, but now, the two were the best of friends, sisters even, due to Whitney's sudden change of heart. He was honest; Whitney really was spoiled, spiteful, cruel, and thoughtless, but not anymore. That's when he realized that he loved her, when her true personality came to light for everyone to see. He always knew that she wasn't truly like that, she was never like that with him, just with the people around him.

He knew she was jealous.

She was jealous of them, she thought that she was going to lose him because the people around him were slowly taking him away from her. Just like what happened with her father. When he got too "busy" for her, to take care of her, to cherish her like the angel she was. Did he even feel remorse for what he had done now that she was...temporarily gone? No, probably not. Stane never felt anything, for anyone, especially Whitney. And that mother of her's, leaving like that and then expecting everything to be perfectly normal after almost nine straight years of no contact? He may have lost his family, but she never had a family to begin with. For that, in a rather twisted way, he could be thankful. He could be thankful that he was in her life to make everything at least semi-okay for her.

He missed her...he missed her so much.

Then he heard Roberta finally speak, "Are you sure?"

"I know certain things about that guy, I just do. It's hard to explain, but it's there, I just don't know." he answered shakily, he was still part-way in his thoughts. His never-ending thoughts about her.

He did know who he was from Pepper and Rhodey's snooping, but he remembered who exactly the man was. He knew him, he remembered him from something somewhere, but what?

"Explain."

"I feel like...I feel like I know him from somewhere."

"Do you want to talk about it? Anything at all might help Whitney."

At the sound of her name he unconsciously stiffened up, but he replied, "I'll do it."

Whitney needed a shower. Badly.

The blood on her thigh dried, making her feel uneasy, the wound there needed to be cleaned as well, she couldn't leave it like that, with the dirt and grime still embedded in the cut. That was the last thing she needed, an infection...or Walsh to come back through that door. Her head throbbed from whatever it was that sicko gave her, but at least her vision was back to normal, now everything didn't look like a big, blurry, mushed up blob. Her feet ached, and she needed to soothe, and definitely clean them with some kind of anti-bacterial substance, and water. Water. Speaking of it, she could really use some, her throat was dry, and sore from all the...yelling...earlier, but she wasn't about to ask him for anything.

She was going to find some as soon as he went to sleep. If the man slept. Oh, what was she thinking, she didn't even know where she was, let alone what time it could be! She knew that it was unusually cold, basement? No, the ground temperature stays constant, that didn't fit the time of year, it would be warm. It was the beginning of fall, it would still be at least semi-warm in Manhattan, unless, she wasn't there anymore. Maybe she was somewhere where it was cold, like Washington, or was she even still in the U.S? She had to focus, she needed to make her plan work, every building had some sort of outside connection, she just needed to find it, unless the man had destroyed that already.

Feeling brave, she lifted her head out of the covers carefully, avoiding any unnecessary movements, and quickly scanned across the room. Seeing no one there, she climbed out of the comforter, and laid flat on the bed, her head resting on the pillows. She took a deep breath, lifted her leg and twisted it so that she could see the bottom of her foot. It was a dimmed red, sore and swollen. Figures. A shaky sigh escaped her lips as she gingerly touched the enlarged skin, her mind zooming with things Valarie taught her to reduce swelling. Valarie. She missed her, and perhaps, Valarie missed her too. The housekeeper was possibly the only one in her household who would miss her, after all, she was a nuisance to her parents. When she thought about her home, she felt like crying, even sobbing, but she couldn't let her emotions take control of her now. She placed her leg back on the bed, being careful of the damaged foot. Squeezing her eyes shut, she said a silent prayer, one that she had prayed quite often during the last hours...or days.

She felt so pathetic, so helpless, her father wouldn't appreciate her acting like this. He would tell her to get her act together, to stop whining...to go away. Why couldn't he love her, was something wrong with her? Did he want a son instead, was that it, someone to carry on the family name? Maybe she was just annoying to him, but she tried so hard to be less...that way. And her mother; she seemed to actually love her, so why did she leave? She would ask her when she got back, and she would reconcile with her father as well. They were her parents, she shouldn't feel like that towards them. And she would fix it. She would continue to fix her life one piece at a time, like a giant jigsaw puzzle, she would replace every missing piece.

She rolled onto her stomach, her head making her instantly regret the sudden movement, and buried her face into the pillow. A click of a lock sounded through the room; Whitney perked, raising her head to look at the door, her heart picking up speed.

"Who's there?" she called, a demanding tone to her voice.

"It's just me, my love." The man responded, the door cracking to show his face.

She took a deep breath, calming her raging anger, "What do you want?" she asked in a light voice.

"You're awfully quiet in there, dear. I know you're still upset over what those people did to you, but at least make a little noise. The house is so quiet without your voice."

She decided that she would play along, who knows, maybe she might learn something. All she had to do was create a story, universal, to match her injuries, and the man's choice of words.

And she knew exactly what she would do...

She faked tears, "I don't ever want to leave this room again. They were horrible, just horrible. Why did they do that to me, why?" she expertly sobbed, burying her face back into the pillow.

"I'm so sorry, dear, I didn't know that they hurt you that badly," a hand pressed down on her back, and she fought herself to not shiver as it made small circles, "I took you out of that school, they won't hurt you again, Cassie."

Cassie, who was Cassie? Cassidy, maybe? Well, that was creepy, the man thought she was Cassidy, or whoever. But there was a good side to this, at least the man wouldn't hurt her again, with that...thing.

Continuing with the acting she had learned over the years, she looked up at Walsh with doe eyes, "You didn't have to do that, I could've taken them."

That made the man laugh.

Oh, how she hated it.

"Yes, you could've," he sat on the edge of the bed, "Why don't you take a nice, warm shower, huh? It always made you feel better."

"But I can't walk."

"That's right! I forgot about that, I'll see what we have in kitchen for that. I know we have that...what was it that the doctor gave us when we went? That...that cream, I'll go get it." he leaned in to kiss her forehead, but this time, she didn't budge. She just smiled and closed her eyes as his lips pressed against her skin.

But on the inside...

She wanted to slam a knife into his back.

Tony sat in the middle of the couch, relaying all the memory he had of that Walsh creep, and he had a lot of it. But there was one memory that was always illusive, a memory of a cold night, an ominous night. A tragic night.

"I remember...eyes...staring at us, me and Whitney, we were so scared. They were green, a deep, menacing green, and red. I remember red, a lot of it, all over us, but we didn't care," Tony's face contorted with concentration, "we were upset, very, very upset over something. Then Dad came home, there were noises, and we were suddenly swept up, then...nothing."

"Hmm, Dalton Walsh, and his various aliases have green eyes." Agent Sherman gave a glance towards Roberta, "now tell me, is it possible that you might have, say, blocked this memory?"

"I think so. Every time I try to retrieve it, it's gone, but I know it's there."

"Then I think you've seen Dalton Walsh, but we have observed that Walsh may have multiple personality disorder, so which personality you may have seen is uncertain."

"Do you mean Whitney is with someone like that? What if he's...what if he's...what if he's doing something to her?"

I don't know,"

He was lying, Tony knew he was lying, he was withholding from him.

"Don't sugarcoat it!" he shouted, raising up from the couch slightly, startling Rhodey and Roberta, and even Virgil and Pepper from across the room.

"Yes, it's a possibility." Sherman nodded,

"I thought so," he slumped back down, "promise me you'll find her." he stared straight into the agent's eyes.

"Honestly, we've never recovered one of his victims before, and there's a pretty high chance that even if we did find her, and bring her home, that she'll be...a shell of what she was."

"I don't care, just bring her home."

Whitney sat cross-legged on the bed, reading a novel she found in the dresser in her room. She could walk now, but only slightly. The medicine that the man gave her started working a few hours ago, it stung, but it helped. Reading seemed to keep her mind off of everything around her, the madness and despair of being kept with a creep who could explode at any given moment. She focused on the book, the new world she could explore through it, instead of the pain in her thigh. Even that still hurt.

She concentrated even harder on the words leaping off the page; the heroine was running away from the ancient myth of a monster in the forest, carrying a basket full of mushrooms from the woods. She dodged and weaved through the maze of trees as the monster growled from behind her. What was going to happen? Reaching the castle gates, the heroine shook the metal bars, the monster out of sight. But out of nowhere, it creeped up behind her and reached forward, and the heroine-

"Whitney!" A voice boomed from outside the door,

Did he just use her real name?

Her heart leaped into her throat at the sound of the harsh voice. With a sigh, she closed her book, placed it on the nightstand beside her, and prepared herself for her next "act."

"Yes?" she called out sweetly, pushing aside the fact that something might be wrong.

The door flew open to reveal a very angry, and a very scary, Dalton Walsh.

"Do you have anything to do with the alert I just received?" he stormed inside the room, ending up at the edge of the bed,

"I don't even know what you're talking about," she shook her head, widening her eyes, a look of innocence across her face.

But Walsh was different.

His hands shot out to grasp around her throat, lightly squeezing, "They're looking for you." he said, tightening his grip,

She sputtered, and clawed at the hands as he pushed her down against the mattress, leaning over her, "What are you doing?" she managed to say, through Walsh's grip.

"You're going to tell them to stop, right now." he demanded, his grip on her airway lessening.

That...was the...last...straw.

Her eyes darkening with anger, she thrust her knee to connect into his sternum, breaking the man's grip on her throat. Taking the opportunity, she slammed her fist into his stomach, sending him reeling.

"You're a monster!" she screamed, hatred pulsating through her veins, "you killed her!"

She avoided the man's grasp cleverly, and using every tip and trick she had learned, pushed herself off the bed, and landed on the floor.

Her feet hurt, but she ignored it. The man deserved everything coming to him, and she was going to give it. Now.

"You're going to regret that," The man seethed, lunging at her.

Which was exactly what she wanted.

She dived towards the door, out-of-the-way, sending the man straight into the dresser.

"Regret that!" she yelled, already running out of the room.

She raced out of the open door, and slammed it, not giving Walsh any more time to recuperate. She locked the door, and she instantly heard Walsh's curses as he tried opening it.

"Open this door, you brat!" he shouted at her through the door,

"Not a chance, you psycho!" she shouted back, not being able to resist an opportunity to curse the man.

She sped through the corridor, which was remarkably well-kept considering how messed up in the head Walsh was, and arrived at a basement door. Or she thought it was a basement door, it looked like one, and she wasn't in the mood to debate herself. She fumbled to open it, the adrenaline picking up whenever she heard Walsh bang on the door down the hall. Finally, the door gave way, opening to...a basement. The creepiest basement in the world. She closed the door, staring in awe over what she saw; test tubes and strange liquids, random devices and weird inventions, and a control panel.

What she had been looking for.

Her heart fluttered with hope as she reached the metal casing, nearly breaking the object trying to get it open, she fingered the wires, the cipher playing in her mind.

"Okay," she told herself, "You've only got one shot at this Whitney, don't screw it up like you do everything else."

She twisted the casing off the cords, revealing the copper lines, and she was about to connect with the right code, when the basement door flew open...

Tony paced around the room while Roberta, Virgil, and Sherman kept talking amongst themselves.

"And he's doing it again," Rhodey mumbled,

"He's just stressed," Pepper defended as she plopped down beside him,

"I know that. It's only natural that if your girlfriend was kidnapped by a psychotic axe-murderer that you'd be feeling a bit down." he couldn't disguise the whimsical manner in his voice.

"Was that supposed to be funny?" Pepper raised an eyebrow, catching on to the tone.

"No."

"Good, 'cause it wasn't."

"Okay, okay,"

Tony paced over to them, head down, "I know that guy, I just, can't remember."

"You will, sooner or later." Pepper tried to smile, the result being a slight up-turning of her mouth.

"Yeah, it just takes time." Rhodey encouraged,

"Thanks, guys. And I'm sorry that I'm not 'all there' right now."

"Nah, don't worry about it."

"We know it's hard, but it's something we'll get through together." Pepper assured,

"As usual." Tony smiled at his supportive friends before going back to pacing and thinking.

Pepper noticed her dad motioning her over to him, "Gotta go, the parent calls."

"It's not like your going anywhere, except, right down the hall."

"Let me tell you something, your attempts at humor, they ain't funny."

"Ouch."

"Well, it wasn't meant to be a compliment."

Whitney stumbled after a harsh blow to her ribs, taking her down to the floor, huffing with exertion.

"I should've gotten the camera out for this, so your friends can see me beat you up too." The man said through gritted teeth, "but one thing they will see is you, and you will tell them to stop messing around my stuff looking for you, or else I might just have to punish you some more. Remember last time? Only much, much worse."

"You really like to monologue, don't you?" she panted, getting back on her feet shakily, whimpering from the force on her pressure points.

"They still hurt, hmm, I'm rather pleased with myself." Walsh brought a fist around in a right hook,

Whitney returning with a block, almost not in time, "You. Are. A freak." she emphasized her word with weak round-house kicks to his stomach,

"Thank you," Walsh grabbed her leg,

"Oh, snap." she cursed before he yanked harshly, sending her down on her back.

He held her leg straight up in the air while she flailed on the ground, "I've been waiting for you to make that mistake,"

"Yeah, well now none of us win."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Walsh twisted her leg over, ultimately causing Whitney to move onto her stomach, "Isn't this better?"

"You freaky, psychopathic, creeper, Frankenstein-like, sadistic, over-grown, idiot," she mumbled in hatred as she tried to pull her leg back down.

"You say the most horrible things." Walsh slammed her leg down hard on the cement, making Whitney cry out in pain from the force of the concrete on her leg. The man knelt on her back, pressing harder against her spine every time she flinched, "now are you going to be a good girl and go in front of the camera like I asked, or are you going to be stubborn? I'd hate to have to break that leg of yours."

"I think you did," Whitney groaned under the pressure of Walsh's knee on her spine, forcing the air out of her lungs.

"Or would you like to revisit Sparky again?" he suggested, pushing down even further.

Sparky.

The wound in her thigh had already reopened due to the fighting, her feet were sore and again leaking blood, she couldn't take that thing again.

"I'll, I'll do it."

At least she would get a chance to say goodbye, and a chance to reveal something.

Something important.

Tony approached the two adults by the dining table, "Would it be alright if I went to my room, I...I want to be alone for a little while."

Roberta's eyes shone with sympathy, "It's fine, I understand."

"Thanks, Roberta."

He gave a brief glance toward Agent Sherman, and headed off towards his room, passing Rhodey on the couch, and Pepper talking with Virgil. He didn't notice his friends stares as he walked into his room, and shut the door.

He all but collasped on his bed; sitting on the matress, he tried to think about that memory, but all he came up with was Whitney. It was hopeless, he couldn't concentrate on anything but her. The sparkling eyes, the feel of her hands, it just didn't stop.

He didn't hear the door open, or Pepper slowly stepping into the room.

But he did hear her speak,

"Tony, I-uh, my dad found this under the cushions on our couch today, it's Whitney's, I thought you might want to have it." Pepper handed him the hardback book, and he took it from her slowly.

"King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table," he smiled as he read the cover, "it was her favorite when we were little."

He pictured that tiny little girl playing hide and seek with him in their spot. It was their favorite place, their special hideaway, hidden from everyone, save a few brave birds. They found that place a long time ago, on accident. To remember where it was, they dug notches in the bark of the trees in a code only they knew. Their secret cipher. They made it up while they were playing spies, and strangely, Whitney was pretty good at that game.

"Go on."

"We would pretend to be knights, fighting evil goblins and dragons," he suddenly grew solumn, "and sometimes, she would pretend to be a beautiful princess, waiting to be rescued by a knight in shining armor. I was supposed to protect her, like a good knight, but I didn't."

"Hey, we talked about this, don't beat yourself up. They'll find her, in fact, you're helping! Don't forget how you tracked the location of the phone call!" Pepper tried to cheer him up,

"Yeah, but what did I accomplish, nothing." Tony kept his hands on the book,

"They'll turn up something, I'm sure of it."

Rhodey came into the room with a package in his hands, "This...just arrived a few minutes ago, it's addressed to you, so, Mom told me to go ahead and give it to you."

Tony took the manila folder from Rhodey and opened it, a simple disk as it's contents.

"I don't think we should play that." Pepper warned, "my dad gets these kinds of things all the time at work, like ransom stuff."

"Do you think it's about Whitney?" Rhodey asked,

Pepper nodded, "Who else could it be about?"

Tony held the disk in his hands like it was a precious jewel, "Do you think she's alright?"

"I don't know, but the guy's a freak, who knows what might happen." Rhodey reminded,

"We should hand it over to the police, they're still here," Pepper suggested,

But he didn't listen.

He stared at the glistening disk as he walked over to his computer, turned it on, and placed it in the drive, he instantly regretted it.

As soon as he pushed the disk into the computer drive, Whitney appeared on the screen; frightened, upset, and with tears in her eyes.

Tony sucked in a deep breath at the familar sight of the girl, "She's alive."

Pepper and Rhodey crowded around him as she started to speak,

"I-I...the man knows about it, what you did, with his other," she grimaced, "with the other place."

Pepper covered her mouth with her hands, Rhodey gripped the back of the chair, and Tony stared. He just stared.

"He knew. Rhodey, you were right, he knew," he muttered, watching Whitney intently.

"The man, Dal-" Whitney was interrupted by something hitting her back, causing her lean forward, and gasp in pain.

"Whitney," Tony said again, his eyes tearing up.

She leaned back up, straightening out,"I...I want you to stop...to stop everything," her fingers were tapping discreetly on the concrete in a pattern, a familiar pattern...

A ciphered pattern!

"She's telling us something!" Tony exclaimed, "she's...she's saying 'I' "

"'I' what?" Rhodey's grip on the chair lessened,

"She's saying I love you," he swallowed,

"She's saying goodbye," Rhodey murmured,

Whitney continued speaking, "the man won't hurt me if you do," her eyes held a certain fire,

"Oh no," Pepper breathed, closing her eyes, "she's going to try something."

"Tony, the man killed Maria, he killed her, tell the police that he-"

Then she slumped forward again, falling on the cement hard as whatever it was kept slamming down on her back. Relentlessly. Over, and over, and she bit her lip before giving in and screaming in pain as what he had now recognized as a leather whip scraped across her back in neat diagonal lines.

Then it stopped.

She gasped for air in front of the camera, and Tony clutched at the arms of the chair as the man came into view,

"I guess I still can't trust her," he kicked her abused back hard, making her scream again, "what she meant to say is that I know about someone's little escapade into my domain," he fisted her hair, and yanked her to her knees, "I won't tolerate it,"

Whitney continued to fight him even though her back was dripping with vital liquid, "They won't let you get away with this!"

"Do we really need to repeat what happened earlier? I haven't messed with that adorable little face of yours, yet, but I can."

"Freak!"

"Name-calling," The man slammed the side of her face down on the cement, a sickening thud resounding from the speakers, making the three teens wince.

As he brought her head back up, she groaned, blood now leaking from her nose.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I'll leave her alone as long as nobody touches my home. In fact, I'll even let Dawson take care of her, he's so fond of her after all, he thinks she looks just like Cassidy."

"Dawson?"

"My brother," he leaned in towards her ear, saying something the trio couldn't hear, but made Whitney wince. He placed a hand over her mouth and continued speaking, "Believe me, I would love to play with her, but Dawson is always so persistent. To be honest, she does look like our dear departed sister, doesn't she?

He let his other hand run up her arm, and she squeezed her eyes shut, "And just for that, I'll leave her alone. But if I find out that anyone tried to find her, to take her away from us, I'll make sure no one gets her back."

Then it blanked, turned to completely black. It was over.

Tears fell down Tony's cheeks as he broke his silence, "I failed, I triggered an alarm, I failed her."

He felt a hand on his shoulder, "We should give this to my dad," Pepper said,

"Yeah, we...we should." Tony took out the disc, being careful to not smudge it,

Then he abruptly remembered something; he still had her phone, and he could still track the locket, maybe he should tell the police about it. But could he trust anyone with that information? He didn't want to hurt Whitney like what happened when he tried to find her last time, he didn't want the man to hurt her.

Dalton Walsh, she said that he...

Tony stopped in the middle of the doorway, "He killed my mother," he said with a tone of disbelief,

Rhodey and Pepper spun around to face him,

"What are you talking about?" Rhodey asked.

They forgot about it, they forgot about what she said, they were so caught up with the discovery that they forgot. He forgot too, but he didn't know what to think, because Tony remembered that night. It was the most terrifying moment of his life, when the man tried to grab them. Those eyes were intense, then they changed, turned soft. And the man ran away, out the front door, leaving him and Whitney shaking on the floor, huddled together near the already dead body of his mother.

He was confused, so confused. He was coming up to a fork in the road, and he didn't know which path to take. Should he divulge priceless information, since he was obviously incapable of keeping a clear head, or should he try again, possibly risking Whitney's life? It was all too hard!

But he had to come up with an answer soon, or he might never see Whitney again.

Obadiah Stane hadn't left his home ever since he got the news, he never left the study. Not once. Not even to go to his office. He couldn't be anywhere she had been. He couldn't venture near her bedroom, the library, even the living room without thinking about her.

His daughter.

He rubbed his face with his hands, and went back to work. Statements, bills, checks, and releases, there were so many of them, he needed to finish the mounting paperwork, but a conversation always plagued him, one he had with his daughter, the night before that day. He yelled at her, called her things, things he shouldn't have said. He regretted those things. For the first time in his life, he felt guilty, horribly guilty. When he saw her at the hospital that day, how she looked, he would never forget that. Would she die thinking he despised her? There was a time when he loved her, held her in his arms and played with her. She was imaginative, so imaginative. She found adventure in the dark depths of the basement, pretending she had to escape a prison. She even discovered a palace in the master bedroom, under the sheets. He still remembered the stuttering voice that rambled on about all of her adventures.

She would run up to him, saying random things pertaining to the world she had created for that specific play-time, and strangely, he missed that. He longed for those days when she would attempt to climb the couch as if it were Mount Everest, muttering about how cold it was. How she would dance around the kitchen floor, pretending to be at a grand ball as a princess. He never danced with her, but he wanted to. Secretly, he wanted to. One time, much too long ago, she skipped into the study while he was working, and asked if he knew where her "Mousey" went,

He scolded her.

She cried, the poor thing, she cried. He must have been too harsh, he was always too harsh with her. He kept forgetting how fragile she was. She was fragile, so fragile, so delicate and fragile. She was a precious collection of beautiful china, brand new, untainted and pure. Chaste, perfectly chaste. He wanted, needed, her to stay that way, and in the process...he scratched the china. He tainted the perfect pieces, one by one, he scratched them all.

He kept a picture of her in his desk, he had forgotten about it. With trembling, nervous hands, he took it out and stared at the framed photo. His daughter. The shy, pretty thing she was; smiling with that precious tilt of her head, hands fixed behind her back in a subtle gesture of inculpability, ice blue eyes staring at the camera with an innocent hope, a sparkle, blonde locks cascading down to her shoulders. A silent tear escaped his ashen eyes as he held that photo, an irreplaceable memento of authenticity, a vestige of his only child.

She had her sixteenth birthday only a few months ago, and he wasn't there, he wasn't there to celebrate his daughter's graduation into a young lady. A flawless, blameless, immaculate young lady. He knew that she didn't have many friends, he knew that she didn't plan a party for that day. But her friends did, he knew that, he knew more about her than he let on. Those kids she always brought home: that Pepper, the agent's daughter, the chatty one; Rhodey, the seemingly normal one with the military father. And then there was Tony, she brought him home as well. Much to his dismay. The way that Whitney looked at him, and the way he looked back, it was something...odd, strange, unfamiliar, he didn't dwell on it though.

She changed, later that year. She came home one Sunday night with a certain air about her, an adjustment, she even walked differently. After that, she took interest in children, different things she never paid any mind to before. Her looks altered as well, that was noticeable; the makeup was gone, the clothes were replaced, music changed, and habits reversed. Not that he minded, no, he didn't mind it at all. Especially when she started to wear those sundresses again, the ones that made her appear to be a child, the little girl who needed someone to hold her hand to cross the street. The one who held on to her Mousey during a thunderstorm, who would try to climb in his lap to see what he was doing, the one who idolized him. He let that little girl down.

"Obadiah?" A female voice called, "are you in here?"

Désirée, just what he needed, more interruptions and reminders.

"If you need to talk, make it quick." he said, but he kept his eyes glued to the desk.

"I will not be spoken to in that manner!" Désirée stormed inside the room, her eyes fuming.

The usual.

"Which manner of speaking do you prefer?"

"Our daughter is missing," the slightly accented voice calmed down, "at least show a tiny bit of sympathy. We could be going to a funeral any day now."

"Our daughter is not going to be in a funeral! Look, unlike you, I actually have something to do. If you don't mind?" he gestured towards the door,

"I should have just taken her, and left, this wouldn't have happened under my watch!" Désirée stared down at him,

Whitney inherited those eyes.

"What watch, where have you been in the last nine years, back in France? Where have you been in her life, Rae? Nowhere!"

She slammed her hands down on the desk as he shot up from his chair, "At least I didn't let her get kidnapped and possibly killed!"

"Would she have been better off with you?"

"Yes, she would have!"

"Then why didn't you take her?"

At this, he was met with silence.

"You can't answer that, can you?" he sat back down, adjusting his tie, "do you have anything else to say?"

"Fine, I'll leave for now, but I'll drop in sooner or later. Whitney is mine as well as your's, and when she gets back, I'm making sure that she sees my side of the family, in France."

"Have you ever thought about Whitney not being able to travel?"

"She's a girl, moreover, she's your girl. She would want to make you proud."

There was not another word as Désirée Stane waltzed out of the room, and slammed the door. Typical, she was always one for dramatics.

Whitney inherited that from her too.

It was funny how she didn't inherit that accent of her's as well, Désirée had such a strong one when he met her. Back then, she hardly knew how to speak English, she was just an exchange student. They met in college, a stereotypical thing, they just so happened to bump into each other after a class. They fell in "love", got married, and had a daughter. A few years later, things didn't turn out as they planned; the arguments, fights, everything started.

Whitney saw one of their fights once, while they were yelling at each other, she wandered into their bedroom with her Mousey, holding it close to her chest as she told them to stop. They did. He would do anything for his baby girl, but he never told her that. He couldn't remember the last time he told her he loved her, when he hugged her, or even spoke words not of criticism to her. With a sigh, he returned to the papers, keeping his thoughts off of his daughter.

He could never think about his daughter.

Dawson Walsh tried to keep his brother under control, but sometimes Dalton could be...forceful.

His brother hurt Cassidy again, he broke her nose, but he fixed it. He would always take care of his sister, for forever and ever and ever. She started shivering, she was cold, he would go get a blanket for her. A nice, warm, fuzzy blanket for his sister. Dalton didn't like that, no, Dalton didn't like that at all. He wanted to use her, play with her like a toy. Cassidy wasn't a toy, she was never a toy, she was their sister. He told him that, but Dalton wouldn't listen, Dalton never listened because he was a bully. Dawson noticed the blood trickling down her back, her shirt was torn in diagonal lines where the red stuff was seeping out, mixing with her blouse so you couldn't see it anymore. Dawson didn't like it when his brother hurt her.

She was hiding in the corner of the basement, all curled up and shivering. Dalton scared her, the big meanie, he scared her. He scared his baby sister. He would have a talk with him once he was through tending to her. He picked up the washcloth he used to clean her nose, and padded over to her. With a tender touch, he placed a hand on her shoulder, careful of her wounds. She tensed, Dalton must have scared her pretty bad. He squeezed out some of the water from the cloth, and started to dab at the numerous lacerations along her back. They were too deep. He would have to fix them with the stitches; he didn't like doing that, it hurt, but Dalton had some chemicals lying around that he could use to make it better for her. Cassidy whimpered, and he stopped everything. Did he hurt her? She lifted her head to look at him with those big, blue eyes. She always had pretty eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile, but she didn't smile back, so he just continued with cleaning her cuts.

Once he finished, the cloth was saturated with the awful red stuff. Blood, he didn't like that word, it was too gory. He didn't like gory things, unlike Dalton, he didn't like to hurt people. Dalton did it for a living, but he wanted to help people, Cassidy was the same way. He liked that about her, he liked his sister because she was so nice. Contrary to Dalton, and their parents. He was so glad that he found her in time, in that old place before they killed her. They hated Cassie so much more than they hated him and Dalton, if that was possible. They were so cruel to her, locking her up in the basement at night, refusing to let her out. She was scared of the basement, she said there were monsters, and things hiding in the shadows. He remembered all the horrible sounds coming from the basement when his parents went down there with her, they punished her for the slightest things. One time, when she broke a plate, they locked her in the trunk of the car for a day. An entire day. Dawson didn't dare defy his parents to let her out, but he would sit and talk to her when they weren't looking. They were best friends.

Cassidy was just scared, she didn't like it down here, and he was going to take her back to her room. He fixed it up for her, all nice and cozy, like she had always wanted. Lace, she loved lace. He thought about buying her a beautiful lace dress, she never had one before, it would make her feel pretty and elegant. Isn't that what little girls liked, to feel pretty? But Cassie wasn't a little girl anymore, she was growing up so quickly, his sweet baby sister wasn't a little girl. So what would he get her? She needed new clothes; blood was now caked on the inside of her skirt, he could see it through the white. The red liquid stopped seeping out of the cuts, which was good, but the back of her shirt had several tears. His little sister deserved more than that, more than torn clothes and dirty basements, and he was going to give it to her.

"Cassie?" he pulled her close, and cradled her, still cautious of her wounds, "Cassie, it's me your brother, Dawson."

She was still asleep; he smiled at the sight of his sister looking so peaceful. He laid her down gently, rose off the floor, and bent down again to pick her up.

He carried her back up the stairs, through the corridor, and into her room. He noticed the sheets were tainted with that red stuff; he didn't want her sleeping in that, so he went back across the hall to the living room, and placed her on the couch. She could fit on that perfectly, she really wasn't that tall. Yet. He grabbed the throw blanket from the armrest close to her bare, swollen feet, and covered her with it. She stirred slightly, possibly from the warmth, but she didn't wake up.

He would have to find some shoes for her to wear as well, she couldn't walk around outside without any thing on her feet, she would get frostbite! It was much too cold for her out there now, much, much too cold. It would snow later on tonight, so he had to get to town before the weather set in. He would have to be discreet, most people would probably recognize him, the local police were displaying pictures of him and Cassidy for some reason. He didn't do anything wrong, Cassie didn't anything wrong, so why were they attacking them? Dalton must have done something, Dalton did everything wrong.

Shrugging it off, he planted a goodbye kiss to Cassidy's forehead, and started off. He grabbed his coat, scarf, gloves, and hat from the closet by the entry door, donned them, and stepped out into the cold. He almost forgot to lock the door, someone might have found them, and taken his Cassidy. No one would take her away from him again, he had just found her, he wasn't about to lose her.

He would take care of her, every day, and she would be happy.

He'd make sure of it.

Dr. Abbott sat alone, in his armchair, by the lit fireplace.

The fire's glow surrounded the shining locket in his hands. He didn't know what to do with it, he wanted to give it back, but he didn't know where this Tony Hale lived. Or did he? No, he didn't. Blast his age, and all of its problems! If he only had Margaret, she would know exactly what to do. His wife passed away five years ago, of dementia, such a cruel disease. He missed her greatly, so much in fact, that he needed to return that locket.

He knew that the boy needed something from his love to remind him of her during this difficult time, he understood what he was going through. He understood the look the boy got in his eyes, the dreamy look, he had that look once. The doctor understood how he would want to keep everything secret, the two being so active in the media's eyes. Especially the girl. He saw her on the news several times, talking about certain things, she appeared to be a sweet little thing too. She smiled often when she was talking about her faith. He understood that, Margaret was the same way.

There wasn't a lot the aging doctor didn't understand, he could relate to most of his patients problems, that's why he was so popular among them. He could relate to their issues. He loved to sit and talk with them during treatments, he even chatted with the girl while the nurses were checking her over. Whitney, was it? Yes, that was her name, Whitney. He didn't see that name often, it was rather unusual, but he liked that, it made everyone unique. Individuality, now that was becoming rare, all the craziness and conformity. Conformity, that was an odd word, conformity. Strange, very strange. What did it mean again? Oh, yes, compliance. Compliance, another strange, overused word. Why couldn't someone use a different word that meant the same thing? Like, amenability, now, that was a word!

Dr. Abbott gradually ascended from his chair, knees wobbling as he stood upright. He needed to return this, so who would he call? Oh well, he would figure it out sooner or later, he always did. But right now, he needed to rest, he felt tired and drained after answering all those questions the, what was it? FBI, those people, asked him. He carefully walked up the stairs, placed the locket on the nightstand, and went to the bathroom to take a nice, warm bath before bedtime. It would help him think. He felt sorry for that Tony person, he knew what must be traveling through his mind. Thoughts, horrible, dreadful thoughts. Maybe...having the locket would help him.

He needed to give it back.

A/N The flashback episode I told you about is this couple, now the girl eventually dies soon after all the lovey stuff by a speeding car, and the boy feels responsible. He saw the licence plate, but can't remember. See why I couldn't resist? And yes, Désirée is a French name. Please feel free to correct me, I was bored, and I looked up the origins of that name to see if I could add anything interesting to Desiree's background, and lo and behold-it was French. So...there you have it. And the reason I added Dr. Abbott's point of view again was because he has great importance later on. What kind of importance? I can not tell you. So, with that, I leave you guessing.

Oh, and I have some exciting news! I've been accepted into an original fiction short story competition! I just was so excited that I had to tell you guys! :)