They were all sat around the Pataki's kitchen table again. No one said anything, they were all just deep in thought staring at the table, at the floor, at nothing.

The press conference hadn't led to much. A few phone calls from people out of state claiming to have seen her, but once the police followed it up it was clear it was a mistake, there was no lead. A couple of ass holes had called pretending to be the kidnapper, that really pissed Bob off, and everyone else for that matter.

Arnold stood suddenly, bringing life back into the room.

'This is ridiculous, we should be out there!'

'Out there doing what? Following what? Running to where?' Patty spat, her arms folded against her broad chest as she glared at him.

'I. DON'T. KNOW. But doing something! Knocking on doors-'

Phoebe interjected, 'Arnold, we DID ALL THAT, we have been doing that! No one has seen her. No one' tears falling from her eyes 'no one' she began to shake, Gerald went to her, held her close. She sobbed into his chest.

Silence filled the room again. There was a knock at the front door. They all turned to each other, confused. It was 11pm.

Arnold shot up and ran to the door, praying it was the police, praying it was some sort of lead, anything. He flung the door open.

Before him stood an elegant woman, with long chestnut hair. Her hazel, yet tired looking, eyes stared at him for a moment before she smiled.

'The Pataki's place?'

'Uh, yeah. Who are-'

'Oh good, give me a hand', she cut him off while shoving several large flat cases in his harms. Turning behind her she grabbed another larger case and some folders she had placed on the stoop. She quickly shoved passed him and headed into the house. Dumbfounded Arnold closed the door and followed her towards the kitchen.

Everyone in the room was staring at her in confusion. She didn't look like a cop, she looked like, well, just like any body. Though, possessing more authority than any cop, she had just barged into the house as if she knew the place, confidently smiling at them all.

'Hi everyone. Ah the Kitchen', she turned admiring the room. 'Always the brain house in situations like this, well most situations I guess. But I need more room.' She picked up her folders and case, looking to Arnold, 'come on then, into the living room, chop chop!' She marched off into the other room, again everyone just started at each other for a second, before they all moved as one, getting up and following as instructed.

Arnold placed the cases he was carrying beside her, as she appeared to be unfolding some sort of board, a white board.

'OK lady, who the hell are you and what are you doing just barging into my house?' Bob demanded.

She continued to screw the legs on the whiteboard, adjusting its position. 'I saw your press conference. It's been a while so I'm sorry if my social skills aren't up to scratch. I was working with the last family for the best part of a year, and their home kind of became my home, and the family before that etc, etc.' She wasn't looking at him, too busy opening all the cases, rummaging round for something.

'What the hell are you talking about. Tell me now before I CHUCK YOU OUT!' Bob was leaning forwards towards her, but she paid no attention, she just kept on removing and organising the many papers in her case.

'There's no need for that . I'm here to help.'

'What are you, a cop?' Miriam enquired, her voice full of hope.

The woman grinned to herself.

'Oh no I'm better than a cop, I assure you'.

She stood. And one by one she started to fix pictures to the whiteboard, pictures of young girls. Pictures of pretty girls. Arnold saw that one of them couldn't be more than 13 or 14 years old. Each photo stared out at them, smiling. Most must have been school pictures. She was holding the last picture in her hand, she sighed as she fixed it to the wall, a picture of Helga, Helga's School picture. She stepped aside, allowing everyone to see the collection of images before them, she allowed them to soak them in.

'My name is Laura, Laura Beaumont. I'm here to Help you find Helga, I'm here to help you get her back'.

'Back from who?!' Gerald demanded.

'Back from someone I have been looking for a very long time. I call him the Cherry Picker'.