Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.

Kyle had barely gotten out of the bath when the door suddenly burst open. Three 'attendants' moved swiftly, making quick work of his hands and his sight, though Kyle was certain he could almost hear himself screaming as the black cloth was draped over his eyes. The loss of his sight, on top of his near-profound deafness, was a lifelong fear he had never been able to overcome.

There was motion near his front as a wet pair of hands began to grab at him and tried to pull back the repulsive shroud from his brilliant eyes, but the hands were shoved roughly from him by a pair that felt like fine-grit sandpaper. Something damp, soft, and solid fell at his feet, brushing around his ankles as if to grab them.

Kyle felt his lips forming words he was probably shrieking at this point, though his only reply was a solid slap to the face that stung harshly. Moments later, another cloth was wedged between his teeth so tightly he thought his jaw would dislocate. Shaking, the analyst tried to will himself to calm down and think about what he'd just learned—a trick Chase was forever drilling into him.

These people are willing to use force, it seems, he thought. They didn't wait and ask me, like last time—they seized me at the earliest opportunity. Perhaps this means something unexpected has happened, like a rescue attempt…

A pair of hands laid themselves gently against Kyle's shoulders, like before. As he took slow, careful steps through the long black space, Kyle continued analyzing his situation.

So, now what? The 'higher management' seems to want to make the 'guests' feel comfortable, but they also use force when needed. Could be because of a sudden shift in events, or perhaps it's a way to reassert that control ultimately lies with them, and not us. Okay, I can buy that.

The hands turned him left, then right, then right again, then left three times, then spun him, then followed another long series of twists and turns.

They don't seem to want me to know where I'm going…is the path they're choosing deliberate, so I can't count my steps or my way out or here, or is it because they're as lost as I am?

Kyle tried to quicken his pace a bit, hoping the hands guiding him wouldn't notice as he gradually worked up to a run. Before he got more than two steps in front of his 'guide,' however, a hand from beside roughly grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back in front of the gentle hands.

Someone—maybe all of them—don't want me getting too far ahead. Maybe they realize I might still be able to run away? Or is there something in front of me I can't—or shouldn't—know about?

The gentle hands pulled him slowly to a stop. Someone stood in front of him, brushing against him as a cold shock of air blew over him. Kyle shivered, rattling his teeth against the cloth as he was gently pushed forward and then stopped again. Something struck the back of his legs a little, and the gentle hands pushed him into a sitting position.

For a long time—or, what felt like a long time, anyway—Kyle sat in that chair, staring out into the room swathed in a thick, endless black. He desperately wanted to speak, but his hands were still secure behind his back and his mouth was still full of thick cloth.

When it felt like Kyle could no longer sit still and cooperate, something cold worked its way between the cords that held his hands, and before long they were free. Immediately the young man reached up towards his face, desperate to remove the hateful blindfold.

If I'm about to die, I want to see who's going to kill me, he thought stubbornly. I don't want this coward to get off that easy…

What greeted his eyes the moment light struck them was enough to make him gasp in shock.

Chase was the picture of calm as she allowed herself to be led through the labyrinth of hallways that made up the 'facility' she was being kept in. She had always welcomed the dark, preferring it to the bright, hot afternoon sun. There was something about darkness that always put her at ease, and she allowed that to guide her thoughts.

So, blindfolds, she thought. Obviously someone has some security issues. Perhaps the blindfolds are a way to keep certain people disoriented? Or to prove that the people running this place are ultimately the ones in control? Who knows.

The soft sound of rubber connecting with something solid—tile, perhaps, she thought—echoed off the walls that she knew were close by. Keeping her breathing in check, Chase began running through what she knew in her head.

Whoever these people are, there's a lot of them, she reasoned. There'd have to be in order to snatch three people on the same night. And not just any people, either—two of them are well trained for such things, and the other one wasn't alone during her abduction.

There were several twists and turns, all of which were discerned by a pair of hands guiding her by the shoulders.

There's a connection between the people who've been kidnapped and the people that are missing them, and not just the usual one—all of them have a pretty specific skill set that their 'captors' seem interested in for some reason.

"Watch your step, and lift your feet up when I tell you," a voice said behind her.

The cordiality of these people is what's really throwing me, though. It's almost as if they want to 'convince' their captives that they're simply an unexpected 'guest' that will be well-taken care of. Problem with that, though, is that the 'guests' more than likely want to be able to leave the room when they please, and they can't…

"Step."

Chase lifted her feet, using her toes to search for the top of the short rise.

"Step."

Again, using her toes as a guide, she managed to reach the level portion.

"Step."

The process continued thirteen more times. Chase began to shiver. Darkness she could handle, along with snakes, spiders, close quarters, water, fire, and weapons of all sorts. Every time her feet began searching for the top of another step, however, a part of her wondered worriedly if the final destination wasn't a long drop and a sudden stop.

Finally there was a slight push on her shoulders, motioning her to go forward. Chase's feet inched slightly, still afraid of not finding solid flooring or ground under her feet at some point.

"Ah, Miss Davis," a voice said. It was a cultured voice, one that held a tone to it Chase didn't like. "I see you've finally joined us."

"Oh, it's you," she said. "I remember you from the concrete room."

"I trust you found your accommodations to your liking?"

Chase felt a sarcastic smile grow across her face. "I even like the color," she said.

"Good, good—very good."

"Um, I hate to be brusque, but could we do without the blindfold? I mean, I have seen you before…"

"Oh, yes, of course. I'm certain you will want to see this…"

The black cloth fell from her eyes, though her hands were still bound from when she had been 'escorted' from Hotch's room. She saw that she was standing on a large balcony, looking over a wide marble room. The balcony was lined with a metal guardrail, making a drop off from the platform difficult at best.

What caught her immediate attention, however, was the sight of a figure that was sitting in a chair—bound, blindfolded, and flanked by guards. The mop of sand-colored hair, cut longish over the ears, covered a black cloth that hid a pair of brilliant blue eyes.

Chase's breath vanished from her lungs, and she nearly forgot to fill them with more for several seconds.

"What have you done to him?!" Chase said sharply, her voice raised.

"As you can see, he's perfectly fine, Miss Davis. For now."

"Fine?! Are you kidding?!" Chase knew the figure beneath her was by now terrified beyond belief, if not worse. Struggling to keep herself calm and in check, she said, "Please, let him see. What can it hurt?"

The man looked at her a moment, studying every inch of her face. "What does it matter to you? He's no relation, no concern…"

"You know damn well he is," Chase snapped.

An appraising eye floated over the features in her face. "It seems we weren't far off the mark. Very well." The man flicked his hands towards the guard below, and a knife slid behind the figure's back, freeing his hands. Instantly those hands pulled the black cloth from the figure's eyes.

The wide, long, disbelieving stare she witnessed was enough to break her heart. Giving a look of her own, she tried to put on a face she knew he'd recognize—the one that said It's okay—we'll get out of this one.

Another look followed it. Just as soon as we get to the bottom of this…

Below her, the face of Kyle Parker took in the silent message, and nodded once. His only question now was, now what?