AN: The reviews were awesome guys! Thanks so much! :) I just got home from watching the Hangover. I think I died laughing. Haha. But that has nothing to do with anything. :)) I'm bored out of my wits.

So yea. Here's the next chapter. The sadist is back, by the way. Well, not in full bloom though. Not yet. :D There. Happy reading and thank you!:)

- I still own nothing.

"You miss your father," he stated, eyeing her as he sat adjacent to her once again.

Addison nodded, too wary to be having this conversation with him. If he wanted to kill her, she hoped he would do it quickly and painlessly. For every time he prolonged it, it was getting harder and harder to come into terms with the idea of death.

"I know how you feel."

She shook her head. "No you don't. If you did, you'd be able to sympathize with me."

"Contrary to what you think, Addie-bee—"

"Don't call me that," she whispered harshly. "Not after what you did. You don't get to call me Addie-bee. I don't care if it angers you or makes you want to kill me now. Just… please. Don't."

Peter nodded understandingly. He himself didn't know what came over him. He didn't know why he was being the least bit kind to the redhead. He supposed that the effort of trying to be a sadistic freak was wearing him out, and he missed being the sensitive guy he was before Anthony Montgomery turned his life upside down. "As I was saying, contrary to what you think, I do know how it feels like."

She raised a brow disbelievingly at him. "How so?"

He bowed his head. "I missed my family more than life itself when I was behind bars. I would've given up everything to spend a day with them again. I mean, I knew I would see them again after 25 long years, but I was dead to them. I still am."

"But your wife…"

"Did you see the look on her face that night? She… she thinks I'm a monster. And I suppose she's right about that. I've changed so much over the past years that I find no semblance between the man I was to the man I am."

"Then change back," Addison said simply.

"It's not that easy. I have to feel vindicated before I can be the same man."

"And this vindication will come from…?"

Peter looked pained for a moment and then sighed, standing up. "I think you know the answer to that. I promise you, though, that it'll be quick and painless."

With that, he walked to the door and exited, bolting it closed as he had a hundred times before.

-

Detective Sanders sat in Derek's room, jotting down notes as he asked him questions about Peter. Bizzy, Archer and the chief were also present, trying to encourage Derek.

"And what do you remember about the shack?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "For the last time, it's not a shack. I don't know what it is, just that it looked like we were held in a basement of some sort. Both Addie and I were almost out cold when in transport."

"And how long was travel?"

"From where?"

The detective shrugged. "From the shack to the highway or the hospital to the shack. Whichever you remember."

"An hour and half to the highway give or take."

Sanders nodded, taking down notes. "And in your opinion, did it feel like you were going north or south?"

"We took the west highway from Seattle Grace. That's all I can remember. I can't tell you which exits and exchanges we took."

"And on a scale of one to ten, ten being the highest, what's the probability of us finding Addison with your help?"

Derek closed his eyes, everyone in the room awaiting his answer. He felt as if the air had stopped circulating, like all of them were holding their breaths for him. He wanted desperately to say 10, because that would make him feel more confident than he really way. But if he really wanted to find her, he had to be honest. He had to accept that he could be virtually no help unless he could find something in his head to help him remember.

"Well?" Bizzy asked suddenly, her voice apprehensive.

He looked apologetically at Bizzy and Archer's expectant eyes. "Two," he said simply.

For a moment, there was nothing but hopeless silence as everyone tried to gather their thoughts. It would be more difficult than they had expected, but it was a two nonetheless, not a flat out zero.

And then, the tensed silence was interrupted by a timid knocking on the door, followed by Agatha cautiously walking in, all heads turned to her.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," she said unsurely. "I was just looking for everybody."

Bizzy nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat. "No worries, darling."

"I… uh… actually wanted to talk to you all about something."

Archer raised his brow expectantly. He still wasn't sure whether they should trust the woman, but it was one of the only hopes his mother was holding on to. So for her sake, he was trying to give Agatha the benefit of the doubt. "And what might that be?"

"The shack… well, not really a shack. But I'll call it the shack for lack of better word," she rambled before stopping herself. "My.. my point is… I think I know where it is."

Everyone's eyes widened as Sanders spoke in disbelief. "Excuse me? You've been with us the whole time and you haven't said a word about—"

"Detective," Bizzy warned, knowing that his temper would not get them anywhere. "Let her continue," giving him the hardcore Forbes glare that Addison had inherited. If it weren't for the situation they were in, Derek would've chuckled at the display of unadulterated emotion.

"As I was saying," Agatha continued. "I think I know where it is. I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure. But it makes sense, I think. Peter grew up here in Seattle. He used to be a real estate agent, but he found passion in farming and the slow life so he moved to Hartford. He used to look at land out here, and he owns a quaint house about 100 miles northwest of Seattle. I don't know where it is exactly. It's under his father's name."

"What does that mean?"

"It means… he must have taken her to the place. I completely forgot about the land out here, or any land for that matter, since he was brought to jail." Her face bore the most apologetic and yet childlike of expressions, as if she had discovered the secret behind the world's greatest mystery.

"Could you give us more information about the place?" the detective asked, the wheels turning in his head as Agatha spoke.

She shrugged. "Only that it belongs to Abraham Jones, his father. I've never been to the place though. He meant to take me before, but it never happened."

"Agatha…" Bizzy started, pity filling her at seeing the woman so torn. She knew it hurt Agatha to be torn between her duty to her husband and her duty to the citizenry.

"You have to act fast though," she continued. "I know Peter. For all you know, he could be growing a heart, though I highly doubt that, but he wouldn't keep his eyes off the prize. It's always going to be about the prize for him."

-

Addison awoke to the sensation of being tied up once again, on a chair with her eyes blindfolded. She struggled, knowing she never could have trusted Peter. Her body strained against Peter's tight grasp on her wrist as fear started to grip her. The blindfold was something new, and it scared her. It was almost as if the unknown future had just thrown a curveball at her and she didn't know what to expect anymore.

"I read something a few years back in a medical journal," she heard him say, his voice back to the cynical and sadistic one he held not too long ago. "About drug overdoses."

Her eyes shot open underneath the blindfold, her body sweating and shaking all of a sudden. "What?"

"You heard me. It was an article about this new form of abortion slash suicide." He walked about the room, shuffling and making noises Addison could only imagine.

She heard him open packets and packets of things she could not recognize by sound, and then heard him tinkling around a glass as he stirred whatever concoction he was coming up with. She was familiar with the article he was talking about.

"Of course you know what article I'm referring to, of course." Addison had written that article a couple of years back, and had it published because of the overwhelming statistics about peri-natal mothers trying to abort their babies or kill themselves. She had had a handful of patients being brought to the hospital on account of serious drug intakes, and it pained her to see women so readily give up their babies and their lives.

"How could I not?" she said harshly, her voice raised. "You're using my words against me."

He laughed sardonically. "Hardly, Addie-bee. For you see, I twisted the article a bit so it wouldn't just apply to pregnant women." Peter paused, shaking his head. "I told you it would be quick and painless."

"Drug overdoses aren't quick and painless," Addison protested harshly, breathing deeply as she tried to control her emotions. Deep inside, she was panicking. She knew she should have been ready for anything, but knowing how it was going to turn out made things almost too much to handle.

"I know that, too. So, after you drink whatever it is I'm preparing for you, I'm untying you. And you get the choice of waiting for the drugs to take effect, or use the gun I'm going to leave for you so it's quick and painless. It's really your choice. And then, right after I untie you, I'm leaving. Adios. The house," he said, referring the shack, "is yours."

Addison gulped, her mind thinking of the million possibilities a drug overdose could kill her. Cardiac arrest, suffocation, lack of oxygenation due to excessive toxins in her blood. She could go on forever, listing off things in her head that could happen. But she had to stay steadfast. She could resign herself to her fate, or fight. Because really, the gun was fate and running away to find a thread of hope would be fight.

Peter watched as Addison's face contorted in a myriad of emotions, the gamut expressing themselves perfectly on her pretty face. He sighed, pulling a seat and settling himself by the table. "Do you want to know what I put into this?"

She thought about it for a moment, deciding that Peter would tell her anyway whether or not she said yes. How she wished Derek were with her now. He would know the right things to say to comfort her. Slowly, she nodded, fisting her hands as she braced herself.

"Sleeping pills, Panadol, Tylenol… Paracetamol… and a bunch of other unpronounceable crap. I put in Lipitor and Amoxicillin, Prozac… really, just over the counter pain medications that I had lying around the house. I don't know how long they've been in this house, though. I think the tylenol's been here at least 5 years."

"This is going to be slow and painful," Addison whispered.

"It is. But… if it makes you happy, I pounded these things up to a fine powder and mixed it with the water well. It'll taste horrible," he said, grinning sadistically. "But it's the most I can do."

She pursed her lips sarcastically. "Gee… thanks for you concern, asshole. I thought you grew a heart after you fucking killed my dad. I was wrong. You're still as crappy and worthless as you were before. I hope you rot in hell."

"You better watch your tongue, Addie-bee," he warned. "But if I rot in hell, darling, I'll be seeing your father and you there, too."

He walked over, taking the blindfold off and giving Addison her first view of the tall glass that contained whatever it was that was going into her system.

"You know… just a little trivia. I thought about peeling your skin for this final, triumphant and yet anti-climactic moment where I get to kill you. I thought about doing all those other sadistic things I know your mind must have come up with. But you're not worth the energy it would take for me to skin you. But who knows, I might change my mind in a hour or so."

He grinned wickedly and held the glass up, the liquid inside it a most gruesome color; Addison started to gag at the mere sight of it. He turned his head, staring at the glass. "I mixed in some orange juice in case you wanted some flavor. And some spoiled milk too. I didn't know what you were up for."

Addison grimaced at the sight of its contents, her whole body repulsed by it. She closed her eyes, trying to transport herself to a different time and place, trying to think of more pleasant things to occupy her mind. She really didn't want to be thinking about how she would survive, so she brought to mind her father's image so that at least, there would be purpose for all this suffering.

"You ready?" he asked, roughly gripping her chin and opening her mouth without waiting for an answer. He lowered the glass to her lips, pouring a hefty amount of it into her mouth and forcing her to swallow it.

And as expected, her gag reflexes kicked in, and she spit out the disgusting liquid, spraying it on Peter and on herself, her chin dripping.

Peter slapped her hard on the cheek, once again bringing the glass to her lips and forcing it down, this time ensuring that she swallowed it. "I'm offended you don't like what I'm offering," he said coldly. "Swallow it, bitch. Or else you're in for another glass."

He forced the drink unto her, ignoring the gagging sounds and the tears that were streaming down her face as she swallowed the bile and the concoction with all the strength she could muster. She wasn't fully recovered from her previously acquired wounds, her thigh throbbing and her leg stiffening as tried to ignore the constant dripping from her chin and the wetness of her clothes as it spilled on to her clothes.

"Please stop," she pleaded, feeling bloated and pained.

The man just shook his head adamantly. "You're more than halfway through. Why stop now?" he said, forcing more of it on to her. "The sooner you finish this, the sooner you get to be with your precious father."

And then with all the force she could come up with, she took the final gulp and breathed in and out, trying to keep the liquid in for fear of more if she vomited.

"Good girl, Addie-bee. Your daddy would be so proud."

Immediately, she started feeling dizzy, barely recognizing the feeling of her arms and feet being unbounded and freed. She was drugged up, in every sense of the word, that she barely registered the fact that Peter laid a small pistol on the table and kissed her sloppily on the forehead, muttering incoherent words as he left the room, bolting the door once again.

At that rate, Addison only had 2 or 3 hours left, 4 at most if she didn't kill herself with the pistol. The world started spinning around her, and as everything went to black from a colorful haze of glitter and darkness, she wondered if anyone would find her or if she would breathe her last breath all alone.

-

"Any luck on finding the land?"

The detective nodded, wiping his brow after an hour and a half of searching through land titles in the greater area of Northwest Seattle.

"Apparently, Abraham Jones has 16 land titles on file. He owns a lot."

Archer smiled, feeling his hope rising. "Then let's get a move on it. If we split up, we could find the shack in no time."

"Dr. Montgomery, traveling to northwest Seattle at this hour can take up to 3 hours with traffic."

"Which is why we should get a move on it," he stated obviously.

Sanders sighed. "We'll have to assemble a team, and it can take about an hour to two to get one and arrange a plan. So yes, we'll start moving, but not until we can furnish an arrangement."

Archer nodded, turning on his heel to inform Derek and Bizzy, his heart racing and bursting with hope. He could only pray, however, that they would be just in time to save his sister.

In retrospect, people would wonder, if Sanders had acted quicker and saved time that day, would things have had fewer consequences for all of them?

There. Now I'm going back to studying even if it's a weekend. :) Thanks for reading!! :)