I do not own Midsomer Murders! I only own the characters I made up.

"Coffee?"

"Hmm? Oh, thank you, sir."

The scortching hot beverage burned my tongue and throat, but I didn't care; I was grateful for the caffine-loaded drink. The reason for this? I hadn't gotten much sleep at all due to the fact that I had continued to wake up every other hour. So despite the burning, I sipped the liquid quickly, carelessly.

"Good morning, gentlemen!"

I slowly looked up at George Bullard, the source of the cheerful tone. George was dressed not in scrubbs, for once, but in a simple white dress shirt, black tie, black slacks and leather shoes. Barnaby returned George's greeting, while I simply asked if George had found anything that could bring us closer to our killer.

"As a matter of fact," George smiled, "That's what I came to the lounge for in the first place. It seems our killer isn't as careful as we thought."

I felt my eyes light up, and I held my breath for a brief moment. "Yes?"

"As our killer was dragging Blake away, he dropped a cloth that was soaked in chloroform. Either he was in a hurry or he didn't realize he'd dropped the cloth, because he'd stepped on it, leaving us a small section of shoe print. The shoe print was made up of mud, and bits of grass. Judging by the small pieces of vegetation that were mixed in with the grass, the killer's hiding place is somewhere lush, and marshy."

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips, and I stood. "Thank you." I would've said more, but I felt my mobile vibrating in my pocket. Reaching down lazily my fingers plucked the small object from my pocket and brought it swiftly to my ear, not bothering to allow me to look at the caller id. "Ben Jones."

"Hello Ben."

My jaw tightened as my teeth grinded together, earning me both confused and amused expressions from George and Barnaby. "Where is she?" I growled.

"Oh, Ben, that's no way to talk to the man that's holding your niece hostage."

"I said where is she, Paul?!"

Paul chuckled smugly on the other end of the line. "She's right here beside me."

For a moment I thought I could hear the sound of chains rustling, and then whimpering. "Let me speak to her." I said a bit more calmly. "Please." Another small whimper sounded over the line, and I was surprised when I actually heard her voice, that the cold-hearted killer and kidnapper had actaully passed the phone to allow a loved-one to speak to a loved-one.

"Ben?"

My chest literally began to ache as I stood there, clutching the phone to my ear. Her voice had been so feeble, so weak, so...oh, so pain-laced! I leaned forward a bit, resting my free hand on one of the police lounge tables, and took in a shaky breath. "Blake?" I said softly. "Sweetheart? Are you alright?"

What started as a weak, humorless chuckle ended as a pained whimper. "No." she whispered. "I'm not."

I tried, with difficulty, to swallow the lump in my throat as my hand tightened into a fist on the table top. "What has he done to you?"

She grunted, as though shifting her weight. "Many things, Ben."

The right corner of my mouth twitched in anger. "Has he...touched you?"

"Yes." she said as though nodding. "In more ways than one."

My fist tightened until my knuckles were white. "Are you hurt badly?"

"Yes." she breathed. "I...I think quite a bit of my ribs are broken...Possibly a few fingers...My right foot, definately. I..." she paused for a few moments, as though considering her words. "I'm so sorry."

Again, her voice had sounded so weak, so broken. She sounded broken. "Blake-"

"No!" she whimpered. "Ben!"

My eyes hardened as my posture straightened. She sounded panicked, like she was trying to get away from something. "Ben! It's a big building! A warehouse, or something! Concrete! Tin! Sheet m-"

"Blake?" I called. "Blake!"

"Hello, Ben."

"No!" I snarled. "Put her back on, please!"

Paul's voice turned from light and jesting, to dark and angry. "No, I believe she's said quite enough."

"If you hurt her anymore-"

"You'll what?" he chuckled darkly. "There's nothing, absolutely nothing you can do to stop me, Ben, and trust me, she will be punished for trying to spill our location."

I could hear more chains rustling, whimpering, and then a very pained yelp. "Please," I begged in what I could only describe as a whisper. "Please...stop hurting her. What do you want? What do I have to do?"

There was a long pause, before that deep chuckle sounded again. "Well, I've already got a good start on revenge."

"What has she done to deserve this?!" I cried out in a helpless tone.

"She witnessed a murder, ruining my chances of getting away from my other murder and here."

"What do you want? What do I have to do?"

"You." he stated.

"What?"

"You asked me what I want. I want you, and I want money...lots of money."

My free hand roughly rubbed at my face. "How much?"

"Hmm...Uhm, about two thirds of a million pounds will do."

"Done." I mumured quickly.

"Well! No hesitation there! Tell me, is she more than just your niece? A lover, perhaps?"

My nose wrinkled in disgust. "She is my child, and I want her back." I answered, each word clipped with annoyance and anger. "That's all I want."

"Very well." he said smugly. "I want it in one week, and no more than that. I'll call you in exactly that amount of time with a place for you to meet me and directions. Bring the money in...oh...let's do this the old fashioned way. Bring it in a briefcase, it'll be easier to count. Come alone. Bring no one but you and yourself, and no, absolutely no weapons. If I see anyone with you, I'll shoot her right on the spot. If you bring a weapon, hell, if I think you've brought a weapon and your hands are too close to your body, I'll shoot her. Got that?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes, I understand."

"Good lad! Remember, don't try anything, or I'll do much more damage than is repairable."

With that, the line cut off.

"What. The hell. Was. That?" Paul hissed.

I flinched when he slammed the small mobile down on the now clean, metallic table. I was getting that gut feeling again...that feeling I would get when my father or one of his friends was going to beat me.

"I asked you a question!" he snarled, leaning over the table until his nose was touching mine. "What the hell was that?! You nearly gave away our location!"

"Can you blame me for trying?" I whispered.

Paul jerked upright and came to my side of the table. "No, but I will punish you for it."

It startled me when I was grabbed by my wrist chains, and I became even more afraid when he began dragging me across the concrete floor. In my fit of fear I tried to get up on my feet, only cry out in agony from my broken right foot. I fell back down on my belly, the sick memory of one of dad's friends doing the same to me before I was raped. I struggled, yanking on my shackles, trying to get away, but I knew it was just in vain. The shackles knawed and tore into my skin, sending streams of crimson blood down my forearms.

I was dragged into a room that I'd dubbed the torcher room, where Paul kept all of his weapons of choice. I was surprised when he unlocked and removed my shackles, however, it was only so he could remove my shirt. The shackles were hastily put back on, and the my blue jeens were removed as well, leaving me in nothing but my undergarments and ruined, blood-stained, torn black socks. I was then lifted by my chains again, and my chain was placed on a large hook; the same one that I'd been hung on to be beaten when I'd first been brought to this horrid place.

Paul stepped back with a satisfied look before turning to his weapons, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His eyes seemed to stop on a pair of leathery gloves, which he stepped forward and put on. "Do you know what these are?" he asked.

I shook my head.

He held his hands up to show me the palms of the black gloves. There was a silver circle in the middle of both gloves, and silver lines extended from those to run along the fingers. "These are electric gloves, as I like to call them. There was a video game with a torcher scene in it, and the victim was electrocuted with gloves similar to these. Don't worry," he chuckled, "The victim didn't die. I've lined the inside of these leather gloves with rubber to protect my hands. That way, the only one getting shocked is you."

My mouth went dry. Gloves that can electrocute someone?! He'd gotten this from a video game?! "How many volts are in those?" I squeeked.

Paul smiled darkly. "It's not the volts you should be worrying about, deary, it's the current, or amps; whichever you would like to call it. There aren't enough amps to fry you, but there are just enough to get my messedge across." he murmured. Paul then turned to one of the counters, where a small, silver box rested, and flipped a switch on it.

My eyes widened when he did this, because I could hear the hum of the voltage running through the silver parts of the gloves, and the silver actually began to glow a shade of blue from the electricity. I shrank back as much as I could while I was just haning there, wishing I could just run from the place, broken foot or not. Paul's happy facial expression turned into one of concentration, and he sprawled his fingers before touching one of the gloves to my belly. It felt as though a very large man had punched me in the stomach, and the effect of the punch had run all the way up to my chest and upper arms. I found that I couldn't scream, either, only gasp. Paul removed his hand, seemingly surveying the damage, before slapping me across the face. I was able to scream that time, and wanted nothing more than to clasp a hand over the throbbing area; it had felt like I'd been hit with a sludge hammer.

Paul seemed to consider something, an idea or action, before placing both hands on both sides of my ribcage. My body seemed to do its own little dance, suspended there in the air, and my scream had not a touch, but quite a large dose of vibrato to it. Paul pulled away, a happy light entering his eyes like a child that had been taken to a toy store and told to pick as many toys as he wished. He lunged forward again and again, his hands landing on a different area each time, leaving red marks in the shape of the silver on the gloves.

"Stop!" I finally screamed. "Stop, please! D-don't electrocute me anymore!"

It felt so strange to cry. Crying just seemed like such a...such a childish thing to me at that moment. Maybe it was because when my so called father would beat me, I wouldn't sob until after the beating. Of course, he'd never used electrocution as a punishment. My broken foot wasn't exactly helping in the matter, either. My foot actually felt like a heavy rock on the end of my ankle, just adding more weight to the shackles on my wrists. I was shivering, too. It was cold in the huge building, after all; glacier freezing, it seemed. I was only in a bra, underwear, and socks. Whatever skin I could still feel felt as though it was burning, and the cold contrast of the air was only irritating my electrical burns.

"Alright." he answered. "I'll stop electrocuting you." he took his gloves off and set them in one of the many metal drawers, and then flipped off the switch on the silver box before putting it with the gloves. He then walked back over to me, studied me, and then smirked as he ran his fingers down my side. "I'll stop electrocuting you, but that doesn't mean I'm finished punishing you."

A cry passed my lips at the roughness that was used in getting my shackles off of that large hook; I'd practically been dropped, and my broken foot was the first thing to hit the ground. I found myself being dragged again, to a different corner of the room, and was lifted up onto a table, where my shackles were secured to another hook so that my hands were again above my head.

Paul smirked, laying one of his large hands on my flat, scarred belly, and leaned over so that his lips brushed my ear when he spoke. "No, I'm not finished punishing you at all."

"Jerry, why don't you play with your little brother? He's been in his room all day."

It took my mind a moment or two to develop the meaning of the words that had been thrown my direction. I looked up, finding the sorce of the words to be my mother, and shook my head. "I'm not in the mood to play with a kid; I'd probably just upset him."

Mum sighed from her position in the kitchen, and joined me on the couch. She was looking a lot thinner, now that she'd given birth to Amber. She was getting back down to her normal size, and she seemed a lot more pleased with herself. Who wouldn't? She can move around without having to take it slowly, or have anyone assist her. "Come along, Jerry." she said softly, soothingly. "Go play with him, it'll get your mind off of her for a bit."

"No, it won't." I told her, averting my gaze to the backyard. Dad and April were playing with Amber out there, laughing and giggling. I looked back to mum. "Why can't I stop thinking about her, Mum? It's driving me mad, but I don't want to stop thinking about her!" I whispered.

"You love her." she answered simply, with a simple smile. "You're just like your dad, you know? Just like him in so many ways."

I looked away from her again, hiding my face in my hands. I had to find her, but, where to start? Midsomer isn't that big, or Causton. She could be anywhere, though! What if she wasn't even anywhere near the Midsomer villages, or anywhere near Causton? The doorbell rang, interrupting my thoughts. "I'll get it." I mumbled. It caught me off guard when I found Ben standing on our porch, a frantic look in his eyes, breathing heavily. "Are you alright?" I asked him.

"Where's your dad?" Was all he said.

"He's in the backyard. What's-"

I never had a chance to finish my sentence, for Ben rushed past me, through the livingroom, and out the doors that led to the backyard. Dad's face went from calm and playful to serious and concerned. He turned to April and spoke, and April scooped Amber up into her arms before coming in the house. I watched Ben and dad converse for a few moments, before I couldn't take it any longer. I walked to the open doors and stuck my head out, catching the last of Ben's words as I did so.

"So, have you got a briefcase?"

LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE! Okay, the video game that Paul was talking about is called Metal Gear Solid. I'm uncertain if it's the first or seconed one, since there's three or four of them, but that's where I got the idea from. There is a scene in the game that is similar to the one that happened to Blake, but I think it was much more brutal in the game than in my story, and I was only relating it to the the torture scene, and nothing else. In fact, my torture scene and the game torture scene are pretty different, with the exception of the electric gloves. I'm not trying to steal anyone's ideas. I do not own Metal Gear Solid, and I don't claim to own it. Though it is an enjoyable game, I do not wish to claim ownership to it. Now then! I apologize for taking nearly a month to get this chapter published! It is the end of the school year, and everyone is struggling and fighting to keep their grades at passing. Anyway. That's my excuse. Please review! It motivates me! I appreciate it! Thanks!