"Todd, it's me. It's your sister. It's Jessica. It's okay, Todd. I'm here now." Nancy heard Dr. Halstead's words, but she was having trouble processing them and putting the pieces together. How could she be…?

"I—I don't understand," she whispered hoarsely. Suddenly, her throat felt dry and a thick mucus seemed to coat at the back of her throat, rendering it difficult for her to speak. She took a ginger step forward, much to Frank's chagrin as he immediately shot out an arm to prevent the young detective from taking another step towards Dr. Halstead.

Nancy watched, horrified, as Todd Baines' massive form began to tremble and shake. Whether it was out of anger, shock, or inability to process what was happening around him, she didn't know, but she recognized the classic signs of danger welling deep within the man's burly chest, and if they did not do something to help Halstead, she would die.

"Elizabeth, come with us," pleaded Nancy, her voice barely above a whisper as she felt Frank gingerly tugging on the sleeve of her baseball t shirt. "We have to get out of here. Call the cops. They'll deal with him."

"NO!" bellowed Elizabeth, her face paling in anger. "They'll kill him," she said, and Nancy could hear the crack in the professor's voice.

"Dr. Halstead," urged Frank, careful to keep his voice low, while at the same time backing away, putting as much distance between the Black Lake Killer and him and Nancy as he could without it seeming obvious. "Your brother isn't right. He's killed people in horrible ways. He needs to face justice for his crimes, a—and maybe they can put him someplace."

"Get out of here," was Elizabeth Halstead's only response. Her tone was clipped and hard, and Nancy recognized that the woman was on the verge. But on the verge of what? If she truly was Todd Baines' sister, would she too have a mental breakdown? Did this sort of thing run in their family? And too, there was no mistaking the note of fear in her voice, how the professor's voice crackled and warbled as she stared up at the hulking, towering form of Todd Baines, a serial killer with a football player's build and who easily outweighed them all by at least a hundred pounds. When neither Nancy nor Frank moved, she felt her head whiplash sharply behind her, though her gaze flitted uncomfortably from the pair of detectives to her brother, who'd not said one word since.

"No." Her voice did not sound quite as confident as Nancy would have liked, and she knew both Dr. Halstead and Frank, and perhaps even Todd Baines heard the hesitation in her tone, the uncertainty…the fear.

Elizabeth Halstead—no, no, no. Jessica, her name is Jessica, Nancy thought wildly, shaking her head and cursing herself for being so stupid, turned to regard both Nancy and Frank with an incredulous look on her face. "Did you not hear me?" she shouted, stomping her foot. "I gave you an order! Your lives are at stake here, and you're in no condition to run a marathon," she growled darkly, glancing at her foot in the boot.

"B—but—I…" Nancy started to say, and her gaze fell upon Todd. She swallowed at the black, soulless look in those eyes that were like the pits of Tartarus, just waiting to claim another soul. In this case, hers and Frank's. But she was not given a chance to elaborate further as the Black Lake Killer let out a guttural warning growl from the back of his throat and threw the axe he'd been holding in his hand. Nancy screamed and ducked and would have had her head chopped off had she not ducked at the precise moment the weapon hit the wooden beam she stood behind.

"Todd, no!" Jessica begged, and moved to stand in front to stop her older brother, but with that simple gesture of trying to block his way, it cost her dearly. The slap was as loud as a clap and stung her face. It had been an open-handed smack and it had left a red welt behind.

Just below her eye was a small cut where the ring had caught her. She staggered backwards, clutching her face, eyes watering. "GO!" she yelled.

Frank and Nancy hesitated, wanting to stay and help Jessica, but she screamed it again. "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" she screamed.

They did not need to be told a third time. Grabbing her arm, Frank pulled Nancy forward, grunting with the effort to drag her along. "Hold on, Nan," he moaned. "Forgive me for this, Nan, but I can get us out of here faster if you cooperate with me, you can't run with me with your foot in that damned cast, and…" he apologized, trying to apologize to her with his eyes for what he was about to do. "I'm sorry. This goes against everything I was ever taught. A—and please don't tell Joe about this."

"What are you talking about…?" she asked, but was given no chance to doubt her friend, though a tiny squeak of fear escaped her lips. Frank Hardy swung his fist, hard as stone as it landed on a delicate cheek. Nancy's eyesight blurred, but not because tears were welling up.

Everything became fuzzy; then the woman saw nothing at all. Her consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space Nancy Drew's heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in her ears, alongside her fading pleas for help and mercy. She heard a woman screaming just before she fainted. Is it me...?

Feeling in her body drained away until finally all was black.


Nancy awoke to the frigid cold of an unfamiliar room that smelled dank, moldy and smelled of death. The coppery taste of blood lingered on her tongue and settled there. She blearily lifted her head and tried to focus her gaze more than a few feet in front of herself.

"Where am I?" she moaned, looking around to the best of her ability. For a moment, she wondered what had happened, and then it hit her, as though she had been doused with a bucket of ice water and she froze as she felt her insides curdle and freeze. "Todd!"

The young woman held out her hands as a means of defending whatever might come her way, soaking up whatever ghosts no doubt haunted this place, wherever 'this place' happened to be for Nancy Drew. She felt them circulate right through her heart and become even quieter whispers, hearing the victims' screams. The room she was in was, for lack of a better word, roomy, airy and eerie. An uneasy breeze blew down the corridor and gripped Nancy with its chilly touch and she felt a tremor of cold and fear travel down her spine and she clutched herself, wrapping her arms around her midriff, wishing she'd thought to brought a sweatshirt or a jacket. The chill's fingers circled around Nancy's body, tenderly fondling every inch of the young redheaded college student, pulling her shoulders tight together as she huddled into herself for warmth. The furthest door from him had been left open slightly ajar, allowing a glorious amber to meander like a narrow stream across the hall. Her mind instructed her not to move, but her body rose from her perch huddled in the furthest corner of the room, trying to ignore the musky smell of sweat and sex that seemed to cling to her body like a disease, refusing to leave her alone. She remembered what had happened, and desperately wished that she could remember any detail of his face.

Nancy felt her foot take one step, then another, leading her towards that amber light like a moth toward a flame, only the moth didn't know where it was heading, and Nancy did. To her death, undoubtedly.

Every step she took was met with a discordant shriek from the worm-rotted disgusting floorboards. Gingerly, Nancy outstretched her arm and pushed open the door. It was a living room. In minutes, the room was dark once more and a fire crackled in the hearth. Nancy could feel the heat and there came a soft music, lyrics with it too, though the words eluded her. The floorboards creaked behind her and she turned. There stood the silent, stealthy Black Lake Killer, his form towering over hers.

Though Nancy was not fooled. It was a miracle she opened her voice to speak, and nothing came out but a tiny, breathy squeak. Wherein she did find it again, her voice was rough and coarse, barely above a whisper.

"Help me," she whispered, wildly glancing around the room for means of an escape, but no one was coming for her. "Frank?" she croaked.

The killer's grin merely widened, and she could not help but feel an enormous sense of fear. It paralyzed her, rendered her frozen to her spot and unable to move.

He said nothing for several long, excruciating minutes and Nancy wondered if this guy talked. Years of isolation and living alone might have rendered him mute, but then he opened his mouth and spoke with a slow, deliberate calmness. "No one's coming for you. It's just you and I here, as it should be. Welcome to my home, Nancy Drew," he smiled at her, and spoke with all the courtesy of a gentleman, as if he were offering her an iced tea instead of presumably being about to rip out her heart and eat into her throat where the man stood. His words dripped with sarcasm, and she could hear the anger in his voice. "It's so kind of you to visit me in my loneliness."

With an ashen face and beads of sweat forming on her brow, Nancy let her eyes roam the room for escape options. The floors were solid oak plank beneath the dust, the walls were brick behind plaster. There was the front door, the window, and whatever lay behind her in the kitchen, Nancy surmised, thinking quickly. Before she'd made two steps away, her legs locked straight and she fell harder than a stone statue onto her face, and blood pooled on her tongue, and that was another bruise she'd have on her eye.

"That wasn't very nice of you," the Black Lake Killer snapped, sticking out his bottom lip in a pretend pout. "You hurt my feelings, Nancy," he growled, losing all semblance of warmth in his mock hosting tone. "Are you one of those mean girls?" he taunted, though now Nancy startled at the shift in his voice. He sounded…bored? Yes, bored. And that could only spell trouble for her. Nancy lifted her head and winced at the sudden gush of warm crimson that leaked from both her nostrils.

Her nose had swollen to the size of a baby yam and her face was disfigured from the fall. After a few moments, she felt herself lift into the air and rotate until she was upside-down. Blood rushed to the already angry wounds and began to drip freely. Nancy could see the man had taken a seat in an overstuffed leather armchair, his legs draped over the edges of the armrest, and he swiveled his head lazily to look up at her, his gray eyes almost dull and lifeless.

"Take a look at the pictures," the man said, and at once the room was bathed in a steady ethereal glow. The man had clipped newspaper clippings to the wall. Nancy gingerly crept closer, and she froze.

"Killings…" Todd Baines had followed media coverage of all his efforts. "B—but why? And what did you do with Frank and Jessica?"

"Safe," was all he answered. "You're the one that's a problem."

"If I bring you down, will you play nice?" Todd Baines asked, feigning concern in his voice. Nancy wanted to open her mouth to scream for help, to find out what he had done with Frank, really done with him, if Frank and Jessica were dead, to cuss and shout obscenities at the monster above her, but she felt her head bend into nod and move of its own accord three times. She wanted to speak to the man, but her voice died in her mouth. The killer extended his hand and helped her up, gingerly.

It was almost unnerving, such a gentle gesture, coming from such a monster. Nancy trembled and swallowed the lump in her throat.

She felt the boards beneath her dried skin and practiced looking out of the corners of her eyes. Maybe she could plan without being detected by the Black Lake Killer if she played along for now. The glass was single pane. It would hurt like hell to have her skin cut, but once outside she could run for the road, hail a cab and get the hell out of this God's asshole of a fucking city. Then without meaning to, her eyes went to the fragile pane, and all at once, Nancy's neck and head became rigid, frozen. " I did warn you, Miss Drew," the serial killer said, clucking his tongue in mock disappointment and wagging a callused finger at her, shaking his head, as though he had expected more from the fiery redhead with an explosive temper. "Now look what you've gone and made me do…"

The window morphed into a wall right before her eyes. "What's happening?" she moaned, not liking the sudden onset of a headache she was getting. "Drugged?"

"Yes."

Nancy felt her head being turned to the door, and as she twisted to face the stairwell, it disappeared. The kitchen entrance became an iron grill, medieval and black. Nancy gulped and swallowed nervously. Did he really plan to use those on her? "Now pay attention, Drew, we have a game to play. The stakes are high, they always are, but with you, you're a special one, aren't you? So, I've had to up the stakes, I'm afraid."

The man shuffled the deck expertly, laying them all out on the table before the two of them. "This is my favorite part," Todd said and let out a little sigh, as if they were watching some sappy movie. Nancy felt her arms become free and she raised a trembling hand to her face. It was a mess; hot tears sprang from her eyes washing some of the drying blood back into her mouth. "Take a card." Without any conscious thought from Nancy her hand obeyed, turning over the Queen of Hearts. The killer opened his mouth but instead of the giggling coming from him it radiated from his walls. "The queen dies" he said coyly, "but don't worry, I'll bring you back for the next hand."

Nancy opened her mouth and this time the scream came out loud and strong. Her arms and legs became under control and she ran about the room searching for an exit. There was a trap door she hadn't seen before. The bolt slid back as if were only installed the day before and she ran downwards almost falling in her hurry. The basement was pitch black; she was as blind as if her eyes had been gouged. Her body washed cold. She brought her fingers to her eye sockets; they were still there. She turned back to the stairs and tried to run up, but her foot fell through each one like it was a mere projection.

So how had she walked down them? She leaned forwards to touch the stair and felt a fabric fall down her arm, soft and velvety. Cold metal touched her forehead, one grope told her it was a pointed hat, like a fairy tale crown. She grabbed it and a mirror appeared in front of her, glowing like a television screen. It was her, broken face and all, dressed like some picture book queen. She swallowed.

"The queen must die," isn't that what Baines said? Without sight of any knife in the mirror the image began to bleed from the neck. She raised her hand to feel the sticky warm fluid about her throat. She screamed; the image laughed. In a blink she was in back in her jeans and t-shirt once more, facing Baines. "Don't make me ask again. Do I need to say it a second time? I hate saying it a second time."

Nancy's mind was starting to fail, like an engine that turns over and over, never kicking into action. She'd been drugged somehow, probably while she was out unconscious. She couldn't formulate a thought. Every action could lead to more pain and there was no way out of this house. No way out. She brought her hand to her throat, no blood. She glanced at the floor, no trap door. Her eyes went to the walls, the windows and doors were back, the iron grille gone. She breathed. There was a chance. This bastard had limits. Maybe the window was always there, even if she made it look like brick. Outside was night now, her aunt would be frantic if she didn't call and check in soon, to let her know she'd made it to safety. They'd trace her phone signal. All she had to do was stall.

She turned to the man standing opposite from her, "Please let me go," she begged, and she hated how weak her voice sounded. Then a thought struck her. Todd Baines had said something about…loneliness. Did a monster like this, sentient though it was, even suffer from bouts of loneliness, was it possible the creature from hell actually felt? A wild, truly awful idea struck her, but it might be her only chance at survival.

"What if I…" here she bit her bottom lip and hesitated, lifting her chin to meet the man's gaze. "What if I came back tomorrow?"

Todd Baines, the Black Lake Killer of Maine, smiled at her much like an angel would. "How long do you think you've been here, Nancy?"

Dread crept over her like a spider leaving a careful trail of silk, leaving its web in her wake as she crawled down Nancy Drew's spine. She felt her back straighten and stiffen in her seat as she sat up straighter. "An hour?" she gulped, and the dread returned when the man's grin widened to that of almost Cheshire like proportions and he shook his head.

"Try a week, Drew. You disappeared. Another poor missing teenager, probably taken by a cruel, nasty man," he mocked, scrunching his face and crinkling his slender nose in disgust. "Your little boyfriend is dead, thanks to you. Murderer," here he grinned a truly devilish smirk this time, and Nancy shivered. He leaned forward in his chair and sauntered, almost leisurely towards the door. "You won't be going anywhere, Nancy. You're my little doll, and this is my dollhouse, if you will. You are mine to do with as I please. I think I like you, so I'll keep you. Just…close your eyes and pretend you're home," he said, and he threw back his head and laughed, his giggle almost sounding childlike.

What exactly was she dealing with her? Ineptitude for social graces? Mild mental cognitive impairment?Whatever was wrong with him, he'd been affected badly.

And she was well and truly trapped here. Her heart sank as she heard the locking of the deadbolt behind her, and Nancy knew she had nothing in her purse with which to pick the lock, no means of a way out of here. The young redhead heard his footsteps slowly disappear down the hallway, and she turned back to see that the door was closed. Making a beeline straight for the door, she tried to force it to open, her bare hands pushing against the rough surface of the door, which was cracked and weathered with age. It was all in vain. The door stood stubbornly in its place. There was not even a viable window in this room, save for the one over by the fireplace's hearth, and if she broke that, Todd would hear and then she would be dead.

A shudder ran through Nancy. Trapped. "I'm trapped," she whispered to no one in particular. She was well and truly confined within the walls of this very room. Suddenly, she felt claustrophobic. A metallic smell hung and lingered in the air, almost rendering it suffocating and it became difficult to breathe. It reminded her somewhat of the smell of dried blood, and for a moment, Nancy found herself wondering if she was the first person Todd Baines had brought to this place, where he lived, or if she was the first. The room was pitch dark, and she had no choice but to huddle back into the same corner, wrap her arms around her knees, and pray that someone—anyone—would find her before it was too late for her. She was going to die here if she could not think of a way to save herself.