Fin's darkly positivity attitude towards things had paid off; the logo belonged to a local florist, who specialized in flower arrangements and funeral wreaths. The building resided in an older part of the town, with crumbling white corners and chipped paint and windows in badly need of repairs. The door was cracked at eye level, and looked to be covered with hastily posted half off flower coupons, and a little bit of old white paint fell off with each door slam. The building, which could have been considered cute or even quaint, held an air of misfortune, and circumstance which the detectives could sense as they walked down the cracked sidewalk to the florists building. Something didn't feel right to Olivia and she followed her partner Nick inside the building, and the little bell hit the door as it shut with a 'clank'.
The flower store was owned by a Mr. and Mrs. DeWard, an older couple who both had greying hair, and worry or stress lines in their foreheads. As the detectives introduced themselves, the older woman seemed to shy away, busying herself with the note pad in front of her. As decided beforehand, Nick and Olivia spit to question the couple, each taking one to other ends of the store. The DeWards however, were uncooperative to the questions posed on them and seemed reoccupied with other things much to the detectives chagrin.
Olivia, who decided to question the Mrs., noticed that she didn't allow her hands to remain still. They always seemed to be wringing and rearranging the flower around her, and as Olivia asked her questions, she became more and more nervous and quiet, seeming to shrink back. Olivia made a note to get her alone to talk, because the attitude she put forth with the short glances and curt answers, gave the idea that she needed more time to talk, but her husband didn't need to know. Looking over at Nick with a short nod, she made sure the husband could not see them, and slipped the woman her card with a smile. The Mr. appeared to also be agitated with the situation as well, and Olivia wondered if Nick had gotten anything out of the husband because her efforts had been quite fruitless.
"Well, that was a bust" Nick said with a frown in his voice as he held the door open for Olivia. "He wouldn't give up the people they employed without a warrant; I think they know more than they say they know." "Yes, I'd have to say I agree with you. The woman definitely does. We should call her" Slamming the car door closed, Olivia watched the people walking down the sidewalk, preoccupied; it was the three o clock bustle, only things didn't look right to her, and she didn't know why.
A man stood apart from the crowd, Olivia felt an uneasiness and a sense of de ja vu, but she didn't know why. The man was average looking. with shaggy brown hair, and skin that didn't look like it had seen the sun in a few months - very pale, almost translucent, she thought. His jacket and jeans were also covered in dirt, his grey sweatshirt was torn, and a piece of white fabric was tucked haphazardly into his back jean pocket. "Does he look familiar…?" Nick questions aloud turning to look at Olivia with a puzzled look, who was also looking at the man strangely. "Yes" Olivia says quickly slamming the door, as quietly as she could while stepping towards the translucent man, "Excuse me sir, NYPD, could we have a word with you?"
The man stopped to stare at Olivia as she walked up to him with her hand on her gun, and Nick beside her. The uneasiness was not going away, if anything it was intensifying she realized. The man had a moment of recognition though, this was the woman he saw in the junkyard, and she was even more beautiful up close. Oh my. Her eyes were filled with something he didn't recognize- apprehension, suspicion, longing. He realized though, if he didn't turn away he would be trapped in her beautiful eyes, and his soul would be lost, and he couldn't have that just yet. So he turned away from the lovely female detective before him, and began to run down the three o' clock, crowded sidewalk before him.
Running around the groups of people, pushing them out-of-the-way and ignoring the 'heys' and other assorted complaints, he shed his sweatshirt, and stole a brown fedora from a street vendor that he ran into. Lucky for him, the vendor had been talking to another paying customer, so the only thing he saw was the flash of a white shirt, and the cold spot where his brown hat had once been. Entering the subway the man scaled the turnstile, and almost stumbling down the stairs, and jumped into the waiting subway car as the train left the station. Pleased with himself and shivering with anticipation, he decided to pick something up for dinner. Closing his eyes with a smile, he leaned his head onto the window, and that is what he realized what was in the brunettes eyes - compassion, and he realized the plan for the next few lovely little girls. Emma, the boring college blonde was getting a bit too boring. She definitely wasn't what he had expected behind closed doors, and the excitement was wearing off in a rapid manner. But, he could only imagine what he could do with an experienced brunette and a young blond thing, as he opened his eyes and smiled at the woman in front of him. Yes, this would do nicely.
Emma had always been a strongly willed person. She didn't cry when her parents divorced, or when her Stepfather had tossed her down the stairs, and she had to get twenty stitches on her face, and a cast on her arm, but she was close to crying now, and she hated herself for it.
She berated herself over and over for her foolishness in that park, for curling up like a little cat and going to sleep. How stupid. And for allowing herself to be taken, how would she ever get over that level of stupidity? She supposed a lesson could be learned here, don't trust your friends maybe? She would never be as foolish ever again though, that is, if she made it out of here alive, and now, she felt her chances slipping away like beach sand through dry tilted fingers.
Whatever drugs he had given her had made her sick, and when she had vomited all over the warmly furnished room, he had punished her. When he cuffed her to the bed and climbed on top of her the room was chilly. She had fought him tooth and nail, but he said nothing but 'I love yous' over and over as he ignored her cries. Sometimes gently caressing her face, her body, and other times pulling her hair so hard it made her see stars. So she ignored him, building a place where she was safe inside her head, and as the yellow ceiling started to become out of focus in her eyes, she had passed out in the hopes that she would die, or be found - Whichever came first.
That was three days ago, three days trapped in a sunny yellow prison. Four walls, and no windows, and while the paint was warm she was always cold. The grey floor seemed to mock her. She could feel herself getting weaker as well, and every time 'the man' as she referred to him visited her, she wished she had the nerve to kill herself. Somehow he knew everything about her, her favorite places, her class schedule, and he liked to taunt her with things that he would do to her if she tried to escape him, but always after he told her how much he loved her. How they would be together forever. It made her sick. She shuddered as she heard the door rattle, then harsh footsteps making their way down the wooden stairs, the smell of spaghetti strong as the door close, and she wondered if today was the day when she would die.