Notes: Well, first...a big thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, you all just rock! Second, I'm going to be delving into Jack's past a little bit here on my own accord. I'm taking some liberties...lol. Also, there is one foul word in the midst of this chapter, but I felt the need to use it to tie in with the moment. Also, thanks Dev for giving me some awesome feedback before I posted this! Well, enjoy!

**********

48 hours missing

The chilly wind blew against him, freezing his breath in the darkened subway station. The insubstantial bulbs cast an eerie glow over the scene before him.

A swirl of emotions engulfed him as he kneeled over the small pool of dried blood that he knew, instinctively, was Sam's. Danny's flashlight hovered over the red substance and he too kneeled over it.

"We're lifting prints everywhere, Jack. There's going to be thousands of them."

With one hand still clutching the flashlight, Danny ran his other hand over his eyes in frustration. The odds of making any sense of the prints they lifted were against them. He scanned the blood, something catching his eye. Leaning closer, he picked up what he only hoped was a hair, running it between his gloved fingers. A smile, the first in days, came to his face, and he stood, suddenly hopeful.

"Jack, this is a definite strand of hair and it most certainly doesn't belong to Sam."

Jack stood too, examining the dark fiber. He nodded to Danny, sealing a slight hope between them, and lingered over the scene of the crime as Danny walked away to bag the evidence.

He was being assaulted with images of her; walking home, completely oblivious, slightly tired. Her head would've been down because she never faced the world as she moved in the darkness. Some strands of hair would've slipped out of her ponytail, falling gracefully over her eyes as she walked with her bare hands stuffed in her coat pockets, sheltered from the wind that would've been blowing against her weary figure. Her deliberate, confident steps would've clicked against the concrete, echoing off the walls of the nearly empty station. She would've been thinking, he supposed, about their dinner the next night; about what type of pasta she wanted, perhaps what type of wine would be best to complement the meal.

She would've been thinking of him too, as she walked in the cold, smiling as his face drifted into her mind. And she would've been thinking of him when that dark figure came from behind her and hit her, and in that brief instant before the darkness took her, she would've thought of him and whispered his name and said a silent prayer that where ever he was, he would save her.

Jack shut his eyes and reached for something he hadn't in years: his rosary. He'd been carrying it with him since this began. Maybe it was a mixture of guilt and regret and the tiny bit of hope fighting for the surface that there was, in fact, a God, whether Jack had considered Him or his faith in a while or not. He did still believe that someone was listening and now, more than ever, he needed to talk.

He fumbled the coarse beads between his fingers and whispered a clumsy prayer that faded into the night, looking towards the stars that twinkled brightly against the canvas of black sky; little diamonds that showed you the way.

He pulled a picture of her from his pocket again. It was old and worn, slightly wrinkled and stained; but she was beautiful and alive and everything he needed her to be in that tiny picture that would forever hold her.

**********

"Forensics got a match on the hair strand to a Christopher Moore, age 31. He's got some minor felonies in his background: petty thefts, drug possession. We've got an address and phone number."

Danny slid the info to Jack, whose glasses rested carelessly on the tip of his nose. Martin and Vivian shared a glance, wondering whether it was enough to believe that there was a lead, finally.

Jack flipped through the report, his eyes zeroing in on the face of the man who had taken away the last good thing left in his life.

"All right, Danny, you're coming with me, we're going to talk to this Mr. Moore. Viv, I want you and Martin to search his apartment first, be very thorough. Then talk to the landlord and anyone else in the building you can get a hold of--see if they noticed anything unusual."

The team nodded, collectively standing up to face the world as they fought to bring back the missing link to their lives.

**********

"I told ya, I don't know anything!" Christopher Moore shouted for the second time in less than an hour. His hands shook, a gesture not unnoticed by Jack who circled the suspect like a shark taunting its prey. Though clearly a bit nervous, the suspect had a look in his eyes that sent a chill down Jack's spine.

He bent over Christopher, whispering exaggerated truths in his ear.

"This young, pretty girl, walking home all by herself. She's looking vulnerable and easy, just what you want. So you sneak up behind her, you hit her, you take her away. What did you do next, Chris, huh? Did you rape her? Did you tie her down and rape her? So easy, wasn't it? You were the big man, you had complete power over her. If she screamed, you slapped her around a little, maybe threatened her. But she hated you, she fought you, didn't she?"

Chris looked down for a minute, a smirk crossing his features, and an eerie confidence suddenly filled his veins.

"Yeah, she was a good fuck."

Danny, who had been standing outside, rushed in as this comment fled the suspect's mouth. Jack's temper flared and he pushed over a chair, ready to attack the man, only to be held back by Danny's strong arms.

"Jack, Jack! Come on, outside."

It wasn't an entirely rare thing for Jack to lose his temper. In fact, it was well known that though he had a sometimes gruff exterior, Jack was known to take many of his cases to heart. This one, obviously, more than any others.

Danny couldn't blame him; had the roles been reversed, he figured he'd need to be the one escorted out.

Jack paced, running a hand through his hair and over his mouth, fuming and thinking and running through scenarios.

"What've we got on this guy's apartment?" Jack's voice suddenly boomed.

Danny leaned against the glass, folding his arms across his chest. "Martin and Viv are still down there searching the apartment."

Danny paused and spoke again, forcefully, "Jack, why don't you head down there and join them? I'll finish questioning this bastard, see if he can give us anything useful. I'll make him talk eventually."

Jack nodded and watched as Danny entered the tiny room, circling the suspect much as he had done.

He walked through the hallway into the conference room and answered his suddenly ringing cell phone. Vivian's haggard voice came through on the other line.

"Jack, I just called the garage where Sam had her car. They need someone to go and pick it up. You free to head down there?"

"Sure, Viv. How's it going at the apartment, did you find anything?"

Sighing loudly, she replied, "Yeah, actually. But nothing I want to find, Jack; blood, some of Sam's ripped clothes and hair. But no sign of Sam anywhere."

"All right. Keep looking for anything that might indicate this wasn't random."

"What? You think this was planned?"

"I'm not sure yet, it's just a hunch right now. Just keep looking."

"You got it. I'll be in touch."

Jack closed the phone, depositing it in his pocket and ran a hand over his eyes. Nothing was making sense. There could be a multitude of people who may have wanted to take Sam. The possibilities were endless and the leads were few and far between. Buttoning his coat, he headed outside to his car, desperately hoping that there would be some clues.

**********

He'd never considered before just how closely one human being could be tied to another. It seemed a subtle, faint link had weaved its way through their hearts, binding them with each touch they shared and glance they stole at each other when no one was looking.

It was as though, anymore, she had become part of him and now this disturbing void hung over him like a curse. Maybe this was fate's cruel joke. He'd done one bad thing, and another, and another, until no amount of Hail Mary's could save his soul from a purgatory he'd erected around his heart.

Jack ran his hand over the steering wheel, thinking of her as he usually did. Funny, he'd never realized until now, but as he thought about it, she wore little, if any perfume. Rather, she had this signature scent all her own; one of toil and sweat and hard work. Of tears and grief and laughter and too many years alone.

She stood inside her own prison, he supposed, and pushed herself day after day, stumbling against walls that weren't there and reaching for people who never reached back. Then he'd come and pulled her in and they drifted together in this life that never ceased to batter and bruise them.

She had this look in her eyes that faded and rose with the sun. Beneath the stormy seas that swirled in her shining orbs, there was a pain that he'd never understood and tried desperately to ease. But she also had a fire of laughter that danced in the seas and a love for him that he'd never fully grasped until now. It was so beautiful and pure and he couldn't stop himself now from reaching out blindly to a world that had hurt him for the last time. Only, she wasn't there.

Perhaps she never would be.

Jack?

He sighed and spoke with a world weary whisper, "Oh God, Sam. Where are you?"

There was always silence and he'd come to know it. But he would never get used to it, never in a million years.

He could live a thousand lifetimes and that one single minute in the myriad of years and months and days that faded into a lifetime, that one brief second without her, would be enough to make his eternity wholly and utterly broken and damaged and incomplete in the broadest sense.

When he looked over at the vacant passenger seat, her ghost smiled at him. A goodbye he knew he might never have. He reached out again to touch the mirage. Her lips were cold and delicate and faded into the air. She haunted his sleep and his reality and merged the two into a kind of twilight he was being slowly sucked into.

Leaning over, he opened the glove compartment and was surprised to see a photo slip out. At first glance, it was an old polaroid. Curious, he picked it up. What he saw staring back at him from the grainy depths of a faded image was Samantha, bound and gagged, facing the camera with a fear he'd never seen and never wanted to again.

On the bottom, in the little white space, a few hasty words were scrawled messily in red ink, slamming him into a further spiral as his world spun out of control.

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, JACK

His hands began to shake as he clasped the picture. Suddenly, the situation was much more complicated.

**********

TBC...good chapter?