"Tess, are you okay?" Duncan asked urgently, after a momentary loss of his bearings after the crash.

"I'm fine," she said, putting her hand to her forehead.

"You're bleeding." Duncan looked at the blood on her scalp that was beginning to drip down her face.

"It's nothing. Just a scratch."

"We need to get you looked at." He reached into the glove box and got out the cell phone. He called 911 and told the operator where they were, just a few miles away from the store and was told an ambulance would be there in ten minutes.

"It looks like just a scratch," Duncan said looking at the wound as they waited. "But better safe than sorry."

"We've been following the story of the eighteen year old who was kidnapped from his home in Washington state for almost two weeks now," Diane Sawyer told the camera. "We've had many people write us asking what they can to help the MacLeod family in their search for their son, Richie. Hopes, prayers and well wishes can help the family just as much as anything else in their time of need, but if you wish to donate to the ransom, you can call 1-800-555-LOST and you can donate directly into an account set up to help the family with the five hundred thousand dollar ransom."

Duncan reached for the remote, but Tessa took it before he could and left the show on.

"For those of you not familiar with the story, Richie MacLeod was kidnapped from his home on October 11th, the only clue a ransom note in his own handwriting. When his parents went to give the kidnappers the original one hundred fifty thousand dollar ransom, the kidnappers were chased away by a police officer. Days later, the police received another note in the boy's handwriting changing the ransom amount and setting a new date. With us today, we have Dr. Amanda Mumford, a recognized expert in cases of this nature. Welcome, Dr. Mumford."

"Thank you," the middle aged woman said, smiling at the camera.

"How do you anticipate this case ending?"

"Unfortunately, many cases like this end in tragedy. Statistically, the longer the child is missing, the less likely the chances are that the child will be found alive."

"Tessa, turn it off."

"No!"

"What do you predict Richie's chances are?" Diane asked.

"After two weeks, I'd say he has a little less that a fifty-fifty chance. And the longer they keep him, the more his chances go down. Add in the extensive press coverage and the police effort and they've made a rather bad investment. As much as I'd love to read that the boy is found safe and unharmed, the circumstances are against him."

"That's a rather pessimistic view of the situation."

"It's a realistic view."

"Tessa, turn it off!" Duncan made a grab for the remote.

"No! I want to know what the rest of the country thinks about our situation."

"Why? You want to hear that Richie's been shot and buried in a shallow grave?"

"I want to know what our real chances are! I'm sick of being patronized and told everything will be okay!"

"Tessa..."

"No! No! I am not a child! I need to know what's really happening! And if no one here will tell me, I'll just get it from strangers! At least they're being honest!"

"Why do you always have to start a fight?" Duncan demanded, very conscious of the agents who were all hurrying to find a way to busy themselves and give the couple any privacy they could.

"Because I'm sick of not knowing what's happening! I just want to know what's happening to that boy!" She jumped to her feet.

"Do you think they know? Because they don't! We don't know, the police don't know and the reporters sure as hell don't know! Face it, Tessa, nobody knows! There's nothing we can do but wait!" Duncan took a step forward and they stood toe to toe.

"I'm sick of waiting! I want action! I want Richie back!"

"Tessa, there's nothing we can do! Face it!"

"Duncan.."

"Stop living in a dream world! Richie's gone and we can't do anything about it! We're just as helpless as he is!"

"No, we aren't! He's the one lost and alone! We're here under our own free will! No one is holding us captive here at gun point!"

"But none of us can change the situation!"

They stood, toe to toe, glaring into each other's eyes. Suddenly Tessa's hand shot up and she slapped Duncan across the face before storming out of the room.

"What are we gonna do?" Collin mumbled to himself, pacing in the living room of Mary's parent's house. "The cops and reporters are everywhere!"

"It was your genius idea," Mary hissed. "I tried to talk you out of it."

"Who do you think you are? You're part of this, too."

"You're the brains of the whole thing."

"When did you get a back bone?" Collin asked.

"When I became a fugitive from the law because of you and your gambling debts."

"Oh, shut up and let me think!"

"Fine." Mary took the pizza box and went back into the room where Richie was laying on a dirty mattress.

He shifted slightly when she came in. Mary wrinkled her nose at the smell of body odor, feces and urine. She untied the gag and put the pizza to his lips. He turned his head, refusing to eat. He was tired, scared, angry and tired of how he was being treated.

"Take it," she whispered, trying to get him to eat again. And again, he turned away. "Please, kid. You have to eat." He continued to look away. "Do you want some water?"

"Why, so I can piss my shorts again?" Richie asked in a hoarse whisper.

"If you eat and drink, I'll clean you up," she bargained. He didn't answer. Sighing, she went back into the living room.

"He's not eating," she said.

"Fine, one less mouth to feed."

"He smells horrible; let's at least clean him up."

"No."

"So we just let him die in there? He has to eat."

"Give me that." He snatched the pizza box and stormed into the back room.

Richie could tell who was coming in by the heavy foot steps. He froze then tried to squirm away when someone grabbed him and sat him roughly up against the wall. They squeezed his jaw open and shoved the food in his mouth.

"Eat it!" they ordered in a stern whisper.

Richie waited a second then spit it out.

They back handed him, making him fall over onto his side. They grabbed his hair, sat him up again, and shoved the same partially chewed food into his mouth. Richie spit it out again.

"Fine!" Collin yelled throwing the soggy mess in Richie's face. "Starve!" He retied the gag, stormed out of the room, took Mary and left.

"Kid's not gonna eat; we're not going to bother wasting our time coming over here at three in the morning," he said driving around the corner before turning the head lights on. "He can just sit there and starve until we figure out what to do with him."

"What do you mean figure out? We're giving him back to his parents, aren't we?"

"He's not worth the trouble. We've got the cops everywhere and he's all anyone talks about. We dump him."

"What about the money? What about starting over in a new place?"

"We'll figure out another way to do it."

"I'm not going to let you shot him."

"He can starve to death, for all I care. I'm just not trying another ransom drop. There's too much at risk."