Thank you so much for the reviews. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update – real life intervened. And I find I don't like writing mean, hateful people. That made it slow going.

I'm rating this part R for disturbing images.

xxxx

"In this scene set in shadows, like the night is here to stay, there is evil cast around us…"

David Wilcox

xxxx

"You issued an Amber Alert?" The reporters were all shouting at the police chief as she stood at the podium.

The Chief held her hand up, struggling to be heard over the cacophony of voices.

"For a 17-year-old male? Isn't that a little unusual?"

"Ryan Atwood is a minor child who was taken violently from his home. That he's 17 and a boy, don't change those facts."

"Given Ryan's history, have you considered that he's a runaway?"

Grace Harvey was smart and driven and didn't suffer fools gladly.

"Of course we considered that," she snapped. "Any time a child goes missing, that's a possibility. Ryan's background and the fact that the abductor is his biological father were certainly factors that we considered. But given the statement from his foster brother, the condition of the house, and other physical evidence, we are confident that Ryan was taken against his will and is in considerable danger from his father."

In clipped, professional tones she ran through the little information they had that had been released as part of the alert. A description of Ryan, the extent of his injuries as they knew them, what he'd been wearing at the time he'd been taken, and mugshots of the three men who had been part of the invasion.

"We ask that all citizens of California be on the look out for this child and the men who took him. If you have any information at all, please call the contact number. Thank you."

xxxx

If he takes you, we'll find you. We won't let you go.

Ryan repeated the words until there was nothing else.

Sandy would find him.

Kirsten would never let him go.

Seth….

Ryan scrunched his eyes closed, refusing to open them; refusing to acknowledge anything other that the truth of the words.

If he takes you, we'll find you.

We won't let you go.

xxxx

The call had come as they were headed to breakfast. Newport police telling them Seth was in the hospital, that Ryan had been kidnapped. Frantic calls, a car ride home that Sandy no longer remembered, the hospital, Seth beaten and inconsolable, sharp questions, and a feeling that he was being slowly, inexorably suffocated.

Kirsten had stayed with Seth, while Sandy had tried to deal with police and media. Caleb had arrived at the hospital first, taking charge of Seth until his parents had arrived. He'd given Kirsten a hug, shaken Sandy's hand and left, grim faced, to deal with the security company for the development. When he found out how these men had invaded his daughter's home and hurt his grandchild, there would be hell to pay.

Sandy's conversation with the police had been horrific. Listening to the sound of Seth's broken, frightened voice on the 911 tape had almost undone him, and the recitation of Ryan's suspected injuries, added to the revelation that the boy's father had a history of brutal behavior while he was in prison and become associated with one of the white supremicist groups that seemed to flourish there had staggered Sandy.

"Why the hell weren't we notified that this man was out?" Sandy yelled. "How could you fail to let us know that this psychopath was out of jail?"

"Sandy, please." The officer made an attempt to sound reasonable, to sound like Sandy was the one being unreasonable. Sandy turned furious, devastated eyes to the man standing across from him, and Tom Curtis dropped his own.

"Shit, Sandy." He put his head in his hands. "We notify victims of their abuser's release. Dave Atwood was arrested for armed robbery, not domestic violence. We just didn't know that you needed to be notified." Tom scrubbed his hands over his face. "We figure most cons are headed home to their families. If they've still got 'em. We didn't know. There's nothing in the file."

xxxx

If he takes you, we'll find you.

Ryan crouched on the floor of the car where he'd been shoved, knees drawn up, cradling his arm, trying to follow the conversation among the men in the vehicle. He couldn't concentrate for long and he only got pieces. He recognized anger and frustration in their tones. He heard words that confused him and frightened him. But he couldn't put it all together.

"… mine…"

"…cabin…"

"… Jew…"

"…hate…"

"…kill…."

Ryan struggled to make sense of what he was hearing, but the pain and the terror were throbbing too loudly in his ears and in his head. He closed his eyes and reached for the words.

Whispering them, humming them, chanting them.

We won't let you go.

xxxx

They'd sent him home for something. An insurance card, Ryan's file, clothes for Kirsten. He couldn't remember. All he could see was blood on the floor.

He'd walked into the house the day after, stepping gingerly over police tape, dazed, dropping his keys in his pocket as he'd walked in the door. The devastation had taken him by surprise. Every table, every chair, every piece of furniture had been upturned. Windows were broken, vases shattered. Sandy walked, stunned, through the living room, picking his way carefully through the wreckage.

As he'd entered the kitchen, he'd closed the refrigerator doors that were standing open, grimacing at the food spilled onto the floor. That was when he'd seen it – the blood – smeared on the kitchen cabinets – where Ryan had tried to hold himself upright – pooled on the floor of the family room – where Seth had lain after Dave Atwood had finished his work.

Sandy swallowed, reeling. He leaned against the counter, gasping from the horror of the scene that was playing itself out in his imagination. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the scene out of his mind. He couldn't do this right now.

"Sandy?" The gentle sound of Rosa's softly accented English turned him around. She stood, stricken at the threshold of the kitchen.

"Rosa." He reached out to her. "We didn't call." He took an unsteady breath. "I'm so sorry…"

She was shaking her head. "No, Sandy. Please." She drew him into an embrace, and Sandy pulled her close. His relationship with Rosa over the years had always been cordial, distantly affectionate, but to Sandy now, after a day of comfort offered by strangers and a wife who was as desolated and lost as he was, the arms of this woman who loved his children and knew his grief were a welcome rest.

"I called my girls to come help me clean up." She said it gently, pulling back, eyes drifting to the cabinets.

"She won't have to see this."

xxxx

Ryan was wakened by another hand, this one grabbing him by the t-shirt, pulling him up, out of the car. Ryan stumbled after his captor, unsure in the dim light of dawn, which way they were headed. He could see his father in the lead, surging ahead down what seemed to be a path in the mountains. Barefoot, Ryan staggered over a rock, crying out in pain and surprise as he went down.

"Keep him quiet." His father's order traveling clearly from the front of the line.

"I'll take him, Joe." A soft voice in the grayness, and the switching of places among his father's men.

"Come on." There was a hand under his good elbow and an arm around his waist. Ryan got slowly to his feet, walking gingerly now, supported by the other man.

Ryan didn't know how long they walked. It was all he could do to keep on his feet, forcing himself to take each step along the path that took him further and further away from home.

If he takes you, we'll find you.

xxxx

"Dad?" Seth's voice came softly out of the dark, and Sandy moved toward the bed.

"Hey, buddy." Sandy's voice broke as he reached out to smooth the hair back off his son's forehead.

"Ryan?"

Seth asked every time he surfaced.

"Still nothing, honey."

"Dad …." He rolled over awkwardly to face his father, and Sandy leaned closer. Seth was more alert than he'd been since his parents had arrived. Sandy thought distractedly that Kirsten was going to be disappointed that she hadn't been here.

"Yeah?" Sandy threaded his fingers through Seth's tumbled curls.

"He was so scared," he whispered, eyes full of grief. "Dad, he…." Seth couldn't go on, choking, starting to cry.

Sandy climbed into the bed, gathering his sobbing child into his arms.

"We'll find him, Seth," he soothed. "We'll find him."

xxxx

We'll never let you go.

Ryan curled into a ball, drifting out of an uneasy sleep. He blinked groggily around, feeling the rumble of hunger in his stomach, the shudder of answering nausea at the thought of food. Awkwardly, he pushed himself in a sitting position, listening for the sound of voices elsewhere in the house.

He thought they'd been there a few of days, although he couldn't be sure. His memory was hazy, pain dulling all sense of time as he faded in and out of awareness.

Ryan heard footsteps, felt them in the floor boards, and he stiffened, bracing himself against the wall. He put his back into the corner, and faced his father when the man strode into the room.

Dave looked scornfully at the boy on the floor. "Nice nap?"

Ryan stared stonily back at him, refusing to be baited, even as he tried not to fade out again. He wondered vaguely where the fear of his father had gone. He was frightened – of the situation, of the strange angry men who held him – but the crippling terror of the man in front of him was missing. He wasn't sure why.

Dave tossed a sandwich to Ryan, grinning when his son didn't make any attempt to catch it before it landed by his knee.

"We're leaving tomorrow morning."

"Where are we going?" Ryan's voice was a whisper, hoarse.

"Hooking up with some guys I know."

Ryan trembled as a chill shook him, and he huddled closer in on himself. "Where?"

"None of your goddamn business. You'll go where I go."

"Why?"

"What?" Dave's voice was a snap, daring his son to question him.

"Why?" Ryan asked again. "Why do you want me with you? You've never wanted me before." He was so tired and he hurt so bad and he didn't understand.

"Because you're mine, that's why. Not theirs." He snorted. "And if you think they want you, you're even dumber than I thought."

"They do want me," Ryan said, softly, surely. He met his father's eyes.

Dave gave a bark of laughter. "You think?" He crouched down until he was eye level with Ryan. "I'll tell you what I think. I think that Jew-boy you've been livin' with cried like a little girl when I beat the crap out of him, and I think his Jew daddy's gonna hide in a hole, pissin' himself, just glad he don't ever have to deal with you again." He put his hand to Ryan's neck, resting it there, threatening. "That's what I think."

Ryan shrank back, head pressed into the corner, grief and rage spilling tears out of his eyes and down his cheeks.

"They won't let me go."

Dave tightened the hand around his son's throat, cutting off Ryan's breath. He raised an eyebrow at the boy, whose eyes didn't waver.

"They won't," Ryan managed.

The fingers constricted slowly and Ryan struggled to draw a breath. Suddenly, his father released him, stood up, took a step back. The strange enigmatic smile that had always made his sons' blood run cold touched his face as he looked at Ryan. For a long minute the two stared at each other, locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to back down. Finally, Dave laughed again, turning his back on his son.

"If he comes, will you let me go?" Ryan whispered it, forcing himself to ask the question.

Dave stopped in the doorway, paused, considered. Ryan felt his heart pounding, wondering, hoping. Slowly, Dave Atwood turned.

"If he comes, I'll let you go."

xxxx

There was a soft knock on the bedroom door.

"Sandy?"

Sandy looked up from the paper he'd been staring at sightlessly for the last 15 minutes. It was a story about Ryan's kidnapping, but he'd been unable to get past the first sentence. He cast a quick glance at Kirsten, curled up asleep in their bed. Next to her Seth was curled in a mirror image of his mother, face bruised, also sleeping.

Sandy stood slowly. He felt like he'd aged 50 years in the past four days. He opened the door, looking a question at the FBI agent waiting for him.

"We've found them."