Abby stopped at the bottom of the stairs to the apartment building and looked up, the screeching of car tires on the street echoing in her ears. She couldn't explain why she felt so nervous. She had gotten so apprehensive at work that she had even convinced Kerry to let her leave half an hour early. Now she was standing in front of her own home, the one place she should feel most comfortable, and she felt an almost overwhelming desire to turn and run.

She climbed the stairs to the front door quickly, fumbling with her keys as she made her way up. She opened the door with inexplicably shaking hands, and hurried into the lobby. The feeling of dread was growing more powerful, and she glanced around frantically. She froze when she saw the superintendent, walking toward her with his hands open and his eyes full of concern. "Abby? Abby, is everything all right? Is John okay?"

Abby bit her bottom lip and looked straight into the man's eyes. John...something had happened to John.

Without a word, she bolted up the stairs to their apartment, not stopping when the old man called out her name. The door to the apartment was standing open. She ignored the possible dangers to her own safety and ran inside. "John!" she cried out in fear, her eyes darting around the familiar room. "John, where are you? John!"

She turned to check their bedroom, her heart pounding. As she rushed past the bathroom door, something caught her attention, and she stopped. Had she really just seen...?

Slowly, Abby walked back to the bathroom. She closed her eyes as she turned to face the empty room, and opened them slowly. "Oh God," she breathed when she saw the scene before her.

Blood.

There was blood everywhere.

Abby swallowed hard and took a step forward, her mind reeling with what she saw. She felt suddenly nauseous and leaned against the sink for support. She heard something clatter into the basin, and reached down to retrieve it.

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion for Abby, as she lifted the empty syringe from the sink. She cradled it in her hands, afraid of breaking it, afraid of what it meant. A reflection on the floor caught her eye, and Abby found herself staring down at a razorblade lying on the tiled floor in front of the bathtub.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she shook her head, her jaw quivering. "No," she whispered to the empty apartment. Abby's mind exploded, and her world shattered, raining down around her in tiny shards. The blood-curdling scream that ripped itself from her throat was one of desperation, horror, and pain. "NO!"

The syringe fell from her hands and clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop beside the discarded blade.

Abby backed from the room slowly, fighting the dizziness that threatened to knock her to the ground. She backed into something and turned, a fearful scream pulling itself from her lips. She felt strong arms wrap around her, and she curled into them, pounding her balled fist against the chest she found herself clinging to.

"Abby?" The man's voice was dripping with concern and confusion. "Abby, what happened?"

Abby shook her head. "I don't know," she answered, turning her face up to the man who held her. "Where is he, Dave? Where's John?"

The black SUV swerved recklessly through traffic, speeding down residential streets and weaving its way around the other cars. Peter laid on the horn again as someone pulled in front of him to turn, and sped through the intersection. His mind was swimming with the events of the past hour.

He should have known that something was wrong. He should have known that Carter was in trouble. He'd had a feeling that something was amiss, when Carter had taken so long to come back out...but he'd ignored it. He'd chalked it up to an overreaction, and he'd left. He'd waited longer than he'd said he would, but in the end, he'd left anyway. And he'd abandoned Carter to the hell he'd endured in his own home.

He should have seen the rope burns on Carter's wrists. No amount of blood should have kept him from noticing them immediately. He should have known they were there. He should have been able to tell from the moment he laid eyes on him that it was no suicide.

Someone had tried to kill Carter.

Someone had tried to kill his best friend.

And he'd let them do it. He'd ignored his gut and driven away, and damn him... he'd let them hurt Carter.

Peter didn't know what he was planning to do. He knew that the odds of actually finding the person who had tried to kill Carter were almost non-existent, but he still felt he had to try. He wouldn't be able to rest until he knew that the person who had tried to end his best friend's life had been found.

What would he do if he found the guy? Peter honestly didn't know. He liked to imagine that he'd restrain him and call the police, but he was realistic enough to realize he'd probably beat the hell out of him first. In fact, Peter was honest enough to admit that it would be damn hard not to kill the guy out-right.

Memories flooded through his mind, and his anger enveloped him. Carter...lying in the bathtub, his hair and clothes soaked from the shower that rained down over him. Blood... smeared on the walls, pooled in the tub, splattered on the tile. The way Carter's arm had hung so limply over the side, the way the blood had been dripping from his fingers, the way his head had hung to the side. He'd been so pale, so still, so lifeless... Peter had thought he was already dead. His heart jumped into his throat as he remembered it, and he wondered if he would ever be able to close his eyes without seeing it in his mind.

His mind shifted to the hospital, to the marks he had seen on Carter's body there. The rope burns on his wrists that Peter should have seen to begin with, the bruises that littered his chest and face, the mark the rope had left across his chest. Then there was that other rope mark...he almost closed his eyes as he thought of the deep red line across Carter's throat. He remembered reaching out to touch it, and wished he hadn't. The mark that the rope had left was deep; blood had been oozing from it and had dried around the edges. Peter shivered involuntarily when he thought of just what had to have happened to leave a mark that deep.

How had Carter survived at all?

Peter heard a phone ringing, and it jarred him from his memories. It took him a second to realize where the ringing was coming from, and a second more to figure out how. He had left his phone on Carter's floor, but Cleo had left hers in the car.

He reached into the center console and pulled the phone out, holding it against his ear quickly. "Yeah?" he answered.

"Peter." The voice on the other end was Cleo's, and Peter wasn't surprised. "Peter, where are you?"

Peter looked around him, realizing for the first time that he had been driving in the general direction of Carter's apartment. "I'm...about six blocks from the hospital. Why? Is Carter all right? Is he awake yet?"

"No. No, he's not conscious yet, but he's stable." Cleo stopped, and Peter knew there was more that she wasn't telling him.

"What?" he demanded. "What is it?"

"They found more... after you left. Rope marks on his ankles..."

Peter felt a new wave of anger welling in the pit of his stomach, and he pushed it down.

"Peter... look, Peter, I hate to ask this... but can you go back to the apartment?"

"Why?" Peter asked, not bothering to mention that he appeared to be headed in that direction anyway.

"We can't find Abby. She left here about an hour ago, and no one knows where she is. We're worried that she might be in trouble, or that she might walk into the apartment and find..."

Peter nodded again. "I'll find her," he answered.

"Peter," Cleo said softly. "Peter, I love you."

"I love you too. I'll be back soon." Peter turned the phone off and tossed it to the floor.

The police cars were swarmed together in front of the small apartment building when Peter pulled up. He parked across the street and walked, pushing his way past the officer that tried to stop him.

"Hey! You can't go up there!"

"I'm looking for someone," Peter answered, pulling his arm free roughly.

"Stop!" the policeman yelled, following Peter and grabbing his arms again. "I said you can't go up there!"

Peter backed away, pulling his arms free once more. "And I said I'm looking for someone!"

"Peter!"

Both men turned and saw her; the petite woman with dark blonde hair and large brown eyes was sitting on the front steps to the building. She stood shakily, reaching her arms out to Peter. The man that had been sitting beside her stood as well, helping her to stay on her feet.

"Oh, Peter..." she said again, her voice filled with tears.

Peter looked back at the officer and raised his eyebrows, and the officer nodded, motioning for Peter to go ahead.

He ran to her, wrapping his arms around her as she fell against him. She buried her face in his chest as the sobs overtook her, and Peter felt the front of his shirt grow wet immediately. "Peter..." she sobbed, grasping his shirt. "Oh, Peter... John..."

"I know," Peter whispered into her hair. "I know." Peter looked up at the man standing behind Abby. "Dave," he acknowledged. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just stopping by, see if Carter wanted to catch a college game on TV or something. The super let me in, and I found Abby upstairs..."

"There's so much blood, Peter. So much... and the needle up there... and the razor... razorblade..."

"Shhh," Peter soothed, running his hand down Abby's hair and tightening his hold on her. "I know, Abby, I know."

"How could he do this, Peter? Why would he do this? Why didn't he tell me he was having problems?"

"Abby," Peter said softly, taking her face in his hands and forcing her too look at him. "Abby, you need to know. Carter did not do this to himself."

"What?" Abby and Dave asked in unison.

"What do you mean? Peter, what do you mean!"

"Look, Abby, I know how it looks up there. But you have to believe me. Carter did not do this."

"How do you know?" Dave asked, looking at Peter suspiciously. "You just got here..."

"I found him," Peter answered softly.

"Wait... wait..." Dave stammered. "You found him? You found him when?"

"Peter, you found him?" Abby asked quickly. "Where is he? Where is he?"

"He's at the hospital, Abby. He's alive. Kerry and Susan are taking care of him."

"Take me to him!" Abby demanded. "I want to see him now!"

"Okay," Peter answered, wrapping his left arm around Abby's shoulders and leading her to his car.

"Peter, is he awake? Is he conscious yet?" Dave began from behind them, his voice apprehensive.

Peter shook his head. "No, not yet. But they're giving him Narcan, so he might be by the time we get back."

Abby climbed into the car when Peter opened the door for her, and Dave climbed into the back. "Hurry, Peter!" Abby urged. "Please hurry!"

"Yes, Peter," Dave echoed quietly, as the car pulled away from the curb and sped back into traffic. "Please hurry..."