A/N: This is a pretty ordinary chapter so I only have one thing to ask of you, and I would be really grateful if you could! I don't have spell check or an SVU beta, so if you guys find a word that's spelled wrong, if you could tell me what the word is, and kinda where the word is (just what I'm writing about at the time) that would be completely splendiforous of you! Thank you so much for all of your encouraging reviews, I take all of them to heart. I hope you like this chapter, and don't forget to send me some lovin' or hatin' or anything in between!

Love from Scribs

Chapter Two: Dreaming

The case had started almost two weeks before. Munch had been sitting at his desk. He should have been filing paperwork; he wasn't. He was leaning back in his chair and tapping a pencil against his lips, staring at the empty desk across from him. Fin had called in sick that morning. Although Munch doubted his sincerity, he was willing to allow his partner a bit of slack, as he hardly ever took off work. Not that Munch would have had a say in the matter; Fin didn't listen to him anyway.

Munch was instantly attentive as a woman ran into the precinct, frantic. She was middle aged and relatively attractive in a soccer-mom kind of way. Her hair was blonde and permed. Her lipsticked mouth opened and closed periodically as if she wasn't sure if she should scream or not, and her mascara bled slightly from tears she was trying to hide. Clung to her side was a large purse. She wore khakis, a red sweater, and simplistic pieces of jewelry. Munch was at her side in a flash, directing her to a seat, trying to make her comfortable.

She certainly doesn't look like a rape victim, Munch thought, berating himself for it afterwards. He knew he had a point because her clothes weren't ripped or dirty, and she had no defensive marks, but he shouldn't stereotype. The rape could have happened a while ago, he decided, and gave her his full attention.

"Ma'am, I'm Detective John Munch. Can you tell me your name?" he asked, settling her into a chair by his desk.

"My name," she began, but had to stop and compose herself. She took a deep breath and continued. "My name is Armelle Owens. I went to the police department, they told me to come here. I... my daughter. She's only eight."

"What's your daughter's name?"

"Bethany. She's this little tiny thing. So small and helpless..."

"Can you tell me what happened?" he said, using the most gentle tone possible.

"I took her to the park," she said in what sounded half way between a sob and a choke. "She wanted to swing. She wanted to try by herself. I walked to the bench to sit down and... I only turned my back for a second!"

"I know," he said, even though he didn't. He didn't have kids, thank God, and he had no idea what it was like to raise them. But Lord knew that he'd heard that saying all the time. It was a favorite with the parents that came in to SVU. Only for a second...

"When I turned around she was gone!" she wailed, letting the tears flow freely into her hands. Munch had prepared himself for such, but it was still hard to deal with. Everything was hard to deal with nowadays.

"Did you notice anyone suspicious?" he asked.

"Well, I heard a c-car door slam a little ways off," she answered as calmly as was possible with her face buried in her hands. "There was a man, driving a... a sedan. Four door I think, it might have been two... he drove away really quickly when I looked towards the noise. The car was close by..."

"Could you identify this man?"

"If I ever saw him again, I think... I think I could."

"Could you describe him to a sketch artist?"

Armelle Owens just stared at him for a moment. "I don't... I don't know."

"What about the car? What color was it?"

"It was... tan I think? Or grey. Maybe white but dirty. I-I don't..."

"That's all right, Mrs. Owens," Munch said, wishing he had asked if she was married or not. He seemed to have gotten the right title however, as she did nothing to correct it. "This is not your fault."

That was another term he heard a lot these days. He said it a lot too. It was protocol. Make sure the victims know it's not their fault... as if they'd ever believe him.

"I should have been watching more closely!" This time he let the woman sob. Better to find something to take her mind from it, to make her think she was helping, than to try and assuage her feelings.

"Do you have a recent photo of Bethany?" he asked. She shook her head, sniffing and sobbing.

"No, b-but my husband should have one in his wallet... Oh, her father! I haven't called him yet..."

"What is her father's name?"

"Rick. Richard Owens. He works... he's a business consultant... He's never going to forgive me for this!"

"Mrs. Owens, don't worry. We're going to find her... We're going to find her..."

Munch awoke with a start. His head still ached and so did his back now. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but there was a lot more light streaming through the windows now. Instinctively, he checked his wrist for the time, but there was no watch. Whoever had put him there had taken that too. He wished he could remember something, anything from that day, but he could barely remember what city he was in. It was a good thing he had dreamed about his talk with Mrs. Owens, or he wouldn't have remembered that at all.

He slowly shifted his head to look under the stairs. Bethany Owens still sat there, staring at him. She didn't look like she had moved or fallen asleep. She was just there, staring, eyes wide and scared, huddled under his coat. He smiled tenatively at her, trying to seem stronger than he felt.

Bethany's muscles tensed as his mouth twitched. Munch made no movement toward her. He didn't want to scare the little thing, but it didn't look like he had much choice in the matter; she was scared out of her mind already. He sighed and said quietly, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help."

Some help I am, Munch thought bitterly. I need just as much help as she does.

He almost had a heart attack as the door at the top of the steps creaked open. A stream off too-bright light slowly widened as the doorway was revealed. A shadow stepped into the light, shaped like a distorted person. Munch heard a creak as the shadow walked onto the first step. The phantom stepped on another before Munch could see his shoes. The ghoulish creature turned slowly into a man as he walked downward, steps creaking and light bouncing spookily off the window panes. Munch looked at Bethany. She was no more than a shivering mass, hiding under his coat with half of a foot sticking out from the bottom. Munch gritted his teeth.

The man had gotten all the way down the stairs now. He was surprisingly not bad looking, but not remarkably good-looking either; medium height and build with dark hair, high cheekbones, and rusty brown eyes that were unnaturally devoid of highlights. Even without the highlights, they still managed to glint with emotion. Surprisingly, it wasn't maliciousness that most kidnappers' and rapists' eyes contained by the time they got to Munch. No, as he looked at Munch he seemed eager and... gleeful. This was the side of psychopaths that most people never got to see, the part of them that only came out during the hunt...

"Ah," said the man in a chillingly calm, almost normal voice. "Detective. You're awake."

The way he said it made John wish he was still dreaming.