A/N: Here we are... chapter 5! Only two more chapters to go after this one. Again, thanks so much for all the reviews! I really do appreciate them!

Previously…

She began moving her hands up and down, working the cords against the rough cement. Before she'd even started, she knew it was going to be slow, hard work. But she had no other choice. She just hoped she would have enough time.

Chapter 5

There was still no sign of Sam. Still no solid leads. Jack paced back and forth in his office, his frustration inching dangerously close to a critical level.

He had tried to dig up some clues, to find anything that might shed light on her disappearance, but he'd found nothing. Absolutely squat. Her abduction seemed to be totally unrelated to her work at the SGC. Couldn't be linked to NID or anything like that. Just a regular, run-of-the-mill psycho at work. Apparently.

Jack had even gone door to door in Sam's neighbourhood, questioning people. The police had already done that, but he'd had to try himself. But nobody had seen or heard anything. And he was back to square one. Again.

Infuriated by his inability to help her, Jack grabbed his almost-empty coffee mug off his desk and hurled it against the far wall of his office. With a crash, it smashed into several pieces and fell to the floor, leaving a dark trail of coffee down the wall.

"Feel better?"

Jack spun around to find Daniel standing in the doorway. The archeologist's gaze moved from the broken mug to Jack.

"No," Jack replied.

There was a moment of silence before Daniel spoke again. "We can't give up."

"We're not going to," Jack said, more fiercely than he'd intended.

"No," Daniel agreed quietly.

They lapsed into silence again. Jack looked over at Daniel, who was staring at the wet stream of coffee on the wall again, apparently lost in thought. He looked as though he hadn't slept in a while either. Jack felt his tense muscles relax slightly, realizing that the younger man was also feeling the strain of Sam's disappearance. He suddenly felt the need to try and reassure his friend.

"We're going to find her, Daniel."

Daniel looked back at him. "Yeah," he said. "I know." But his voice didn't hold much conviction.

"Yeah," Jack echoed quietly, but he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more, Daniel or himself.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Marvin Garret carefully examined each photograph as he pinned them on the line to dry.

Wrong. They were all wrong.

Hot frustration flaring within him, Garret ripped one of the pictures off the line and tore it in half, crumpling the two pieces in his fists before letting them fall to the floor. The worst of his anger released, Garret left his darkroom and went down the hall to the spare bedroom. This room always calmed him. It was here that he kept his collection, the perfect pictures that captured the souls of his Chosen Ones.

He moved slowly along the row of photographs on the wall, savouring each image, each captured soul. And for each one he recalled in vivid detail the key moments -- the moment when he finally captured their pure souls, ensuring them eternal preservation, and the moment when he extinguished the life force of each body, each shell.

Garret took his time with his recollection, each memory an intimate encounter. He had saved these souls, preserved them. And now he was going to save another one. He would succeed with his latest Chosen One. Soon.

Finished with his ritual, Garret turned and left the room, leaving behind the gruesome photographic display of his past victims, each one captured in a pose of complete and utter horror.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Sam felt as though she'd been working her bonds up and down against the concrete for hours. Although in reality, she had no idea how much time had really passed, but she knew it probably hadn't been as long as it seemed. She wasn't sure that she was getting anywhere, but she kept trying, because that was the only thing she could do. And she'd be damned if she was going to give up.

So, taking only short rests now and then, she continued to work away. Her hands and wrists were recovered in nicks and scratches and her arms were burning with exhaustion when the bank of overhead lights switched on, warning Sam of her captor's approach.

Thinking it wouldn't be wise to have him catch her at what she was doing, Sam quickly shifted herself back over to the mattress. She had just settled back onto it when the door opened, and she watched tensely as her abductor came into the room. He didn't have his camera with him this time, but he had his knife, and he seemed agitated.

He came over to where Sam sat on the mattress. She tried to move away as he drew near, but he reached out and wrenched the tape away from her mouth.

Sam gasped, partly from the pain and partly from the sudden ability to draw oxygen in deeply through her mouth.

"It didn't work."

It took a moment for Sam to realize that he was talking. She forced her mind to focus.

"We'll have to try again. You have to try harder."

"Try what? What do you want?" Her voice was hoarse and raspy, and she barely recognized it as her own.

"I already told you." Now he was sounding impatient as well as agitated. "I want your soul."

She almost told him he was crazy, but managed to bite her tongue.

"We'll have to try again," he said. "I'll get my camera."

Sam's stomach turned at the thought of another photo session.

"You," he pointed at her, "get ready."

He turned to leave.

"Wait!" Sam rasped desperately.

He turned back to look at her.

"Please, I need some water. And a washroom."

He just stared at her for a moment, and Sam was afraid he was going to ignore her request. She needed to get herself out of this room, to somehow increase her chances of escaping. And she really did need water.

As her captor came back toward her with his knife, Sam found she was holding her breath. He stood over her for a second, still staring down at her, and Sam tensed, fearing what he was about to do next. But then he bent over and sawed through the ropes binding her ankles with his knife.

As the ropes fell away onto the mattress, he moved his knife up to her throat. Then he grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. He turned her around so her back was to him and she felt him freeze. Sam's breath caught in her throat as she realized that he'd noticed her tampering with the ropes around her wrists.

The next thing she knew, he had shoved her hard up against the wall, her right cheekbone smashing into the concrete as she tried to avert her face from the impact. He grabbed a handful of her hair and put his face close to hers, his eyes bugging out grotesquely.

"You ungrateful bitch!" he growled at her. "I'm trying to help you, to save you, and all you can do is try to get away?"

He pushed her harder against the cement wall and she winced against the renewed pain. "Would you rather I kill you right now?" His breath was hot against her ear, making her stomach clench with disgust. "Because I could. And then you'd be lost forever. Do you want to be lost forever?"

"No." The word emerged from Sam's dry throat as barely a whisper. "No, I'm sorry." It took everything she had to make herself say those words. She wanted to curse at him, to spit in his face, but she knew if she did, it could be the last thing she ever did.

At the moment she needed to keep herself alive, and if that meant saying what he wanted to hear, that's what she would do. "I didn't understand," she continued, forcing her hoarse voice to an audible level. "I didn't understand that you're trying to help me."

She felt his grip on her loosen, just slightly, but it encouraged her to press on. "Please... I just need to use the washroom and have a drink. I won't try to escape again."

"You shouldn't want to escape."

"I don't," Sam tried to assure him. "Not anymore."

She waited, hardly breathing, praying that he would believe her. Seconds ticked by, slowly and painfully, before he finally pulled her away from the wall. Sam exhaled with relief, although she knew she was far from out of danger.

"The bathroom's upstairs," he told her, jerking her toward the door.

Sam felt her pulse quicken as the first part of her plan fell into place. She was getting out of the prison room. So far so good. But she knew she would have to be very careful. The slightest wrong move on her part could lead to a failed escape. And a failed escape would most likely lead to her death.

Acutely aware of the knife at the side of her neck, Sam moved carefully as her captor pushed her along ahead of him. Her legs were stiff and cramped, her whole body weak and shaky, and it took a lot of effort to keep herself from stumbling.

As they exited the room where Sam had been held ever since she regained consciousness, they emerged into a short, dimly lit hallway. Sam's captor steered her roughly to a flight of wooden steps and prodded her to start climbing them. At the top, he reached around her and opened the door that was blocking their way.

The door swung open and Sam's captor pushed her through into a small kitchen. They were only in the room for a few seconds, but Sam made the most of the time, her eyes scanning swiftly over everything in sight. She was familiarizing herself with the surroundings -- locating the nearest escape route and searching for a telephone and possible weapons. She saw no phone but there was a door leading outside.

Sam was pushed across a narrow hallway and into a small bathroom. She felt her captor cutting at the ropes around her wrists. As her hands came free, he shoved her further into the washroom.

"Two minutes," he said. Then the door shut behind her.

Sam rubbed at her sore wrists, looking around the bathroom as she did so. There was a window, but it was tiny. There was no way she could get through. And there was nothing lying around that she could use as a weapon. Not even a towel rack to pull off the wall.

Mindful of the seconds ticking away, Sam quickly made use of the toilet. Then she washed her hands and splashed water over her face, trying to make herself as alert as possible. She cupped her hands and sipped greedily at the water pooling in them. The cool liquid felt good on her dry throat, but after a few sips she forced herself to stop. She knew she shouldn't drink too much too fast, and her time was rapidly running out.

She turned off the tap and took a deep breath. This was it. She was either going to escape or die here. The next few minutes would tell. She tapped on the door and stepped back as it opened toward her. Her heart was thudding rapidly as she faced her captor.

It was now or never.

"Turn around," the man ordered, knife still in hand.

She started to obey, but then suddenly swung around the other way, driving her elbow hard into his solar plexus. With a grunt, he doubled up, momentarily stunned, and Sam took the opportunity to drive her fist into his face. He stumbled back a couple of steps, but then charged at her with his knife ready.

Sam dodged his wild slash and managed to land another punch, but he was still coming at her and her legs were shaking dangerously beneath her. He slashed at her again, and this time the blade caught her on her left forearm. Gritting her teeth against the pain and her increasing exhaustion, Sam turned and kicked out at him, her foot making contact with the middle of his abdomen.

He went flying backward, and as Sam watched it almost seemed like he was falling in slow motion. The knife flew out of his hand and through the open basement door just as the back of his head hit the edge of the kitchen counter with a sickening thud. As the knife clattered down onto the wooden basement steps, Sam's captor crumpled to the kitchen floor, slumped on his side against the low cupboards.

Sam stood frozen for a moment, waiting for him to move again, ready to attack again if she had to. But several seconds passed, and he didn't stir. She took a step toward him. Still, he didn't move. Blood was beginning to pool on the linoleum behind his head.

She needed to call for help. Sam looked wildly around the room for a telephone, but still couldn't locate one. She needed to get out of there.

With one last, fearful glance at her unmoving captor, Sam wrenched open the back door and fled from the house. Once outside, she stopped and looked around. Oh God. Where the hell was she? There were no other houses in sight. Only forest.

She was in the middle of nowhere.

Not knowing what else to do, she began to run, pebbles and twigs painfully piercing the skin of her bare feet. There was a dirt driveway leading off through the trees, but she was scared of staying out in the open, scared that her captor would come after her.

Was he dead? She didn't know. She should have checked, but her fear had taken over, driving her from the house. Her mind was still barely working. It was still screaming at her to run. Just run.

She plunged into the trees, her wild fear the only thing keeping her going through the pain ripping at her feet, through her weakness and exhaustion. She needed to stay out of sight. Stay out of sight, but follow the direction of the driveway. That should take her to the highway. From there she could get help.

Help.

Run.

Those were the two words that kept repeating in her head, that kept her going. Branches scratched at her face and arms, and her damaged feet stumbled on the uneven ground, but she kept going. She only paused occasionally and for just a few seconds at a time, the small part of her mind that was still working rationally forcing her to leave something of a trail in her wake. A trail of signs that would only mean something to a select few people on the planet.

She was afraid that in her desperate, fear-driven state she might get turned around in the forest. Lost. And she'd be damned if she was going to escape from her abductor just to get herself lost in the forest. But even so, it was hard to keep her mind clear enough to carry out that simple task. Every fibre of her being just wanted to keep running, not stop, just keep running. And except for her few brief pauses, that's what she did.

She kept this up for several minutes. Several pain and fear-hazed minutes. And then she noticed a change in the light up ahead. She was nearing a break in the trees.

The highway.

She was almost to the highway. She stumbled and fell hard to her hands and knees. She looked up.

Almost there.

The words throbbed in her head. She tried willing herself to get up again. To push through the weakness and exhaustion. To keep going. But as she began to climb shakily to her feet, the world began to spin around her and a roaring sound filled her ears.

Almost there.

And with that thought, Sam blacked out.

TBC…