She sat in the cold, metal chair, hands bound tightly against the back. She struggled against it, fighting with all her might to free her small hands from the hard rope that was digging painfully into her wrists. A sudden noise made her stop and she whipped her head around to see where it came from, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. But no one was there. She continued to work at undoing the ropes but with no avail and the tears built up in her eyes at the relentless effort she was exerting without reward. However she knew she was tougher than that and held the tears in, taking deep, slow breaths to calm her ever-increasing nerves.

If she tried hard enough, she could almost hear her mothers voice telling her that everything was going to be fine and that she was coming to save her, that she had nothing to worry about. The sound of a car door slamming snapped her out of her reverie and she looked up to where a man was standing at the entrance to the concrete room, his shadow blocking out all details of his mangled and disfigured face.

"Awww" he said, his voice menacing and hard. "Don't look so afraid little Emma," he said again, a disgusting smile creeping across his face. "You'll be back with your mommy and daddy soon enough."

Emma just sat there, her face pulled into a hardened, tough expression. She refused to show this vile man just how afraid she really was.

"What?" he asked, stepping closer to her crouching down beside her chair, running his hand down her small arm. She could feel the goose bumps raise on her skin at his unwelcome touch. "No smart ass comment?"

Emma sat there for another second, contemplating what she should do. Before giving herself any more time to think, she swung her untied foot outwards and made contact with the gap between the man's legs. He fell onto his back in agony like a turtle flipped on it's back and Emma stood up, the chair which was still attached to her hands going up with her. In a moment of bravery beyond that of a five year olds, she turned around and jammed one of the chair's legs into the man's gut. He rolled over onto his side and clutched his stomach in pain.

"That's what you get mister," she said, shaking her hands free of the binding rope. In a last attempt of a weapon, she stuck out her tongue and ran off, through the warehouse in which she was being kept and out the garage door. Stunned at the easiness of her escape, she turned around and faced back to the warehouse, smiling in her success. Unknown to her though, her escape would not be that easy.

A sickening crunch echoed through the docks as a heavy metal shovel collided instantly with the back of Emma's skull. She fell to the wood of the dock under her, blood flowing freely from the wound on the back of her head, and passed out.

XXXXXXXXXX Jordan and Woody stood in the centre of the park as they were instructed, waiting for someone to come and tell them news on their daughter. The light of the moon and the street lamps lining the roads were their only source of light. Jordan wrapped her arms tighter around herself, rubbing her hands up and down to create friction to keep off the cold.

"You look cold Jordan," Woody commented, turning towards her shivering body and looking her in the eyes. He knew that by maintaining that type of eye contact it would be almost impossible for her to lie to him. And he was right. So she merely nodded her head in agreement.

Without even offering, he took off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. She drew it tighter around her body and turned to look at him.

"Thanks," she said quietly, the scent of cologne from his jacket stirring her brain with memories from their past.

"No problem," he said just as quietly.

"Where do you think they are?" she asked suddenly, looking around the park, anxiety written all over her face. "They're half an hour late."

"Just a precaution I suppose. Fashionably late," he said after a pause, trying a smile. But it never reached his eyes.

"Or they're not coming," she said, her pessimistic personality coming out. Throughout this whole ordeal she had tried to keep her head above the water, tried to see the silver lining; but there was no use denying who she was and the fact that she had a knack for seeing the down side of situations.

"They'll come. And even if they don't we're still going to get Emma back. I promise," he said, letting his hand slide slowly down her arm and come to a rest at her fingers. He gripped them in his hand and gave them a reassuring squeeze but she was so distracted she hardly seemed to notice.

"Excuse me," a voice behind them said. They both whipped around and turned to the man standing behind them. "Are you Dr Cavanaugh and Detective Hoyt?" he asked, looking to his hand where their names were written in black ink. Woody had the overwhelming urge to through the young man, who couldn't have been more than twenty, into the nearest tree and pound information out of him. But he and Jordan both had the distinct feeling that they had been bamboozled; that the young man standing before them had nothing whatsoever to do with Emma's kidnapping. So he simply settled for nodding.

"I'm supposed to give this to you," he said, pulling a manila envelope from his jacket pocket and handing it to them. Jordan pulled a tissue from her pocket and took the envelope, not wanting to ruin any trace evidence, prints, or clues that could tell them where Emma was. As Jordan began to carefully open the envelope, Woody interrogated the man.

"Where did you get this?" he asked sincerely, pointing to the envelope in Jordan's hand.

"I was walking in the park just half an hour ago and a man approached me and said he'd pay me a hundred bucks if I gave this to a Detective Hoyt and a Dr Cavanaugh who would be waiting for me in the middle of the park at 12:15. He told me to be a little late as well," he said, his voice cracking with stress and strain. "Did I just do something illegal?" he asked, his eyes popping wide with fear. "Cuz you know I just turned twenty last week and I don't have a criminal record or anything and I've never done anything bad in my life," he ranted.

"Stop!" Woody half-yelled. "The man we were supposed to meet here tonight is wanted in connection of the kidnapping of a five year old girl," he said quietly, his head dropping to his chest in shame in sorrow.

"Woody," Jordan said, not taking her eyes from the note in front of her. "Take a look at this."

Woody turned his attention to the note and carefully read and reread it. It said, 'So sorry I couldn't be there to see the look on your faces right now. But don't fret; we'll meet soon enough. Come to the docks where all the freight boats unload … find pier 13. There's a storage shed there. That's where you can find us. Be there at one o'clock this morning or your daughter dies.'

Woody looked at Jordan who was staring expectantly into his face. "Let's go," he said, glancing at his watch. It read 12:45. "Sir if you could just go over to that officer there and tell him everything about the man you remember. We really need to go." He said to the guy who had delivered the envelope. Woody grabbed Jordan's arm and pulled her away from the park, the two of them running at top speed to Woody's car. They only had fifteen minutes to get to the pier and it was at least a ten-minute drive, pushing way past the speed limit. They would make it there in six if Woody had anything to say about it.

They arrived exactly six minutes and thirty seconds later, both Woody and Jordan expecting they had just set some kind of record. Pier 13 was about a two-minute walk from where they had parked but they both ran, hell-bent, to the garage door type entrance. A man was standing there, supposedly waiting for them.

"Ah, Dr Cavanaugh, Detective Hoyt. So glad you could join us."

XXXXXXXXXX

Her head pounded painfully as she awoke, her splitting headache she assumed was what awoke her. She attempted to lift her head but it felt as though it weighed a ton. Instead she rested her tired, bleeding head back down on the cold cement, the iciness somewhat of a relief to the pain she was feeling. The rest of her body ached as well and pain echoed through her stomach as she attempted to roll over. Her hand flew instinctively to her aching ribs as she flipped, exasperating blood all over the cement in front of her. She was no doctor, but Emma knew enough about medicine to know that coughing up blood was not a good sign. This time, she didn't even bother to try and sit up. Everything around her was spinning uncontrollably and she had double vision. So she closed her eyes and attempted to go back to sleep.

It seemed that when she was sleeping she was unaware of the fact that her head was throbbing and blood was pouring slowly but steadily from her wound. Emma could picture herself lying asleep in her bed, her mom and dad sitting beside her, watching her, protecting her, making sure no harm would come to her. She could hear her mother's voice singing softly, lulling her into a calm and peaceful sleep.

As these thoughts floated around her head, her eyelids grew heavy and she gave into sleep, closing her eyes and feeling warmth wrap around her tired, aching body. As her breathing slowed into steady, even beats, the cruel world around her slipped and she was now trapped inside the marvellous world of her imagination.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Where's our daughter?" Jordan asked, her voice dripping with unmistakable venom.

"Don't worry. She's just inside there," he said, pointing one of his short, fat fingers in the direction of the warehouse.

Jordan made a move in the direction he was pointing but his disgruntled voice stopped her. "Ah, ah, ah," he said. She turned back towards him, only to find the barrel of his gun pointing in her direction. "Another step that way and your brains get blown all over the dock," he said with a cruel smile.

She turned and walked back towards Woody whose eyes were silently pleading for her not to do anything stupid. "Now," the man said. "You can see your daughter as soon as you answer this question," he said, his features twisted into a grim sneer.

"And what would that be?" Woody asked, his hand slowly creeping behind him to his gun which was tucked into the back of his jeans.

"Oh I wouldn't reach for that gun if I were you Detective," he said, his face still smiling but his eyes burning with hatred. Woody sighed and let his hand drop back down to his side.

"Now tell me doctor," he said, turning his attention to Jordan. "What happens when someone very little gets hit, hard, in the back of the head with a metal shovel and the wound bleeds profusely?" he asked, a sarcastic, all-knowing look crossing his face.

Jordan could hear her pulse in her ears, pounding heavily with the realisation that what he just described was what had happened to Emma.

"Well?" he asked again. "I'm waiting for an answer."

Jordan cleared her throat and tried to look nonchalant. Woody, who had also clued into the fate of his daughter, could see that Jordan was trying to appear calm and relaxed but could see the fear burned into her eyes.

"Well, it depends on the severity of the wound. If the bleeding continues over an extended period of time, the victim may bleed out. If the wound isn't that deep …" she continued until taking a pause to steady her shaking voice, " the victim may experience light-headedness, dizziness, double vision and so on."

The man smirked again. "Very good. Now you may see your daughter." He walked over to the door and unlocked the padlock, opening the door and allowing Jordan and Woody to rush inside. On the ground in the very centre of the room was a dark heap, all features blocked out by shadows. Jordan and Woody ran over to it, Woody reaching it first, and flipped it over.

There, lying on her back, was Emma, her eyes closed, blood still pouring from the hole in her head. Jordan and Woody knelt beside her bleeding body, taking in the scratch marks, cuts and bruises that littered her porcelain skin. Behind them, echoes of the man's shoes reverberated off the walls as he walked over to them.

"Shame isn't it? She was such a pretty little girl. And for the two of you, welcome to the end."

XXXXXXXXXX

READ:

Well my people, there you have it, the much-anticipated chapter. It's taken me 2,247 words and 6 pages to type all that up and I know Emma's situation hasn't been concluded but that's kind of the point. It keeps you coming back for more. Now I'm not going to give you a preview of what's coming up but what I will do is give you some quotes of upcoming chapters.

These quotes probably won't be used for a while but here they are … oh ya and I'm not going to tell you who says them either! MUHHAHAHA!

"I'm not here to tell you that I can't live without you, because I can. I just don't want to."

AND

"I know the choice may not be easy. It's simple, but not easy."