October 2005 – Present Day

With a frustrated sigh, Alan lifted the key out of the lock before trying again to open the door. When he had rented the apartment, the landlord had mentioned it being 'a little temperamental'. What he didn't realise at the time was that he'd practically have to be a safe cracker to enter his own front door. Thankfully on the fourth attempt of trying, the metal clicked into place and the door swung open with a painful creek.

Alan slung the briefcase down onto his dining room table. Well, he supposed it was just a table really, as it certainly wasn't situated in a dining room. The apartment consisted of a small lounge, an even smaller bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, and a positively miniscule kitchen in comparison. He headed straight for that room now, keen to get something to refresh his palate in the warmth. Opening his fridge door, he wasn't surprised to see the light blink on twice, before losing any strength and disappearing altogether. It was probably best that the lacklustre contents weren't highlighted and drawn attention to.

Wrinkling up his nose at the sight and the smell, Alan regretted not picking up any groceries on the way home from work. His mind had been elsewhere this week, not quite being able to forget his visitors from a few days ago. He would be lying if he said he wasn't slightly on edge at the college; although he didn't really expect Peter Evers to be lingering around and jumping out from behind a vending machine in the canteen. There was a niggle in his stomach though. Something twanging at his guts that told him not to rest easy.

There was a half-eaten sandwich prominently standing out as the only form of nourishment in the appliance. Alan decided against it, not feeling any pang of hunger due to the heat and continuing worry. Thankfully, he had the foresight to put a bottle of water into the fridge the night before. He quickly removed it and gladly closed the door on the dark, empty vessel.

He wandered back into the lounge, looking at his briefcase forlornly. The assignments would have to be marked at some point. Not yet though. He paced through the apartment, through the bedroom and into the little bathroom. Although the air was hot and clammy, he turned the shower on to heat up a little, his body not wanting the shock of the cold water today.

Stepping outside the bathroom he glanced around his bedroom, as if looking at it from fresh eyes. There was very little to focus on though. There was a beigeness to it, nothing stood out as retaining character or memories. Alan wasn't sure if it was just the room that was devoid of personality or if he really didn't have much of one. There were items of value in there; not worth much to anyone else of course, but things that meant a lot to him. They were just in a box, closed away and locked inside the small cupboard by the floor. He never looked at them.

After checking the water (which still hadn't warmed at all), he returned into the lounge. The curtains were a garish floral and the sofa looked as if it would have been considered old in 1976. There was a small television set in the corner, which was rarely used and whose remote Alan had never seen. Dominating the room, was the dining room table which was far too large for its purpose and accommodation. Around the old oak table, were scores of books and documents. Some in boxes, but many just scattered around the area. Finally, there was a small, glass coffee table with a landline sitting on top and an answering machine attached. These were all the things he currently had in his life. And most of these came with the apartment.

He clicked open the seal on the bottle of water and took a long sip, refreshing his mouth immediately. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a red light flashing on the answering machine. He wrinkled his brow slightly. He did receive messages once in a while, but they were generally not welcome. The occasional sales call, usually a message from work, reminding him of some function or change in schedule. Not very often, but sometimes, it would be from someone that he knew; an old friend from a dig site or a colleague from a different time. All those calls would start by mentioning how long it had been since they talked and then continue with an offer of meeting up. On a few occasions, Alan took them up on the offer. Most instances he didn't.

He pressed the button on the machine, hearing the tape wind and click into action and a voice appear. Listening to the call, his heart sunk that little bit further. Apparently, he was at the stage of his existence when life insurance companies wouldn't leave him alone. Picking at the label of his bottle in frustration, he lifted himself off the arm of the sofa to make his way to the shower, when a new message broadcast out of the speakers.

"Uh…hi," a voice Alan didn't recognise blurted out. This didn't sound like the confidence of a sales call. "This is a message for Alan Grant. God, I hope the number's right. Um, you don't know me, obviously. My name is Elizabeth and I work with Ellie."

Alan halted in his tracks, turning back around and hurrying to the machine. He crouched in front of it and stared intensely. That gnawing at his stomach had now become a punch right to the centre.

"Ellie Sattler that is…but you probably know that. Or maybe not," the voice continued, clearly as anxious as Alan felt. "The thing is I don't want to worry you, but I think something's happened. She's disappeared. Well not really, because I just saw her leave the office. But it was with these two strange guys and she didn't look happy. I…I think I know where they're taking her. I don't really want to say, in case it's not actually you getting this message. God, I could be talking to some old woman and scaring the bejeesus out of her! I just…I didn't know who else to call. I thought you might believe me. Can you call me back, please? I'm on Ellie's number. I…Hey, what do you want?"

Alan scrambled to his feet, adrenaline pumping through his body. The call had ended suddenly and that was worrying him as well. He tried to have a steady hand as he grabbed the phone from its holder and dialled Ellie's number. She'd changed her number a few years ago. He'd programmed the new digits in, but hadn't planned on using them. Still, he liked the feeling of it in his contacts list. There was no answer, no ringing even; the call just went straight to voicemail. He tried again and then for a third time, but still no response.

He wasn't sure how else he was supposed to reach this Elizabeth. Perhaps on her work phone. He knew that Ellie now worked at a university, but he couldn't remember the name. Hoisting up his confidence, he went into his bedroom. Searching around in the bottom drawer, underneath a pile of socks, he found a small, copper key. He opened up the discreet cupboard by the bed and pulled out a box. His hands were still shaking slightly, but the key turned in the lock easily, as if encouraging him to view the contents. He opened the lid.

This box was always closed for a reason. He didn't like to dwell on the past, whether it be successes or failures. However, he couldn't ever bring himself to shut it out permanently. He pulled out the hat sitting on top, gave it a quick brush off with his hand and set it aside on the bed. He gently rummaged around the other pieces inside the box, trying not to look directly at them, afraid that the wash of memories would hit him like a tidal wave. He didn't have time to be nostalgic now or face the feelings that came with it.

He spotted what he was looking for and grabbed the corner of a small card, wrenching it out. He closed the box back up quickly, for fear of what else would escape, and set it back in the cupboard. He sat down on the bed and read the postcard, composed in a familiar handwriting that made him smile and set a pang of guilt and pain straight to his heart. It was a change of address card from Ellie with her new work details, which had clearly been sent out in bulk to her friends and family. This one had a message on it though, with a cell number scrawled on it. 'Alan, call me x', it simply read. He never did.

He again left the bedroom and stepped into the lounge, heading this time to his briefcase. He pulled his cell phone out and dialled the work number on the card. It didn't ring, it just went straight to the switchboard.

"Good Morning, how can I direct your call?" the perky voice on the line answered.

"Oh, hi, I'm trying to reach Room 203, but the number I dialled sent me right here," Alan said, apologetically.

"Ok, Sir, if you'd just hold, I'll transfer you over to Room 203," she replied. Before Alan could thank her, classical music started ringing thought the ear piece. Alan started pacing, the worst of thoughts going through his mind.

Suddenly the music stopped, and the peppy voice was back speaking to him, "I'm sorry, Sir, but the connection on that line seems to be faulty. I'll put a call into maintenance, but it probably won't be fixed within the next 24 hours. I can take a message and leave it in the room, or offer you an email address if you'd prefer."

Alan sighed, it seemed to be looking less and less promising, "No, thank you," he replied, "I'll try another time." With that he hung up and slid to the floor, putting his head on his knees. Looking between his fingers, he gazed at the address on the postcard. It was perhaps only a six-hour drive away. If he left now, he could be there before morning. It was a long shot, but he didn't know what to do. If he believed the message, then Ellie had gone missing and now he couldn't find the one person who knew about it. Perhaps when he got to the town, he'd find out it was all a big mistake. He hoped so. In his heart though, he knew what had happened.

The parking lot was almost completely empty, only dimly lit by a few street lights. Alan loosely folded the map and threw it onto the passenger seat, next to his hat. He was in the right place, but the campus was huge and he had no idea where Ellie's office was. He got out the car and shut the door gently, aware of the silence surrounding him. The sun was only just threatening to rise and there was a calmness that only existed before dawn.

As he looked around he could see three large buildings surrounding him. He was just deciding which to try first, when a sudden burst of light in front of him stung his eyes and blocked his view. He lifted his arm up to try and shade out the brightness. It only worked a little, just enough to make out a shadow slowly making its way towards him.

Taking a deep breath, Alan knew he had to make up his mind about his next move. Was this Evers? Had he lured him here under the pretence that Ellie was gone? Should he run away and try and find help or stick it out and try to take on the man in the hopes that Ellie was safe? He knew the option would soon be taken away from him as the footsteps came closer.

Suddenly the light was lowered, and Alan could see the figure in front of him. He was almost surprised to see it wasn't one of the men who had confronted him earlier that week. Standing there instead, was a rather large man, at least a foot taller than Alan, dressed head to toe in navy blue. Taking in the walkie talkie on his belt and the badge on his shirt pocket, he realised that this was just a security guard, not a nefarious businessman trying to lure him away.

"Can I help you, Sir?" the guard asked, and Alan could hear the level of suspicion in his voice. It didn't look good; a middle-aged man lingering around a college car park in the early hours on the morning was bound to raise concerns.

Alan put on his best smile, which he hoped didn't make him look even more suspicious, and took a step toward the guard, "Actually, you can. I received a call from Room 203."

The guard squinted his eyes and put his hand near his belt. Alan was sure that his radio wasn't the only thing he kept there. "It's 4.30 in the morning, Sir. All the office buildings are closed. I'm going to have to ask you to get back in your car and come back at a more reasonable hour."

Alan stilled, not sure what his next move was going to be. The guard clearly wasn't going to retreat until he'd seen the car leave the campus. He decided that he'd go, as requested, find a motel for a few hours and then return to the university at a time when he didn't look like a crazed stalker.

He gave a quick nod to the guard, then turned around to head back to his car. All of a sudden, the bright light was shining in his direction again. "Hey," the guard shouted at him. "Stop and turn around."

Alan paused his path and slowly lifted his hands up to indicate his submission, before cautiously twisting his body back round. He started to wonder how much authority this guard actually had. If he carried on making his way towards the car, would he be tasered and hauled off to university jail? "Is there a problem?" he asked the figure, which was making its way towards him again.

The guard stopped and started squinting at him curiously, "Are you…," he began before trailing off, as if unsure of the question he was going to ask. "Are you Alan Grant?"

Alan's eyes widened at the sound of his name. Was he on a wanted poster up in the security office? Perhaps he should lie and make quickly his way out of this situation. Instead, his curiosity got the better of him and he decided to answer in the affirmative. "Yeah," he said slowly, confirming his identity. "Do we know each other?"

With his response, the guard's demeanour completely changed. He lowered his flashlight, tucking it into his waistband. A huge smile beamed across his face and he stepped forward and grabbed Alan's hand, thrusting his own inside and shaking it vigorously.

"Wow, really. I've got to say, I'm a huge fan, Dr Grant. It really is a pleasure. My name's Mike Parsons. Gee, it really is an absolute honour," the guard said, unable to contain his excitement. Alan was thinking about how to release his grip go from the larger man's hand; he was beginning to lose circulation.

"How exactly do you know me..uh..Mike?" Alan asked curiously. It had been years now since the incident on Sorna and even more time had passed since they returned from Nublar. Still, on occasion there was still the sporadic person on the street who would stop and stare, their brain trying to process where they knew him from. Ultimately, what followed was a tirade of questions he didn't ever want to answer.

"Your book, of course. Well all your books. I just love 'em. I can't get enough," Mike replied. Alan breathed a sigh of both relief and surprise. It was rare that anyone would ever know him from his published work and the grainy black and white photograph inside the front cover.

"I must say, I'm flattered, Mike. Are you…or were you a palaeontology student?" Alan asked, trying not to offend the man, but he didn't know very many security guards that read his work.

"Me? Oh no, no," Mike said, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. "No, I didn't make it past high school. I've just got an interest, ya know, in dinosaurs and all. Anyways, we get a lot of stuff coming into the office that people have left or dropped. One day, I guess one of the students left a book by this palaeontologist lying about. I thought I'd give it a read. Some nights there's not a lot going on; reading helps to pass the time. I can't say I understand everything, but it's fascinating, ya know? So, I was reading this book, when she walks in and says I shouldn't read that; that the writer was no good. So, she comes back in the next evening, arms full of your books. Said I should start with those."

"She?" Alan asked, though he knew the answer without it being said. There was only one person in the world who that could be.

"Ellie," Mike replied. "I mean, you know her, right? That's who you're here to see in Room 203?"

"Yeah," Alan said with a small smile. "I know her."

"I thought so," Mike said, nodding along with the response. "You being in a similar business and all. And she clearly thinks highly of you. I can tell she's a fan too. She'd come back most evenings on her way out of work and we'd have a little chit chat. She'd explain anything I didn't really understand from your books. No offence!"

Alan waved his hand, dismissing the idea of being offended. This was typical of Ellie. She could get to know and support anyone. She had the ability to make people feel better about themselves. Thinking about her reminded him of why he was standing in this carpark in the first place. He needed to find her. Although he hadn't seen her in several years, he now craved her company, whether she was in danger or not.

"Mike," he started, trying to sound casual. "I wonder if it's possible to get into Ellie's office. I think there's something there she needs me to find."

"Oh," Mike replied, thinking it through. "You know what? As it's you. I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Follow me."

"Careful of that door. It has a tendency to hit you on the butt," Mike said, entering into the office. Alan cautiously followed him in, gently closing the door behind him. The security guard had led him up to the smallest building on the campus. They had just climbed one flight of stairs before entering a corridor filled with cloned doors. They all had individual numbers on them, with the occupants' names clearly printed in an identical font. As they wandered down the hallway, Mike chatted about his youngest child's recent report card, until finally they reached Room 203. As Mike was looking for the right key to unlock the door, Alan couldn't help but have his eyes linger on the gold lettering reading 'Dr E. Sattler' on the door. He didn't know that she had gone back to her name. He resisted the temptation to touch the lettering, though he wanted to. His mind needed to tangibly trace each letter to feel her presence there.

Now inside the office, Alan noticed the same inscription on a nameplate on the desk by the window. He looked around the office. It was neat and organised; File cabinets, books and folders were all meticulously labelled and organised. A look at the second desk in the room and Alan finally knew who Elizabeth was. She was Ellie's assistant. He took a closer look at her desk. There was a handbag perched on it and a few paper bags strewn messily on the floor. This area seemed to be in stark contrast to the diligent order of the rest of the office. Alan peered into one of the bags. Bagels. It seemed strange to him that someone would just leave their bag on their desk and food on the floor, without returning to pick them up. It seemed like someone had left for a few minutes in a hurry, rather than take off for home at the end of a work day.

"That girl and her bagels," Mike chuckled. "Lizzie always gets them on her way to work. Used to get me one too, but I'm watching my waistline," he continued, patting his stomach. "Never known these girls not to eat them though. I guess they were feeling ill already."

"What do you mean?" Alan enquired, confused by the statement.

"Well, it was this morning, about seven I guess. Yeah, it must have been seven, because it was just before I went home." Mike said, eyeing up the bagels as if he were contemplating devouring one. "I got a call from Personnel. Asked me to come check the office was all locked up because both Lizzie and Ellie had emailed in sick. I guess they must have come down with that bug that's going around. Unlike both of them not to be here, though. Sure is a more miserable place without both of those ladies"

Alan simply nodded his head. Ellie's assistant called his phone and left a message at just before seven the previous morning. He's checked the time stamp on his answering machine. It must have been just after Alan left for work. She certainly didn't sound sick, and she mentioned being at the office. There was a fear in her voice for her boss. She had heard or seen something that clearly troubled her. She was afraid.

A sudden crackling filled the silence of the room. Mike reached around to his belt and brought the radio to his lips. "Damn thing," the guard muttered to Alan. "Sounds like I'm being contacted from Mars, not the other side of the campus." He shook the radio a few times, as if that would solve the connection issue, "Bruce, this is Mike. Everything ok?"

"….Lock…..building too…yesterday..." the distant voice over the receiver replied. Mike shook the radio again, but only static appeared out. "Oh man," he said, clearly frustrated with the equipment. "Doctor Grant, I'm going to have to go check this out. I'll come back later to lock up, if you could just pull the door closed when you leave?"

Alan was pleasantly surprised that he didn't have to vacate Ellie's office yet. "Of course," he said gratefully, holding out his hand. "Thank you for all your help, Mike."

"Oh, no trouble at all Doctor Grant," Mike replied, enthusiastically grabbing the outstretched arm with his own hand and pulling Alan in for a sudden hug. "It's been a real pleasure and an honour. You take care now, and come back to see us sometime."

With that, he slapped Alan on the back, in a way which was surely intended as friendly. However, due to the man's size and stature, it felt to Alan like he was being headbutted in the back by a moose. Mike headed towards the door, picking a folder off the floor and throwing it on the surface as he went by, leaving Alan alone again once more.

Alan took a breath. He was no closer to finding Ellie, though he felt closer to her in this room. He walked to her desk and picked up the name plate. In his solitary status, he allowed himself the luxury of tracing her name with his index finger. It took him back to a time just after they first met. There used to be a roster list up at the main camp of everyone who was up at the dig site. In those early days, he would trace over the newly dried ink, her curling signature signalling to him and making him feel that little bit more complete.

A stray thought shook him out of his nostalgic musings and he looked over to the other desk. Why had there been a file on the floor? He wasn't one to really recall something like the detail of a folder, but he was sure he had seen this one before. Walking over to the desk Mike had placed it on, Alan gingerly lifted the corner of the cover. He immediately recognised the contents. His worst worries were now confirmed to him. They'd got to her. Somehow, they'd got to her. They'd taken Ellie to Isla Nublar.

Alan thought about running after Mike; perhaps there was something on a security tape. That would just be a waste of time though. He knew what had happened. It was what he had feared ever since Peter Evers had left the lecture theatre. He knew he should have called Ellie straight away and warned her. He was too much of a coward. He was relying too much on the fact that he knew she would never agree to go. Now he had to curse his stupidity and his lack of bravery for the fact that clearly, she hadn't agreed. They'd taken her because of him. This was his fault.

Alan pulled his phone out of his pocket. He needed to get to the island, as much as the thought made his skin crawl. He had a good idea of who could help him, although this was another phone call he really didn't want to make. It was his fault that Ellie was in danger; now he needed to go get her back. For all the many times and many ways she had saved him, this was his opportunity to repay her.