Dedicated to: My Dad, wherever you are
Rated: T, for mild language, mentions of suicide, rape and murder, and for obvious peril
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, wish I did
A/N: This is told from Woody's POV, to squash any confusion.

Mommy's arms were wrapped tightly around me as she bounced me up and down on her knee, singing my favourite good-night song. I turned to look at her and she looks happy, peaceful. But there's something else there too. She'd worried. She's worried because she's sick and she can't get better until my brother is born.

I put my hand on her rounding stomach and asked how my little brother was doing. She told me he was fine, but wanted to see the real world soon. I doubted that. How wonderful would it be to be able to be with Mommy everywhere you go? Stay warm and cozy in her tummy, where nothing and no one could get you...

I put hand hands in my lap and closed my eyes, letting Mommy bounce me lightly. Suddenly, her voice deepened, and her actions became rougher. I opened my eyes and put out my hand to touch her baby bump again, but instead felt a flat, hard stomach. I gulped, then struggled to get away.

"Ah, ah, ah," said my father's drunken voice. He pulled me closer to him and sat me in his lap.

"Let go!" I said and he dug his fingernails into my arms, "You're hurting me!"

"You're hurting me," he mocked, not letting go, "Let goooo!"

Tears poured down my cheeks as I struggled to get away. "Nooo!"

I sat up and started gasping for air. I had finally been able to get to sleep, and that was the dream I had? Typical. I pushed the sheet off me, and wiped the residual tears from my cheeks.

'Bring!' That was my phone again. I got up and padded to the living room, where I had left my phone on the floor. It was sort of broken, I was going to need another one, but it still worked, obviously.

I scooped it up and glanced at my call display. It read, 'Hoyt'. Groaning, I flipped it open.

"Cal, I told you not to—"

"Just shut up and unlock your door."

I groaned. Unlock my door? He was in Boston. Dammit! I really would rather claw my own eyes out than see my little brother at the moment. "You're here?"

"Durrh. Now open the door."



"No way! You can sit out there forever, for all I care."

"Fine, I will." He hung up.

Sighing, I flopped down on my couch and put my cell phone down beside me, then rested my head in my hands. Cal began to knock "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" on the door. It became annoying, fast.

"Calvin Coolidge Hoyt, cut it out!"

"Not until you let me in!" came his muffled reply. I picked myself up off my couch and went to my door, and leaned in close.

"Not. A. Chance," I said quietly, then put my back against and slid down the wall, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.

"Oh, come on, Woods. I just came down here to help—"

"I don't need help. I'm fine. Or I will be as soon as we catch this son of a b—"

"Woody..."

"—and put him behind b—"

"Woody."

"—because I don't want any more boys to get r—"

"Jordan!"

"Cal?" I stopped my ranting and fell silent. "What are you doing here, Cal?"

"Happy to see me?"

"Extremely, but... why are you here, sitting outside Woody's apartment?"

"Because he won't let me in."

There was a jingle of metal, and a moment of silence, then, "You have keys to his apartment? Does this mean you're finally having sex with my brother?" I jumped up and unlocked the door, flinging it open.

"Jordan does not have keys to my—" I started yelling, only to see she and Cal, both with hands on their hips, grinning at me. "...And you knew that."

"It got you to open your door, didn't it?" I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to cry. But I didn't.

"What have you got?" I asked impatiently, glaring at Jordan. She gave me an apologetic look.



"A missing person's report was filed an hour ago. Jeremiah Adkins, age eleven, grade five. Disappeared walking home from a friend's house. I'm sorry, Woody."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. He fit the profile. Within the next six hours we'd get an anonymous phone call from a prepaid, untraceable cell phone, telling us where we'd find the body. It would most likely be in a secluded area; a warehouse, wooded area, somewhere without traffic or security cameras so he wouldn't get caught dumping the body.

"I'm sorry, Woods," my brother added, "I know how this case must be getting to y—" I put up my hand to stop him.

"Just... stop. Call me when we get the call." Jordan gave me another apologetic look as I closed the door on them. I slid down it, putting my face in my hands again.

I heard Cal and Jordan discussing living arrangements while he was in town. I heard her offer and him agree to sleep on her couch. I didn't care. All I cared about was getting this guy off the streets.

It wasn't fair. I hadn't caught the guy, and now he had another boy. It wasn't fair, and it was eating me up inside. It was making it impossible to eat, to sleep, to do anything but think about this case. It hurt so bad that I hadn't caught him yet. I hadn't caught him yet, and that was the reason that Jeremiah Adkins was dead or about to die. It hurt, and it wasn't fair.

I was aware that the voices outside my apartment had stopped. Cal and Jordan must have left.

I picked myself up off the floor and trudged to my bedroom, throwing myself down and pulling a pillow to my chest. My chest was that which hurt the most. My heart broke again and again every time a boy was taken, raped and murdered. My heart broke for them, their families, what they had to go through. That was what hurt the most.