Seth and Summer hardly spoke; they simply scanned the streets, looking for Kirsten's car. Seth was driving, and Summer was twisting her fingers anxiously. Ryan and Mr. Cohen had taken the other car.

Suddenly Seth broke the silence.

"You think she's alright?"

"Yeah. She's strong. I mean, she put up with her father and the Newpsies all these years, I'm sure she can handle one crazy guy."

Seth smiled sadly, and Summer added, "I mean it. I'm sure she's fine."

They rode in silence again. After about seven minutes Summer whispered, "It's my fault, you know. If I hadn't sent her back to the store to return that stuff..."

"In that case, it's my fault too because those were my things she went to return in the first place." Seth's said sarcastically, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Summer didn't say anything. Seth continued speaking.

"You can't blame yourself. It's no one's fault but the kidnapper's."

"Yeah, I guess." Summer looked out the window, watching the buildings and the people outside. It was weird how they were so happy, so oblivious, to what was going on. She wanted to scream at them, to grab them each by the shoulders and give them a good, hard shake. But she knew she couldn't, because she needed to stay strong and calm for the Cohens' sake.

As they drove, Summer remembered something she'd heard a long time ago. You cannot prevent what you cannot predict. She wished she could have predicted this somehow, could have stopped it all from happening. She sighed. Too late now.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

They were in Ventura at last. He thanked the powers that be, because the car was making a strange grinding noise that warned of a break down. Now, if only he could remember where that mechanic guy worked...ah, there it was. He slowed down and pulled into the parking lot. After he had parked and shut off the ignition, he turned to Kirsten.

"Don't try anything or you will regret it." He gestured to his gun, which was tucked in his belt. She nodded then reached up to brush her hair out of her face. As she did so, a glint on her finger caught his eye. Her wedding rings. Something in his mind clicked. Maybe he could sell them and then he'd be able to pay for getting his car fixed up. Without warning he grabbed her wrist (more roughly than he'd intended) and pulled the rings off her finger. When he let go of her wrist she didn't pull back. On the contrary she leaned forward and tried to get hold of them. "Please don't take them...please...they're not worth anything, only about a quarter each..." She desperately kept trying to grab them. He swatted her hand away and pushed her back, giving her a questioning look. What the hell is she talking about? A quarter each? He lifted up one ring to the light so he could see it better, then a look of disappointed surprise swept over his face.

The rings were plastic. The kind of thing that you got for a quarter from those little toy machines. He stared. He'd thought she was rich. After all she did live in Newport and drive a fancy car; so why the hell was she wearing plastic wedding rings? Disgusted, he tossed the rings into the backseat. The woman lunged for them, but before she could reach them he pulled her out of the car.

He didn't let go of her as they walked in. She was glancing around, catching people's eyes. He yanked on her arm and gave her a warning glare; she looked down at her feet and didn't look up again.

"Hi." he said to the guy behind the counter, whose name tag read George. George, a burly man with dirt under his nails, grunted out a "Hey. What can I do ya for?" and surveyed the two. His eyes lingered on Kirsten longer than necessary, and she stepped nervously closer to her captor.

"You don't remember me, man? We met in L.A. before, I gave you a lift to that party and let you crash in my apartment. You said you owed me one."

George's face lit up in recognition. "Oh, yeah, I remember you. That was 'bout 2 months ago, right? Here to cash in on that favor?"

The man nodded. "I need my car fixed up."

"No problem."

"Well, I don't got any money on me."

The mechanic thought for a moment, then his eyes turned to Kirsten again. He grinned slowly. "I'm sure we can work something out."

The implication was obvious. He wasn't sure if he wanted to trade her for a car fix-up, but at the moment there seemed no other choice. George interrupted his thoughts. "Let's go check your car, 'kay?"

He didn't let go of the woman the whole time, and to his surprise she stayed pretty close to him. He could tell that she was nervous about George.

The mechanic had opened the rusty hood, and after a bit he shut it and said, "This looks bad, man, we're gonna need lotsa new parts and it's gonna take awhile. Maybe a coupla days."

The man pounded his fist on the hood in frustration. "We don't got anywhere to go, no money either."

George said, "You can crash at my place."

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Kirsten wanted to run. There was no way in hell that she was going to stay at this pervert's apartment. But her captor said "Thanks" and the two men shook on it like old friends. George stuck out his hand toward Kirsten too.

"I don't believe we've met."

The man jumped in. "This is Grace,she's a, er, friend."

George gripped her hand. "Pleased to meet ya." He winked and didn't let go of her hand. She forced a smile and tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was like iron. Eventually he did let go, then turned to the man again and said, "Tell ya what, here's some money. Can you go buy some beer for tonight? The liquor store's right up the street." He pointed in the direction of the liquor store.

"Cool." The man nodded and started to lead Kirsten away. She hesitantly followed, terrified that they might make her drink some of the beer. She wanted to tell the guy that she couldn't drink, that she used to be an alcoholic, but she knew that he wouldn't care. Suddenly, her stomach growled hungrily. The man glanced back and said, "We'll eat soon."

Kirsten remembered that she hadn't eaten since the day before. She was hungry, tired, wanted to go home, and was stuck with this guy and George and beer. When they entered the liquor store, she focused on thoughts of her family to keep her distracted from all the alcohol. She thought of Sandy, the way he always schmeared a bagel for her in the mornings...she'd missed her bagel that day. Seth...she longed to hear his witty comments and retaliatory zingers, no matter if he was teasing her and Sandy about making out in the kitchen. She missed Ryan, his taciturn but caring demeanor. And she wanted to see Summer and Julie and Taylor and even Taryn would make her feel better. She was jarred from her thoughts when they got back to the mechanic store and George came out, throwing on a thin jacket. "Let's go home."

George's apartment was tiny, relatively empty, and on the first floor of the apartment complex. There wasn't much to eat, but Kirsten was starving so she ate whatever was given to her. The two men started to drink the beer, but Kirsten steadfastly refused. Maybe I can get away if they pass out.

It wasn't long before both men were completely wasted. George actually didn't have as much to drink as her kidnapper (who had yet to let Kirsten out of his reach). So when the man passed out on the couch, Kirsten was left alone with George, who pushed the man rudely off the sofa and onto the floor then sat, pulling Kirsten down next to him. The TV blared commercials, and for a while the two just watched it; Kirsten was hoping that he'd also pass out soon so she could run.

Just as she started to relax a little (being so tense all the time was wearing her out), George made his move. He suddenly shifted over next to Kirsten, staring at her. She scooted away, but he moved forward until she was pressed against the armrest of the couch, feeling as if she was going to be pushed over onto the floor. She started to stand up, and George pulled her back down on the couch. Next thing she knew, he had pressed his lips roughly onto hers. His full weight was pressing down on her, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't scream or speak, and her arms were pinned down underneath her so she couldn't fight back.

He's not Sandy, was her only thought. No one can kiss me except Sandy. She twisted her head, trying to avoid his lips again. She felt his hands pushing up her shirt, his hips pressing against her, his erection pressing against her leg. He kissed her again, his tongue probing her mouth hungrily. So she did the only thing she could think of.

She bit his tongue. Hard.

He howled in pain, immediately pulling back, though not fast enough for her to avoid tasting his blood. He was swearing loudly and blood was dripping from his lips, and Kirsten scrambled back over the armrest and made a desperate bid for freedom. She hadn't yet reached the halfway point between the couch and the door when she felt his hands grabbing her shoulders and whirling her around to face him. His fist connected bone-crushingly with the left side of her face, sending her flying backwards. The back of her head slammed into the corner of a table. Pain seeped over her skull before she mercifully blacked out.