RJ's hands were cuffed behind his back moments after being dragged into the van. He sat on his knees with a shoulder pressed against one of the inside walls, his hazel eyes looking back and forth between his two captors. It was dark, thus making it hard to see, but RJ could still make out their faces. One had thick facial hair and appeared to be in his mid thirties. The other looked much younger – in his twenties perhaps, and he had a scar under his left eye.

The bearded man was holding a gun. RJ figured it was what he used to hit him back in the alley. The man examined RJ from top to bottom with a bitter and disgusted look on his face, but when the man looked down towards RJ's feet, his expression turned to purely hateful and clearly angry.

"Where's your other shoe?" The man asked through gritted teeth.

RJ said nothing. He only stared at the man, eyes wide and terrified to answer any questions. The man saw this and knew what had happened, and that the shoe was still somewhere out on the street. His lips curved upward in a furious look, and suddenly he swung the gun at RJ's face, hitting him on his right cheek bone. RJ let out a small shriek of pain and fell over onto his side, but the bearded man quickly grabbed him by the shirt and forced him to sit up again, slamming the boy's back against the wall.

At that moment, a window opened up in the front, allowing daylight to come through the windshield and into the back of the van. RJ squinted his eyes and tried to see who was sitting in the front. He could only see the side of one man's face, but couldn't make out any features as the man's face was shadowed between the light up front and the darkness in back.

"What's going on back there?" The man in the passenger seat asked.

"This little punk lost a shoe back on the street." The bearded man replied.

"Oh really? Well, don't rough him up too much just yet."

"Who are you?" RJ shouted.

But it was no use. The window was closed and all was dark once again.


Back in the lab, RJ's sneaker was sitting on a table. Raymond Langston was closely examining it when Gil and Catherine stopped by to check in.

"So, by chance did you find any evidence in or on this one sneaker?" Catherine asked as she handed a cup of coffee over to Raymond.

Raymond shot a glance over at the sneaker and took a sip of his beverage before responding. "There are no traces of blood, which is very reassuring given the circumstances." He began. Raymond then beckoned his comrades over to where he stood. "Do you see these streaks?" He asked, pointing towards the back of the sneaker.

Sure enough, there were two streaks. One was like a perfect curve running straight across the heel stripe. The other was more ragged, set off to the side of the heel stripe and down to the end of the black fabric. The streaks were light, unable to be seen from far away.

"What do they mean?" Gil asked curiously.

"Well," Raymond began "those streaks were not made from being scraped against the ground. No, they were made from the other sneaker …"


Dazed and confused, RJ struggled to keep his footing as he was being dragged out of the alleyway. The two men with him were already feeling victorious – they thought they had already captured him without any major ruckus or too much of a struggle from the boy, but little did they know, RJ was already a step ahead of them. Just before the three were out of the alley, RJ planted his left foot firmly on the ground, which caused the man who was dragging him to falter. As this happened, RJ pushed his right foot back against the other until the sneaker came off.


"… My best guess is that RJ kicked this sneaker off before he was dragged away." Raymond said. "Though, it doesn't tell us anything about where he was taken, who took him or why, it served as a marker to show us where he was."

Gil raised his eyebrows upon hearing Raymond's take. "Smart kid."

"Have either of you spoken with his parents?" Raymond asked.

"Yes," Catherine replied "So far we know that their twelve year old daughter is being taken to stay with relatives just out of state."

"And I'll be heading over to their home soon." Said Gil. "This obviously is not a random kidnapping, I mean; this is a police chief's son we're talking about here, so we're expecting contact from a culprit at any time, now. I'll be there to monitor it."

"Ah, I'll come with you." Raymond said, a hint of a smile creeping across his lips. "I've gotten all I can get out of this shoe – it's time to move on."

It was a long night spent at the Sullivan's home. Long and quiet. Ryan and his wife Bethany didn't say much unless they were asked a question – otherwise they were quiet, talking amongst themselves and trying to keep the other sane and comforted. Raymond and Gil sat at the kitchen table, Gil with his eyes closed, an elbow on the table and his head resting in the palm of his hand. It was past midnight, and still no call from anyone. Raymond leaned back in his chair and peered out of a nearby window, relieved to see that there was still no media around. So far, things were quiet on all fronts.

All of the call monitoring equipment was set up to the Sullivan's home phone, and all of the recording devices and head sets were spread out on the kitchen table, yet to be used. Ryan and Bethany were nearby in the living room, sitting on the couch. Bethany had managed to doze off while resting on her husband's chest. Ryan sat staring blankly at the blank TV screen, his thoughts racing as he wondered where RJ was and if he was alright. He never imagined anything like this would happen to him and his family …

It was now past one o'clock. Raymond was still awake at the kitchen table; Gil, Bethany, and now Ryan however, were fast asleep. The house was quiet and the atmosphere was tense as Raymond sat just waiting for a call. Suddenly, the silence in the house was broken. Ryan's cell phone, which was sitting on the kitchen counter, started to vibrate.

"Ryan!" Raymond called out as he shook Gil's shoulder to wake him.

Raymond, Gil, Ryan, and Bethany all charged towards the counter. Ryan picked up the cell phone and flipped it open. What he read on the screen caused his heart to skip a beat. It was RJ.

"Hello?" Ryan answered, his tone of voice frantic.

There was a short pause.

"Dad?"

"RJ! RJ, where are you?"

" … I don't know."

"Are you alright?"

" … I don't know."

Before Ryan could respond, there was a loud crash from the other line and then all went silent.

"RJ? RJ!" Ryan shouted. But there was no response.

He pulled his cell phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. The call was ended. Ryan closed his found, and angrily slammed it back down onto the counter. Bethany, Gil, and Raymond all flinched, and Bethany moved to place a hand on Ryan's shoulder.

"Did he say anything?" She asked, her voice shaking.

"He doesn't know where he is, and he doesn't know if he's alright." Ryan replied.

"Hmm … That's strange." Said Gil. "Could you hear anything in the background?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"What about his tone of voice?" Gil asked. "Did RJ sound like he was hurt? Was there any strain in his voice? Did he stutter?"

"No, he didn't stutter, and he didn't sound like he was hurt. He was very quiet, though, like he was being cautious."


RJ's cell phone sat in a heap of broken pieces at his feet. He sat in a cold basement, unsure of what building or what part of town he was in, having been blindfolded until a man came down and forced him to talk to his father. RJ sat on the cold floor with his left hand cuffed to a pole. He stared up at the man in front of him, the man who had been sitting in the passenger seat of the van. He had a very thin face, short, dark hair, and recently trimmed facial hair. His eyes were brown and dark – he had a naturally eerie and terrifying look about him.

"Good boy." The man uttered.

As the man spoke, he noticed RJ's eyes move down to the floor, to his foot to be exact. The man raised an eyebrow at what he saw. RJ had his left foot pressed against the floor in an odd fashion, and the look in the boy's eyes was very focused. Perhaps he was afraid. Even the man had to admit that he would be afraid in that sort of situation, so for the time being he didn't worry about RJ's behavior. Instead, he turned around and walked away, going up the flight of metal stairs to the ground floor of the building, shutting the door behind him. Until RJ was certain the man was gone, his hazel eyes were fixed keenly on his sneaker.

The man had thrown his cell phone against the ground, shattering it into pieces. Though the phone was no longer good to use, something else was. The SIM card. While RJ was looking up at the man, he slowly inched his foot over to where the card was on the floor to cover it up. He was certain he had given something away when he looked to see if the card was hidden, but thankfully the man didn't seem to care.

As soon as RJ was positive that he was in the clear, he moved his foot, reached out his left hand and picked up the SIM card. He wasn't sure if he would be able to use it later, but nonetheless it was important to have, and so he pocketed it just in case.