Author's Note: Ok, it's been a while, I admit it. Anybody reading this story, take my advice: just check back every week or so. Updates will be slow in coming, but they will come, I promise.
Huge thanks to all those who reviewed! Whether it's feedback or just plain old support, all reviews are always welcome. …Ok, flames aren't that welcome. If you want to give me feedback, you need to be polite, or I'll ignore you.
One more thing… "Chile genius kidnapped…", "Margaret Eppes admitted…" and "Still no information…" are all newspaper articles. The titles don't really stand out.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: Same as for previous chapter. (I hate reading disclaimers over and over again…)

Chapter 1: The Scrapbook

Child genius kidnapped during family outing
Amelia Darning
June 10, 1980

On the afternoon of June 9, child genius Charles Eppes was kidnapped during the aftermath of a baseball game.

The entire Eppes family was present at the game to watch the performance of Don Eppes, the eldest child of the family. Witnesses say that, after the game ended, Charles, known to his family as Charlie, was celebrating the victory of Don's team with his family. Margaret and Alan engaged in conversation with Ms. Lydia Range. During their conversation with Ms. Range, Don left his parents, and Charlie followed.

Reportedly, the brothers got into a fight and separated. Charlie was left by himself on one of the bleachers that edge the field. It was at this time that the kidnapper struck.

"It's frightening," Isabel White, a nearby witness, stated. "I saw the man walking, and he smiled at me, very calm, like he was supposed to be there. I saw the little boy trying to get away, but from the way the man looked, kind of embarrassed, I just assumed he was a parent leaving with a child who was acting up. I never suspected otherwise."

Upon realizing that his brother had been taken, Don pursued the abductor, but was unsuccessful in preventing the kidnapper from escaping. Alan and Margaret pursued as well, but were likewise unsuccessful in saving their son.

Don described the kidnapper as tan, green-eyed, blonde-haired, and tall. He wore a dark green t-shirt and blue jeans. The man escaped with Charlie in a waiting vehicle, described as a black sedan with black upholstery. The driver of the vehicle was not seen.

"I saw the man get into the car with my son, but I was too far away to stop him. I tried to catch up, but they were just too far away," stated a shocked Alan Eppes.

His tearful wife, Margaret, added, "Please, if anyone has seen my son, help bring him home to me. I just want my baby boy back!"

Young Don Eppes was not available for comment.

This kidnapping occurred a mere two days after it was confirmed that Charlie is a child genius, a four-year old with an astounding grasp of mathematical concepts.

Howard Strong of Strong IQ Testing Facility had this to say: "This situation is a great shame. Charlie is a brilliant little boy, but over the course of the week that I worked with him, I came to realize that he is very sensitive and timid. He needs the love and support of his family as other people need air and water. Such a situation is sure to incur trauma, perhaps of the permanent variety, especially when his youth is taken into account."

Despite a city-wide search and a continuing police investigation, Charles Eppes has not been seen since yesterday afternoon.

Don turned the page of the scrapbook. There were so many clippings trapped between its covers, and he knew them all by heart. But still he skimmed through, reminding himself. One particularly painful article caught his eye.
Margaret Eppes admitted to psychiatric ward
Amelia Darning
August 1, 1980

Margaret Eppes, mother of Charles Eppes, the young boy who was kidnapped over a month ago, has suffered a nervous breakdown and been admitted to Holly Oaks Psychiatric Ward.

Margaret, whose health has been declining since the disappearance of her son, was declared mentally unstable two days ago by clinical psychiatrist Helen Blake.

"This has been very hard on all of us, but Maggie has been taking it the hardest," husband Alan Eppes stated.

The remainder of the Eppes family, Alan and thirteen-year old Don Eppes, has acknowledged the receipt of a lot of support from friends and family to help them deal with this latest blow to the Eppes family unit….

Don really didn't want to read anymore of that article. Why should he read it when he had lived it? Then again, if that was the case, why read any of these? He already knew the answer to that oh-so-frequent question, and so he banished the query away and continued skimming, until he came to the very last newspaper clipping.
Still no information on the whereabouts of Charles Eppes
Amelia Darning
December 14, 1980

A full six months after the disappearance of four-year old Charles Eppes, the child genius remains unfound.

The police investigation into this matter continues, but as of yet has yielded no results.

…Margaret Eppes, mother to Charles, suffered a nervous breakdown in August, but has now recovered with the help of her family.

…Alan Eppes vows "We still have hope that he'll be found safely, and we'll never stop expecting him to come home."

Don closed the scrapbook. He'd accomplished what he needed to, and the thought of reading the rest of what lay within this book's pages made his heart ache. Truth be known, ecstasy had not been a factor in his decision to skim these pages. He hadn't read any of these heartrending memoirs because he wanted to—he had read them because he needed to.

Even after all these years, whenever uncertainty clouded his mind, it was always Charlie he returned to. Ironically, reminding himself of his little brother's disappearance and reopening the wounds that time—almost a quarter of a century—had dulled never failed to pull Don out of whatever depressed funk he had fallen into.

Working as an FBI agent was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it gave Don the expertise, connections, and opportunities to continue searching for his little brother. On the other hand, this business tended to show him a lot of the uglier aspects of life. Most of the time he could handle the gruesome particulars of any case that came his way. But the Coast Killer…this one was burrowing under his skin.

It wasn't just that all the victims of the Coast Killer turned up beaten almost beyond recognition, raped and broken, the ghost of fear still visible on long-dead faces. It wasn't just that some of the victims had been snatched from places where they shouldn't have been, places where they were supposed to be safe. It wasn't even just that Don could relate so well to the terrifying state of helplessness that descended on the people that the victims left behind in the land of the living, unknowing what had happened to their loved ones until the fateful visit that informed them that their lost ones had been found.

What was really bothering him about this case was that it was going nowhere.

The Coast Killer had been on the loose for almost a year, abducting and mutilating victims that appeared to have no connection. Male or female, young or old, blonde, brunette, or redhead—the people who wound up dead were entirely dissimilar, as far as the FBI could tell. And now there was the matter of location.

For a full ten months, the Atlantic Coast had been terrorized by the Coast Killer. Now old CK had made his way on over to the Pacific.

And, just as had been the case on the eastern fringe of the nation, the western feds were having absolutely no luck in apprehending this guy.

That was what had brought Don back to the scrapbook. In this time of utter hopelessness, he felt useless, impotent. He needed motivation. The rage over his brother's kidnapping, and the determination to find him, did nicely. As always.

Don replaced the scrapbook in its sheltered niche, out of sight, but never out of reach. That done, he squared his shoulders and left his little brother's room, a new edge on his desire to rid the streets of yet another scumbag. By Hell's gates, he would help take down the Coast Killer and either throw him behind bars, or kick the sick bastard's head in—preferably the latter.