Despite his gentle handling efforts, Shawn moaned – weaving tendrils of cold dread around Henry's ribs. He showed no other signs of returning to awareness.

"What did you do to yourself, Pal?" Henry eased himself off the edge of the couch, not wanting to jostle his son and further aggravate his injury. Making his way in the darkened room with efficient ease, he flipped the light switch and swore in frustrated concern. Toggling up and down, as if to will the faceplate to dare defy him, he gave it a final whack before striding to the end table. The conspiracy of darkness included table lamps as well as set-in fixtures. First glance would reveal him to be disgusted with the prospect of another home improvement project to tackle. In actuality, his grim visage set as he processed the insidiousness of the possibilties. Ripping the rickety drawer from the end table, he rifled through the spent AA batteries and undeveloped film rolls to retrieve a spare flashlight.

The old landline phone was within handy reach. He picked up the handset of the phone and punched in two numbers before his brain caught on that there was no dial tone. Concern for his son ate at him. Yet, years of experience screamed that this wasn't over. Until Henry had a handle on what was going on, neither Shawn nor the rest of his guests were safe. As much as he wanted to be at his son's side, ultimately he had to prioritize. A quick sweep around the room with the narrow beam of the flashlight reflected the ghastly pallor of Shawn's complexion. It also revealed a preview of destruction that had found its way through his kitchen.

Unwilling to venture too far from the living room, Henry took a few more steps towards the kitchen entry. Even from this distance he could see the gaping holes in the cabinetry and drywall where, just two hours ago, there had been plumbing. The doors under the sink had been cut off their hinges, as had the underneath fixtures that used to connect to the bottom of the stainless steel basin. The luminescent beam lowered further, misty dust highlighted as it danced through the air, before illuminating the source of the sickness now punching a hole in his gut. A cordless reciprocating saw. By itself, one of the more useful tools for a myriad of projects, the likes of which Shawn squirreled out of week after week. Henry himself had three. This, he mused, was not his saw.

They're still here!

Executing an academy perfect about face, he set his sights on the hallway. He progressed no further than three long strides when the shortened barrel of a shotgun peered around the corner, instantly followed by its bearer. As his flashlight glinted off the weapon, he attempted to step back before his movement was halted as the shotgun was leveled at his head.

"Well, isn't this just our lucky day?" The punk couldn't have been older than twenty one. His age was tricky to determine as his stringy hair was pushed over his features by the ratty knit cap. The fact this kid was high on something took no time at all to discern. His erratic behavior screamed druggie. Henry refused to acknowledge any weakness they could feed from. However, he would have to be very careful not to push this kid too far.

"You hurt my son. I can guarantee, your luck ends today." His eyes squinted as he appraised the young vandal further. Rotten teeth, facial sores having nothing to do with typical pubescent complexion, obvious aggression, all these observations could be chalked up to meth user.

Thankfully, he didn't have to deal with the growing meth problem very often during his years on the force. They had the occasional incident towards his later years, just before his retirement. The same could not be said for officers currently employed by the SBPD as well as the rest of the country. Friday night poker nights were a great way to let off some steam, reconnect with colleagues, and keep abreast of current happenings. He had been hearing that there was an explosion, literally and figuratively, in meth usage in the past three years. Until today, the inability to purchase his favorite decongestant over the counter was the biggest inconvenience he had experienced due to the explosion of the drug's popularity. When he had more time to decompress, he would berate himself for ever wasting frustration on something so…trivial.

The punk ignored him as he fumbled through his baggy pants pockets, remarkably keeping the gun steady. He pulled out a cell phone and hit a speed dial key, his gaze never leaving Henry for a moment as he waited for the other end to pick up.

"Walker, there are more people in the house. You said it would be empty, man…yeah…we already took care of them…no…these are more people…yeah, that's what I'm sayin'…but what do you want us to do?...ok, I'm out."

He snapped the phone shut and deftly returned it to the pocket of his dirty cargo pants. Motioning with the gun barrel, he herded Henry back into the living room.

Henry remained silent; not wanting to distract himself from taking in as much info as he could and tip his hand too early, until he could fully assess the situation. He allowed himself to be moved across the room. There were three intruders. Two were visibly armed. However, he wouldn't make any foolish assumptions that the third was not. Number three, being quite large in stature, currently played the part of pack mule, loaded down with various tools and surrounded by bags. Henry's eyes narrowed in anger as he observed Number three stuffing a large wheeled suitcase with wiring. That, he thought wryly, would be why the phones and power are out.

A glance and a half-nod confirmed that the Gusters were okay; rattled, but okay. He would have preferred to have qualified backup with him rather than be solely responsible for the lives of three civilians. Not that he would admit or normally consider it, but he would even prefer Shawn as adequate backup over Bill and Winnie. Even though he didn't have the desire, his son couldn't deny – at least to his old man - that he knew proper procedure as well as any seasoned officer when dealing with a hostage situation.

He forced his attention back to the intruders. They were gathered in a huddle, yet one of the three kept a dedicated eye on him. He strained to pick up the highlights of their conversation.

"…don't want to stay here!"

"We're taking the other two…outside of…be back."

"How long…gone?"

A few mumbled, unintelligible words later and the huddle broke apart; its members separated and advanced on their chosen hostages. This was not good, not good at all. They couldn't afford to be separated. Henry also couldn't afford to push the issue. He would be no good to Shawn dead. He just had to hope that his son could hold out long enough for him to find a way out of this mess. He would find a way out of this. He had to.

"Where are you taking my husband?"

"Lady, I ain't telling you again. Back off!"

"Winnie, I'll be alright." Bill tried his best to placate his wife, who appeared to Henry, to be completely unplacatory. He couldn't fault Winnie for reacting poorly. She was still shaken pretty badly from the shock of finding her son the way she had. Now, she was being forcibly separated from her husband. Of course, he and Bill weren't happy about it either.

Clearing his throat, he interjected before the situation could get further out of hand. "Winnie – I need to know that you are going to look after Shawn and Gus. They need you right now."

Picking up on his momentum, Bill chimed in. "That's right. We'll be fine knowing you have the boys taken care of." Oh yeah, she was obviously unhappy at having the mom-card played against her. That was fine by him; Henry was quite familiar at deflecting the anger of others. He'd survived worse from those much closer to him than Winnie Guster.

The couple stole an embrace before Bill was roughly pulled from his wife. Henry automatically stepped forward, but was stopped immediately by his personal bodyguard.

And with that, the two men were directed out of the room, both sparing one last glance over their shoulders. Henry drank in the sight of his vandalized home, refusing to believe it was his last – but, just in case…

His last, longest stare was reserved for his son. Still stretched out on the couch, Shawn was showing the earliest signs of restlessness. The gun at Henry's back prevented him from running back. He longed to make a move to overpower his attacker. Three against one was just too much of a gamble. It was sheer recklessness and probable suicide. As a father, he was sickened with himself. As a cop, he knew that this protocol, however unfair, was the best chance his son had.

Hang on kiddo. Whatever it takes, I'll be back. You just have to hang on.