Many thanks to those of you who added me to your alerts... Don't be shy to leave a comment too. :) And... Where did Guardian go?

No rays of sunshine to be found in this chapter... If you can get your hands on the song for this chapter (24 by Jem) by going to YouTube or something, it is well worth it. The song fits wonderfully with the hurt and angst... Bring on the darkness.

Italics either symbolizes a person's thoughts or a flashback.

"In 24 hours they'll be, laying flowers, on my life…"

-Jem-

Every minute counted now… Every single second counted… He could hear the fictional grains of sand as they filtered down from the top of the hourglass to the bottom.

He blew through an intersection, shoving down on the gas as the light changed from green to yellow. Brentwood, where he had just come from, was a far ways away from Pasadena and his brother's house.

Don switched lanes, jockeying between two cars doing the speed limit, jumped ahead, and looked up at the buttons overhead in his Suburban. For the fifth time since he had left he contemplated turning on the blue and red flashing lights. At this point he figured it wouldn't make much of a difference. The Suburban was already doing forty over the limit with his foot rooted to the pedal. Plus, no police officer was going to pull over an SUV with government issued tags, not that he would stop anyway. Turning the lights on would be pointless.

Swearing loudly, Don lifted his right foot for the first time, slamming on the brake. In turn, the brakes locked up and the vehicle halted abruptly, throwing him forward violently, seatbelt catching across his chest. He straightened, glancing left and right to make sure all was clear, and eased past the stop sign and through the intersection. His mind was in shambles; he'd already switched to autopilot, trying to remain professional about the whole ordeal. But it was so very different when it was one of your own. So very different.

He replayed everything he had seen in her townhouse. The speedometer inched forward again, the orange arrow steadily climbing, the engine humming and switching gears as it pushed forward. The citizens of Los Angeles out on the prowl for the night life blurred, not even registering as his mind focused on Brentwood and what they had found inside, trying to put the pieces together and formulate the next step.

'His entire being was instantly aware of the impending silence and stillness of the once full home as soon as he crossed the doorstep. The air was heavy and thick, choking with a palpable atmosphere that made his stomach clench and muscles tighten.

He stumbled slightly to the left against a small table, the shock of seeing the yellow tape and wrecked foyer disrupting his equilibrium. Glass and wood crunched under his feet as he side stepped around the CSA's processing the scene. No words were spoken. The house remained empty and silent. When Don did catch any of their gazes, their looks were full of anxiousness and sadness, and also a look of helplessness. As if the answers to the questions their gazes were seeking resided in him. He had no answers for them. He had no answers for anyone

The living room was a wreck. His eyes swept the room, the federal agent coming out and making sense of what he was seeing. An end table lay smashed against the wall, dark wood splintered. Pictures and figures were disrupted, crooked wherever they lay. She had put up one hell of a fight… that much he could tell. He had expected that. There was no way she would have gone without some type of fight. It wasn't in her. Turning away he noticed one of the techs bagging a gun similar to the one on his hip. At least she had tried to use that.

Don's hands clenched, knuckles turning white. One by one his feet dragged on the wood moving painfully slow. He was honest and would admit to himself that he didn't want to face what was around the other corner of the couch. Colby and David had not arrived yet, but there was someone here. Someone who had been the first one to call for help. Someone he knew would be hard hit by this. He didn't know if there was anything he could do to help her. Hell, he didn't know if there was anything he could do to help his own self.

He found her crouched on the carpet in front of what appeared to be the entertainment center. Her auburn hair was disheveled; clothes from her night out still on, but looking warn and old now. He noticed the tear tracks on her cheeks as she turned to face him.

"He won't come out."

"What?" he asked, coming closer to her.

Kathryn shook her head, shock evident in her voice. "Caesar. He won't come out. I've… I've been trying for the last twenty minutes to get him to come out. But he… just stays here. They won't let me do anything… And… I just need something to do." Her voice was soft and breathy, choking on air between words.

Caesar turned out to be a rather large looking brown and white cat he discovered as he bent down beside her. Kathryn's face was frozen and still. No emotions could be seen. Don held out a hand to the cat, fingers outstretched in a friendly manner. The cat ignored him, turning luminescent eyes from him to the one-step-below-catatonic woman next to him.

"Kathryn… What happened?"

Their gazes remained on the cat, not wanting to give in and look at one another for fear that they would see their own faces mirrored back at them. "I should have been here. I shouldn't have gone out. I came home and it's what you see. She wasn't here. The downstairs was trashed. Her gun was still here. She doesn't even have that with her. It was him; I know it was. Lock shows they came in through the garage. Didn't even take the Porsche or mess with anything else," she shook her head again. "I shouldn't have gone out."

Don gripped her shoulder. "Kathryn there was nothing you could have done. You would have been in the same position or worse."

Her fingers scraped at the wood. "Still… it's nice to think that."

She was broken he realized. Paralyzed by the fear that her best friend had been kidnapped and was dead somewhere. She needed something to do like she had said. Something that would keep her occupied. They all needed something to do.

"Kathryn," Don said, calling her name and pleased when she turned to him, "You said 'it was him'. How do you know that?"

She blinked a few time, her face relaxing and coming out of the state she was trapped in. "There was a syringe found. I don't need to test it to know that it's ketamine. Caesar has it. It's under his front leg, but he wont move and scratches every time I try to get to it. I don't want to hurt him… We've never had one of the syringes before. A print could be lifted." There she went. That was what she needed. Her brain was switching over to the task at hand, something he had already done.

He made a soothing noise to the cat; Caesar lifted his ears and turned to look at him. Letting out a yowl it inched forward, coming out from underneath the cabinet to rub against his knees. His back paw kicked out the sought after syringe. The needle gleamed in the light. It was such a small thing. Really it was. It didn't look nearly as dangerous.

"Our neighbors across the street saw a car. A black one. Matches the description of the one seen on Hoover Street. Neighbors didn't hear anything, but thought it was odd. They are an odd bunch themselves," she gave a wry laugh. "Always thinking we're up to no good when we come home late from work. They didn't see her, but they saw two men."

Kathryn suddenly reached forward with a cloth and picked the syringe up. She stood and left him, moving towards the techs on the opposite side of the room. Wondering what she was doing, Don angled his body to see her face. It was still a blank slate, but there was something else there now. Determination maybe? Or wonderment.

"Our neighbor has a photographic memory. He sees it once and remembers it. I wonder if he remembers the license numbers and if anyone has talked to him yet." She left, clutching the thing that had been Peyton's downfall, moving farther towards the front door and away from him.

Caesar let out another yowl, softer this time, gazing up at him. Even the cat wanted answers. Don petted the soft fur of the great Maine Coon and gazed around the house. The silence reigned, closing in and pressing down on all of them. It was empty… so empty.'

The scenery rushed past, trees replacing the buildings and lights as he drove farther and farther away from the downtown area. His mind moved at the same pace as the blurred trees. He was confused, not about the case per say, and what they had found tonight. He was already working on that, his own self and Kathryn's coming up with several options. The men had become sloppy this time in their rush to grab the doctor.

Don flicked the high beams, not wanting to blind the car coming towards him. No, he wasn't confused about the specifics of the case. He had been a federal agent long enough to know every single twist and turn; he could examine this from every possible angle and arrive at the same conclusion. No, Don was confused about what he was supposed to be feeling. Peyton wasn't his best friend, like Kathryn. She wasn't someone who had worked for him for several years, forming a bond so strong that nothing could come between it except for ultimate betrayal. She wasn't a lover of his; he had only been on a 'date' with her once, albeit they had both enjoyed it. At best she was someone that had joined their team that worked well with them, had come to be a member of their integral unit, and was someone he really liked. That left him with conflicted thoughts. How was he supposed to feel? That question nagged at him, and what exactly was the answer to it? It seemed that none of them had any answers tonight to the questions that never seemed to end.

It was silent in the room. She had forgotten how quiet the graveyard shift was. After all it had been several years since their team had worked the tired hours and late nights of the graveyard shift. Phantoms of people moved down the halls, printing documents, examining evidence, and comparing notes. She watched them all from her seat.

Kathryn pulled her knees tighter to her chest, suddenly finding the red color of her toenails the most fascinating thing. The screen let out a beep, and she raised her eyes long enough to press the enter key, telling it to move on. She went back to looking at the chipped polish. She didn't need to watch the database sort through the millions of license plate records to match with the partial one that Mr. Turner had provided and the description of the black car.

Her face lowered to rest on her knees, hair swinging from her bun to shield her face from the ghosts in the lab. Tears wouldn't come and they didn't need to come. Her job was to sort through this mess of evidence and find their fourth victim before it was too late. In the absence of Peyton, Kathryn was the lead CSI on their team.

But Peyton wasn't just their fourth victim. Peyton was her friend, the closest one she had, closer even than her five other siblings. She was one of the people she loved most in this world and was her sister, no matter what their blood said. Kathryn had been with her forever: When they were five years old and starting kindergarten for the first time, Peyton already smarter than most of their teachers; when they graduated from high school, Peyton fifteen years old and valedictorian, Kathryn sad for leaving all of their friends; when they had gone on to Yale, hell bent on getting away from their families only to find by the second hour that the glamorous college life was not so glamorous. Kathryn had even followed her out to Los Angeles. She could remember countless nights spent talking about the most irrelevant and stupidest things. Memories of dancing the Macarena and the Electric Slide when they were little flooded her being. But for all of their silly things that they had done over the years, she would give anything to be able to dance the Macarena with her sister in the kitchen again.

Arriving home after a late night with a friend of her father's, Kathryn had been horrified to discover what had awaited her in their home. Her friend was gone. The one that had stood up for her her entire life, the one that had championed her every move, believed in everything she had ever dreamed, and been there when she had needed her the most, was gone. Now, she was in the hands of some deranged doctor. A doctor whose victims were experimented on and tortured until they died, she reminded herself. Peyton had been through many things over the years. It came with the territory. One did not take a job in their line of work and not toe the line of death at least once. But this was not like the time that Peyton had been caught in a heavy line of crossfire during a bank robbery scene in which one of the assailants had only been hiding out in the back. For one, she had had a gun that time and about fifteen trained officers to back her up. She was alone now.

But she didn't have to stay alone. No one on their team was going to take this news well and that source of anger and drive would only cause them to redouble their efforts and work harder to catch this bastard. They had the vehicle provided by Mr. Turner's photographic memory and they had two viable prints from the syringe. Don had already left to find his brother, Charlie, and put a rush on the genius' probability work on the potential locations. They would find him this time. They had too. As Yoda had said, and Peyton quoted, 'do or do not'. There was no try. They would; there was no other option. She refused to lose the one person that understood her the most in this world. She absolutely refused.

With a stronger sense of conviction and will than before, Kathryn raised her head from her knees and boldly steeled herself against the phantoms outside the room and the ones inside her. As if it was a sign, the computer beeped, signifying a match. Her fingers hit the print button and her heart sent out a silent prayer to wherever their lost friend was, praying that she would be given the strength to ride out this nightmare until they could bring in the cavalry.

Water… her face was resting in water. About an inch it felt like. It was cool…and tasted horrible. She blinked once, twice, and inhaled, choking as the liquid rushed into her nose and mouth. Weakly she tried to raise her head. It was heavy. Everything about her body felt heavy and lethargic, as if she was weighed down. So weak, barely making it an inch off whatever she was laying on, her head dropped back down. The puddle beneath her was foul; she could smell it and something in her mind knew the name of what was making the water foul. But she couldn't connect it and the name remained stored away.

Lifting her hand to touch it, she discovered that her hands wouldn't obey the command. Twisting them she found that her wrists were bound… by something rough that scratched and chaffed. Rope maybe? Her legs refused to obey any form of command either, ankles bound by the same scratchy material. Again, she knew what it was but couldn't name it.

She couldn't remember how she had gotten here. For that matter, where was here? Her vision was blurry; all she could see was concrete and the rough outline of shapes. She didn't exactly know why she was here. Surely it was not a place where she would have wanted to be. But she did know that she wasn't supposed to be here. Something about it didn't feel right. Something inside her knew that. Fear brewed from somewhere deep inside. This was wrong. All wrong.

She was… Who was she? She was alarmed to discover that she couldn't even remember her name. That scared her too. People were supposed to know who they were. Why couldn't she remember her own name? Like the other things around her that seemed so familiar, her identity remained just out of reach of her mind. Tantalizingly close and yet so far away.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, finding them cracked and split. Her eyes closed again, struggling to remember anything, trying to force her head to follow her commands. Nothing… There was nothing. She was alone…

No, not alone. Faces rose before the back of her eyelids. Even though they too would not come, she knew them despite the fact that she had no names to match with them. They were warm and comforting to her and chased away some of her fears. Sharp emerald eyes— that matched the ones she knew she had— paired with a warm smile that he only gave to her... White teeth that gleamed in a full smile as the person gazed with respect… A clever and sarcastic grin with witty looking sea green eyes… A penetrating gaze that looked past you to see what was inside you… Curly hair that bounced while he spoke with such excitement that it radiated outward… Grey ones in a face that only ever gave kindness and respect…And a pair of deep brown ones that crinkled in the corners when his mouth lifted upward.

The last two burned the brightest in her mind. She couldn't explain why, but as the darkness drew her back in she held tightly to those two, wrapping them around her. They were the only source of light to be found in this darkness.

Can you name everyone Peyton saw? The white teeth might be hard, but you have to remember it from a few chapters back. One you have to guess and use what you learned in Biology class.

So... the question is... What happens now?