Meh. I just can't look at this any more.

2:30 AM Tuesday

I woke slowly, lazily almost, but didn't open my eyes. My head was pounding.

Someone was in the room with me. I could hear breathing and the occasional small movement: the rustle of clothing, the slight scrape of a shoe on the floor.

I was lying on my side on what felt like a bed, an I thought it odd that with the fight I'd put up that I wasn't bound in any way. Seemed a little careless. Careless is good: it might work in my favor. Opening my eyes very slightly I could see I was indeed on a heavy metal-framed bed – like a very obsolete hospital bed.

Directly in my line of vision was a six foot metal table. A six-foot man was sitting at the six-foot table in the only chair, a very large weapon on the table in front of him next to what looked to be a two-way radio. He wasn't looking in my direction so I opened my eyes wide and sized him up. I could only see his profile, but I was pretty certain he was my attacker.

He moved abruptly, pushing his chair a little ways back from the table, and I flicked my eyes closed again. I'd better learn as much as I could about my situation before I had to face it.

I'd noticed it seemed to be a windowless basement room, one long fluorescent light smack in the middle of the unfinished ceiling, which was painted dark green and had pipes running across it. Some sort of cabinet stood against the far wall, shrouded in darkness.

The two-way radio told me more than one person was involved. The fact that this guy was sitting here told me he wasn't the one in charge. No evil leader would assign himself guard duty.

The questions: Who? Why? Why me?

The radio crackled and a woman's voice hissed, "Rocko!"

Rocko? Really?

"Yeah," the guy answered roughly.

"Is she awake yet?"

I could hear him move to look over at me.

"Not yet."

"How hard did you hit her, you buffoon? I hope you didn't put her out permanently."

"She was going to get away. I hit her as hard as I had to, but I didn't want to."

"That's your own fault. You couldn't control an unarmed, unsuspecting woman?"

"She knew what she was doing. And she's strong." He'd grunted.

"Let me know when she's awake," she said tersely and the radio went silent.

Sounds like she's the one in charge.

I lay still, hoping to gather strength. I couldn't tell if the dizziness and nausea could be contributed to the blow on the head or the baby. If it didn't dissipate, maybe I could use it to my advantage, if only just to puke on someone...

After a decent interval, I opened my eyes again. Rocko looked like he was close to dozing. I moved my legs to hang over the side of the bed pulled myself into a sitting position. My bare feet were cold.

Rocko stood quickly, picking up his assault weapon.

He came over and hauled me to my feet. My knees nearly buckled, so he let me sit back down for a couple of minutes.

"Slowly," he said, pulling me to my feet again and guiding me over to the chair he'd just vacated.

"Sit." He said, then radioed that I was conscious.

I was dying to meet my hostess, to get some answers.

"That's a really big gun you have there. How Freudian. Compensating?"

"Want me to make you realize that I'm not?"

"You could try." The way I felt, all he'd have to do is jab me in the shoulder with two fingers and I'd crumple.

He came around stared into my eyes. It was a little unnerving. "You're spunky." he commented appreciatively." I like women who can stick up for themselves. And you're strong. "

"I can run real fast, too. Open that door and I'll show you."

"I'll bet you can," he looked me over.

Hm.

His interest could also be something I could use to my advantage later on. "If only we'd met under different circumstances." I winked at him, working my way into a cross-legged position on the chair to help keep my feet warm. Little spark of something in his eyes. Good.

"So, now we talk?" I asked. "What do we talk about?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me. He shrugged. He obviously had no issue with me, so it had to be the woman. The only alternative was that this had something to do with Maurice. How many hundreds of people had he pissed off in his lifetime? Could there be one stupid and crazy enough to do something like this?

I wondered if I could amuse myself at this guy's expense. Mess with him. What could I do that would make this guy think I was the captive from Hell? Non-stop female chatter can have a very dramatic effect on male behavior. In some cases it takes mere minutes. How much inane babbling would drive him nuts? Or maybe it would just look like I was a little insane.

"We have to talk about something fun." I mused. "Annndd....what could be more fun than....Jimmy Buffet?" I picked randomly. "What's your absolute favorite Jimmy Buffet song?"

"I don't know. Volcano?"

Ha. That was actually funny, and he didn't realize it. This could be a lot more fun than I thought.

"Is that a question or a statement, because you sound like you're not sure..." I said quickly, pointing like a carnival huckster trying to reel in an easy mark. Like Harold Hill trying to sell band instruments in River City.

"It's Volcano." He confirmed slowly, uncertainly.

"Interesting choice, interesting choice. That's a very controversial song, rife with conflict. I'd like to start a lively debate about the merits of his assertions in that song. For example, I do agree that I don't want to go the San Juan airport. The runway is rather short and landings are brutal. But I have to disagree about Buzzard's Bay. That's right where the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute is located, home of none other than Robert Ballard, who found the remains of the Titanic, a great tragedy that I feel very passionately about. How do you feel about that?"

He was looking at me as if he wasn't sure what to feel about anything. He probably thought he'd bumped me too hard on the head. Maybe he had.

He was spared further confusion by the sound of a key scraping in the lock of what looked like a very formidable door. It swung open.

The woman stepped in, wearing jeans and a tee shirt, gun at her hip. It was the second time in twelve hours that she'd surprised me.

"You must be Nurse Ratched. How the hell are you?" I said, trying to sound unsurprised.

"Surprised?" She asked.

"No. Not at all. When you've gone after a woman's husband, kidnapping her is always the next logical step. It's right there in the Evil Genius playbook." I paused. "You seem hell-bent on making my life miserable. Mind if I ask why?"

"You don't remember me?"

I studied her face. It clicked. I knew who she was. "Nope."

"Serena Belliard." She prompted.

I gave it a minute then shook my head. "Nothing. Sorry."

That vexed her. She slapped the table. "From Chicago."

I looked at her slyly, "You can't fool me. That was Catherine Zeta-Jones."

She looked like she was about to hit me.

"Ohhhh," I said exaggeratedly, "Little Serena! Jakey's kid sister! You were always tagging along with us. How've you been? How's Jake doing? Look at you, all grown up! And a cop, no less. Your parents must

be-"

"You destroyed him." She interrupted levelly, a menacing look on her face.

I sat back, acting relaxed. "You're going to have to be more specific. I've destroyed so many." I couldn't reign in the sarcasm.

She just gave me a sullen stare. "I loved him and you destroyed him."

"If you are, unbelievably, talking about Evan, he destroyed himself."

"You got him killed."

"He got himself killed." I clarified.

"I'm going to destroy you like you destroyed him. I'm going to take your man, like you took mine-"

"Oh, honey, if I could turn back time, Evan would be all yours. As for that other thing, good luck with that."

She leaned on the table toward me. "You know, I didn't think I wanted him at first, I just wanted to hurt you, but I've decided I do want him after all. If only to corrupt him. To make him compromise what he believes in, what he values. He'll be a perfect fit for our organization. He's exactly what I need."

Organization. So, this wasn't strictly personal.

"What a coincidence. He's exactly what I need. And you don't get to have him."

"He'll need someone to turn to when you turn up dead."

"He's got Mom." I pointed out.

"A mother can't give a man everything he needs." She provoked.

"How very one-dimensional of you. You have no idea what a man needs. You can just forget about it. He's all about doing the right thing."

"That's why it will be such a pleasure. With the right motivation, anyone can be corrupted."

"Like you? Dirty Chicago cop. A six-foot, two hundred fifty pounder named 'Rocko'? Got any other clichés lying around?"

She leaned over me and smiled a wicked smile. "Try 'unidentified female Caucasian with a GSW to the head'." Her eyes told me this was no bluff. She continued. "I'm going to come right out and tell you that this is your last day."

I thought about that for a minute. A minute was all I could give it. Otherwise I might start to believe it, and then I 'd be useless.

But I did suppose that, with nothing to lose, it was my turn to provoke a reaction. "All this because you had some silly school-girl crush on my boyfriend?"

She slammed her fist on the table. "I loved him! I always loved him! But he chose you!"

"You were just a kid!" I reminded her.

"When you left, I was there to pick up the pieces. I helped him. I cared for him. I loved him."

"At least you were legal by then." I jabbed.

She leaned on the table, right in close, looking me right in the eye, and said very slowly, "Look at this! We have something in common. He was my first, too."

I shook my head, "He wasn't -"

"He told me what he did." She snapped. "And I was glad. He should have beaten you to death."

As far as I could tell, she and Evan deserved each other completely.

Rocko was looking from Serena to me and back again. I wondered what he was thinking.

She continued, pacing. "Anyway, it was all about you. He couldn't stand that you left him – he couldn't let it go. Then he finally found you in New York and you got him killed."

"He got himself killed," I reminded her, "because he was a control freak."

"You took him away from me again." She hissed.

"Doesn't sound like you ever had him to begin with." I swear to God, it was like being in the interrogation room with Maurice that first night – I just couldn't stop myself.

She backhanded me across the face, bringing tears to my eyes but I blinked them back. No way in hell I'd let her see.

"I'm here to do what Evan's father should have done. You didn't actually put him away, so he didn't come after you. But he should have."

"The Benedicts are honorable that way." I said sarcastically. "What makes you feel the need to insert yourself into his business?" I asked.

"All in good time."

"So, we're through for now?"

"For now. Now we wait."

"For what?" I wondered what she wanted from me, why I was still breathing. I had no doubt that if I didn't find some way out of this, it was all over.

She just smiled and left, closing the door.

So, I had the 'who' and the 'why', but I wasn't certain I had the whole 'why'. And I certainly didn't have the 'why now?'. And had she done something to Maurice? Was he home? Had he heard the messages? Maybe he hadn't.

I straightened. Back to being the prisoner from hell.

I looked over at Rocko. "Hope you like music." He kind of nodded, bewildered.

I'd decided on show tunes. Something positive, just to let her know I was not yet defeated.

I started singing Annie's 'Tomorrow' at the top of my lungs.