He had waited for Julia at the school for over 20 minutes. Normally, she was there to pick him up. It was why, he suspected, that more than a few of the other teenaged boys also stayed late after school. He was painfully aware of the ogling eyes and nervous smirks and it always made him angry. One time, as he walked over to the Porsche that Julia was leaning up against in a very short and very tight dress, oblivious to anything but her Blackberry, he heard 'MILF' shouted out by one of the local idiots. 'Perverts' he had muttered under his breath. When he got into the car he glared at them murderously, and when Julia drove away and he was sure she wasn't looking, he flipped them the middle finger too.

But today she was late, or she had forgotten again. The latter was becoming more and more frequent as her behaviour became increasingly erratic. He felt helpless watching her descend into a pattern of forgetfulness and odd delusions. He looked at his silver wristwatch again. 25 minutes late. He sighed. He tugged once on his backpack straps and slipped his iPod earphones in, blasting the music loudly before setting off for the long walk home.

He was a few blocks away, mindlessly navigating his iPods menu with his thumb, when he finally glanced up at his mother's elegant cobblestone driveway. There was a white van parked close to the front door. Kyle cocked his head at that in mild surprise. He didn't recall anyone stopping by to fix anything, and in any event, the van didn't have any logos plastered on the side. He slowly removed the earphones and stashed the iPod into his khaki pocket. As he walked cautiously towards the large oak door, he noticed that it was slightly ajar.

Kyle stopped. Something fluttered in his gut, a whispered warning. He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and began dialling his father's cell. He crept towards the open door, taking light footsteps while glancing furtively around him.

"Horatio Caine." His father's clear voice spoke to him from the cell phone pressed against his ear.

"Dad," Kyle said quickly. "Hey, I think something might be wrong," he said quietly. He paused in front of the door, pushing it open slightly and peering around it.

"Kyle? Where are you son?" Horatio's voice had a sudden urgency to it.

"I'm at home," he whispered as he stepped over the threshold. Down the hallway, he spied an overturn chair from the dining room. He took a few steps inside the hallway, his pulse quickening with every step. "I think-" he stopped in mid-sentence as he turned and saw his mother in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast nook with duct tape covering her mouth and tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes pleaded to her son. A large bald man with a black goatee and leather jacket held a gun to the back of her head.

"Kyle? Kyle, what's happening?" Horatio's voice had risen slightly.

"Oh God," Kyle breathed.

"He ain't gonna help you, kid."

The voice came from behind. Kyle turned and had a brief moment to see Ron Saris' grinning face before the butt end of a rifle came down brutally on his right temple. The room spun violently. His mother's muffled voice screamed from somwhere distant. Kyle fell, saw his cell phone spinning away from him on the polished wood floor, then saw white patent leather shoes stalk after the cell phone. He blinked groggily, reached his hand for the phone.

Ron picked it up, put it to his ear and listened to Horatio Caine's frantic calls to his son. "Sorry Horatio," Ron answered. "Kyle's about to be a little tied up."

He snapped the phone shut and smiled wickedly down at Kyle. Kyle strained to see clearly as Ron's face faded in and out of focus. Finally, he let his eyes drift shut, no longer possessing the strength to fight the oncoming darkness that beckoned.

Horatio Caine had just finished an interrogation and was standing outside the room with Calleigh Duquesne. He had his hands on his hips, chewed mindlessly on his bottom lip while he considered the suspect's vague answers. Calleigh, with her usual mix of insightfulness and feistiness, had suggested all sorts of scenarios, reasoning each one with meticulous detail and motivation. Then Horatio's phone rang. He raised a hand to Calleigh, motioning her to pause in her train of thought.

"Horatio Caine," he answered.

His son's panicked voice came through on the other end. "Dad, hey, I think something might be wrong."

"Kyle? Where are you son?" Horatio's attention immediately fell to his son and away from the current case at hand. Calleigh's eyes widened as she watched Horatio's change in expression.

"I'm at home," Kyle whispered. "I think-"

His son's voice trailed off. Horatio's heart began to hammer in his chest. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and he instantly felt too far away from his son.

"Kyle? Kyle, what's happening?"

"Oh God."

Those two words set off the alarm in Horatio's mind. He was already walking towards the exit, with Calleigh hot on his heels. She had her cell phone out, ready to call anyone that Horatio would need. Horatio continued to call his son's name frantically. There was an abrupt bang coming from the cell, followed by a clatter and intermittent static. Horatio paused, straining to hear what might be happening on the other end.

"Kyle," he said softly.

"Sorry Horatio," a familiar voice cooed into the phone. "Kyle's about to be a little tied up."

The phone line went dead and Horatio's blood went cold. Calleigh stared into her superior's pale face and felt her own fear build.

"Horatio, what is it?"

Horatio snapped out of his reverie, inhaled deeply and looked at Calleigh. "Ron Saris has my son."