Week 2:

She wakes up, and finds that she's still in cuffs. She's been shackled to the bed frame, since day three, when she smashed his head into the wall causing him a concussion, and a nasty head wound. She lies there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the clock tick. The minutes pass by, slowly.

An older woman enters the squad room. She is in her seventies. Everyone is busy with one thing, or another. Fin hangs up his phone, and notices her.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" he questions.

She nods, and approaches his desk. "Yes, I think I have some information that could help you."

"Information about what?"

"The detective who went missing," she reveals.

"Have a seat," he points to the chair at the end of his desk.

"Detective Benson, right?"

"Yes," he confirms.

"My name is Mary Riley. I live in the building across from hers."

"Why didn't you come forward when she first went missing?" he wonders.

"I was in the hospital. I had a knee replacement. I was incapacitated for about a week. I honestly didn't even realize that I had any information to share."

"What happened?"

"I guess I am what you could call a nosey neighbor. I don't sleep well, so I look out my window. Last night, I couldn't sleep, and so I was looking out my window."

"What did you see?"

"It isn't what I saw, it's what I didn't see."

"What do you mean?"

"The van was gone. There was a van parked outside of her building, for a week, before she went missing. I had completely forgotten about it. It would leave, whenever she was at work."

"Did you ever see who was in it?"

"One afternoon I went down to by a newspaper, from the bodega on the corner. I saw the same van."

"How can you be sure that it was the same van?"

"I wrote down the plate number, it was the same."

"You saw who it was?"

"He was a young man, maybe twenty five. He was an average height, average build."

"Hair color, eye color?"

"He was wearing a toboggan. His eyes were blue. I remember, because at first I thought they were brown, because they were so dark, but when I looked again, I realized they were blue."

"And you saw him in the bodega?"

"In front of it. He had a camera."

"He was taking pictures?"

"No."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"No."

"Is there any distinguishing characteristic that you can remember? Tattoos? Scars? Anything?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Do you know where he went?"

"No."

"Do you know where he came from?"

"No."

Week 3: Her shackles get removed, while he's gone. She wonders where he works, because he's gone for more than twelve hours at a time. She spends her time trying to figure out how to get out of her own personal prison.

Fin's phone rings. Olivia' has been missing for a month now. He pulls the phone to his ear.

"Tutuola. Yeah? You do. Yeah, send it over," he hangs up.

He gets up from his desk, and makes his way to the fax machine. He grabs the print off from it, and heads towards Cragen's office. The door is open, so he doesn't knock.

"Fin, you got something?"

Fin holds up the piece of paper. "You know that nosey neighbor I talked to, two weeks ago?"

"Yeah," Cragen nods.

"We finally got the warrant for that bodega, last week."

"Yeah," Cragen recalls.

"I just got a call TARU finally finished going through all of the footage, and we have photo."

Cragen takes the piece of paper from Fin. He studies it carefully. He shakes his head.

"This guy is the most average looking guy I've ever seen. Nothing stands out."

"I know. It's going to be tough to find him, but TARU is going to use photo recognition software to try and find the guy."

"That will take ages."

"Not if we had the FBI's resources."

"Call Huang, have him pulls some strings. I am sure that he will be more than willing to help, given the circumstances."

"I know this is a needle in a haystack..."

"Fin, it's something. It is the first lead we have had in weeks."

She sits on the edge of the bed, hungry, angry, and tired. It's been a month since she's been taken. The calendar on the wall tells her so. It's been a month since she's been home, or at work, or even seen the people that she cares about.

Instead, she's stuck here, in her own personal prison. She sits in a room, with cinder block walls, so thick that there is no way anyone could hear her scream. She knows this, because she's tried. She still doesn't know her abductor's name. He won't reveal it to her. She wonders how much long he's going to keep her.

How long can she hold on? Her body is covered in bruises, in different stages of healing. She knows she has at least a few fractured, and broken bones. She has a busted lip, and a contusion on her eye brow. She is glad she doesn't have a mirror. She doesn't want to have the mental picture in her mind. She scribbles on a yellow legal pad. She looks over at the clock, and tucks the legal pad, and her ink pen under her mattress. She waits for the door to open.