But he doesn't leave that morning. It's all just a ruse to see what she'll do. Despite the fact that her basement cell is very well insulated, she can still hear the floorboards above her head creak, as he paces the floor, waiting for her to attempt to leave. After two hours the creaking stops. She waits, for the door to the basement to fly open. She watches the seconds on the clock ticking by. She knows he wears a size ten, she uses the clock to estimate the distance upstairs. The door flies open, and he looks at her, in rage.

"I thought you would want to play. You truly disappoint me, detective Benson. You didn't even try to run."

She rolls her eyes, "I could hear you pacing the floor upstairs, waiting like a dog on a leash for me to walks past. I am not stupid."

He gives her his reptilian smile, "You just bought yourself another few months."

He watches the clock, as the seconds tick by. He sits at his desk, working on the computer, trying to dig up evidence, on a case. Physically he's there, but mentally he's not. He pauses, for a moment, and looks at the calendar on his desk. He stares at the date. It's been six months since his partner disappeared, and they're no closer to finding her now. They have tracked down, and squashed every single lead they have come across.

She looks at the calendar, on the wall, in front of her. The date tells her that it's been six months of hell. Her stomach growls, but she knows that there is nothing but bottled water in the basement with her. She knows a sip of water won't quiet her growling stomach. She pulls her pants up, for the umpteenth time since she got up. With each day they grow looser. She estimates that she's lost at least thirty pounds. She knows that beneath the bruises, and abrasions that cover her body her skin is pale. She looks up at the clock, that ticks, above her head.

It reminds her that the devil is at work now. She is there alone, she assumes. She can never really tell for sure whether there is anyone in the basement with her. There is no way to know. The walls are so thick, she wouldn't be able to hear someone screaming two feet away from her. Without warning the lights flicker. She knows that the back up generator will kick on, within fifteen seconds.

Without a second thought she moves towards the door. She knows that it is only inactive for a very short window. She pulls on the handle. The door flies open. She puts a piece of cardboard in the door, and moves down the hallway, quickly. The backup generator still hasn't kicked on. She makes it to the next door, and pulls it open. She sticks a piece of cardboard in the doorjamb.

She looks around the basement, but can't see much. Finally the lights come back on. It takes her eyes a moment to adjust. She sees a washer, and dryer. To her right there is a set of stairs, with a door at the top. She surveys the basement once again. She finds a corded phone hanging on the wall, near a table, next to the dryer. She makes her way to the phone. Her fingers tremble as she dials a familiar number.

He springs up from his seat, as the phone on his partner's empty desk rings. He grabs the phone on the second ring.

"Amaro," he answers.

"Nick."

"Olivia, where are you? Are you ok?"

"I don't know where I am. Nick I need you to trace this number."

"Ok," he agrees, typing furiously on her keyboard, "It's tracing now. I need you to stay on the line."

"I know."

"Why didn't you call 911."

"I can't," she tells him.

"Is he there, now, with you?"

"I don't think so."

"Then why can't you call 911?"

"Because he is the one who will show up," she insists.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't call the police, he is the police."

"Where is he, now?"

"He's at work. He works twelve hour shifts. He shouldn't be back for another eight hours."

"Then run."

"I don't think that I can."

"Why not?"

"I am too weak. Even if I could make it, I am fairly certain my ankle is broken."

"Oh."

"And I think that I am surrounded by woods. I would never find my way out."

"Olivia, I've got an address. I am going to come get you, ok?"

"Ok."

"Do you want me to stay on the line?"

"No, just come find me," she hangs up.

He looks at the phone, in disbelief. He hangs up the receiver, and looks around the room. Everyone around him is busy. He makes a beeline for the captain's office. Within the hour he, and some of his teammates are on a plane, with the FBI to a rural area in West Virginia.

They touch down after approximately two hours. It takes them an hour to make it to the location. They pull up in several SUV's. They get out, wearing vests, and guns. Nick looks around him. They are on a property, with a driveway that is easily half of a mile long. The road that leads to the house is a secondary road. They are completely surrounded by woods. Fin looks over at him, as they approach the house, with a team of FBI agents.

They climb the steps of the house. The bust the door down. They clear each room, one by one.

She hears boots, above her head. Lots of boots. She goes to the door, and pushes it open. She makes her way down the hallway, to the next door. She doesn't stop when she reaches the stairs. She slowly, and painfully climbs each one. She reaches the door, and finds that this one is locked with a good old fashioned deadbolt. She pounds on it.

Nick stops dead, in the kitchen. Fin looks over at him.

"Do you hear that?" he questions.

"Shh!" Fin insists.

Nick looks at a cabinet, "It's coming from over there."

Fin moves towards the pantry cabinet. He pulls the door open, and finds that there are no shelves. The cabinet is empty. Nick shines his flashlight inside. Fin steps inside. He finds a doorknob, and a dead bolt against the wall. The pounding continues.