Gus closed his eyes and listened to the clicking thoughts of his friend, trying to take comfort in not being completely alone yet. Shawn's thoughts suddenly sped up and Gus tensed.

"Don't do anything stupid, don't do anything stupid…" He chanted desperately in a whisper, praying that Shawn would somehow hear him.

*BANG*

Gus jumped at the sound of the gun, his heart pounding in his throat as he listened for Shawn's thoughts again. His relief at still being able to hear them only lasted a few seconds before he heard a muffled, pained yell. His good leg ached with a phantom pain and Gus held his breath, hoping he'd be able to hear more of what was going on outside the house.

His back began to prickle and he yanked against his restraints, almost reflexively, as he was forced to just sit there while Shawn was being hurt. Dahmer's void flared dark red and another muffled scream rang out followed by a long moment of silence. A trunk door slammed closed and Gus started to hyperventilate, terrified that if the car drove off, he'd never see his best friend alive again.

The front door opened and Gus just barely stopped himself from yelling at the feet on the landing, demanding to know what had happened. He clenched his mouth shut. Now wasn't the time to be testing the limits to the rules; Shawn was clearly hurt, he didn't need to make it worse.

The feet stomped down the stairs as Shawn's thoughts flared grey with terror and Gus could feel something on his peripheral, like a broadcast that was too far away and not fully formed. He didn't have time to try to focus to hear it better, Dahmer had reached the basement.

Gus instinctively pressed himself back in his chair at the murderous glint in the crazy blue eyes as Dahmer stalked towards him, a large red mark stretching across his cheek.

"I'll show him consequences," Dahmer snarled, lifting his bloody scalpel. There was a flash of metal in motion and pain suddenly erupted under Gus' eye. He gasped, feeling like his face had just been split in two as warm blood began to flow out of the long cut across his cheekbone.

Dahmer raised his knife again before freezing as he watched the blood run down Gus' face. His thoughts suddenly soured as he whispered to himself frantically, "No, nonono… She won't like that…"

He reached forward and tentatively tried to pinch the edges of the wound back together. Gus flinched back, the searing pain spiking in his face at the mistreatment.

Dahmer continued to mutter as he fidgeted mindlessly with the scalpel, "But I had to- It's his fault. If he hadn't… There needs to be consequences. She'll understand…He needs to learn. I need to make him behave…"

Gus watched the knife, wondering if this was how it all ended. His throat cut and his brain on display. At least it sounded like Shawn would be kept alive for a bit longer.

Dahmer seemed to make a decision and he turned abruptly to stride to the kitchen counter, grabbing the second pair of handcuffs that Rhianna had left there. He made his way back to Gus and quickly cut through the duct tape holding him to the chair. He leaned in close, holding the scalpel up to Gus' throat, "He's not dead yet, but that will change if you try anything. Understand?"

"Yes," Gus breathed out in a whisper, not daring to move or speak any louder as the sharp edge of the knife bit into his skin.

"Good," Dahmer growled out. He removed the scalpel and lashed out, punching down at Gus' shot leg. Gus couldn't stop his yell, the pain flaring and overwhelming him as his vision grayed out.

The pain was the first thing he noticed again when he regained awareness. His leg, his face, his arm, his whole body. He tried to gasp for breath but was stopped by something covering his mouth. He switched to panting through his nose as his arm was grabbed and he was pulled out of his chair. His other arm was stuck behind his back and it took Gus an extra second to realize his hands were cuffed together again.

He scrambled to get his feet working right as he tripped while being shoved forward. He caught himself on the wall, leaning his shoulder against it as he looked back to reorient himself. Dahmer was still standing by the chairs, his gun out and pointing towards Gus as he warned, "I won't hesitate to hurt him again. Up. Now."

Gus didn't need any more prompting as he limped towards the stairs; for once he and the bad guy wanted the same thing. He was going to be able to see Shawn again.

He gritted his teeth at the shooting pains running up and down his leg whenever he took a step and the bullet wound was searing by the time he made it to the top of the stairs. He stopped to catch his breath as sweat ran down his face and mixed with the blood, making the cut on his face sting and flare.

A hand shoving between his shoulder blades put an end to his break and he limped out the door, down the porch steps, and towards the car. Gravel dug into Gus' bare feet and a small part of his mind idly wondered if he was going to get to have a John McClane moment.

His eyes scanned the ground and his stomach jolted when he saw the crutch lying in the grass by the driveway, one side noticeably darker than the other. Gus hoped it was just a trick of the fading daylight. He looked away and back towards the car just in time to see Rhianna lean over the steering wheel to pop the trunk.

"Stop," Dahmer commanded as he walked around Gus, keeping his gun ready while he pulled the trunk lid up.

Gus almost sobbed in relief when he could finally see Shawn. Their eyes locked and Shawn's eyes grew wider as he saw the blood dripping down Gus' face. He pinged a fast set of frantic apologies as Gus quickly looked him over, not seeing any new major injuries.

"What are you waiting for, get in," Dahmer snapped out, his gun moving to point to Shawn.

Gus limped up to the trunk, eying up the small space and wondering if there was actually enough room for both of them. Shawn shuffled back with small grunts, wincing as he pressed his shoulders into the back of the trunk. Gus did his best to climb in on his own with a bum leg and his hands behind his back, but it didn't take long for Dahmer to lose his patience and resort to bodily shoving him into the small space.

He tried to stay away from Shawn's leg, but the trunk didn't allow for such considerations and Shawn yelped as Gus practically fell on top of him. Dahmer slammed the lid down over them and hard metal hit Gus' bruised shoulders as the latch clicked shut.

Gus took a second to catch his breath before wiggling around, pressing his shoulders and hips into the front of the trunk as he tried to move some of his weight off of Shawn. He could hear Shawn shuffling around too and a small space opened up, giving him just enough room to lay on his side with their bodies pressed tight together.

He felt a burst of gratitude as he realized they were positioned in a way where neither of them had to be laying on their bad legs. Even if that did mean his cut cheek was pressing into the rough floor of the trunk.

Shawn started shuffling again and Gus felt knuckles brushing past his chin. There was a quiet rasping sound and warm breath washed over his face as Shawn whispered, "I am so so so so so sorry…"

The hands moved again, finding the duct tape over Gus' mouth and tracing it to the edges before gently peeling it off enough for him to talk. Shawn continued to babble, "I thought I could surprise him, he forgot about the crutch, I didn't mean for you… I know it was stupid, I'm so sorry."

Gus could feel Shawn's nose brushing his and he used that as a guide to lean his head forward and press their foreheads together, "Hey, it's ok. It's ok, alright?"

"Oh my god this is anything but ok," Shawn huffed with a broken chuckle.

"Yeah, I know," Gus agreed. "How bad are you hurt?"

"Well, I have a broken leg…"

Gus rolled his eyes at Shawn's deliberate obtuseness, "No shit." Fear rushed through him as he remembered a loud bang, "Oh shit, are you shot?!"

"No, no. Not shot," Shawn answered quickly, cutting off the panic spiral. "The gun went off when I hit it out of his hand."

Gus sighed in relief before asking again, "So how bad are you hurt?"

Shawn was silent for a long moment before he answered, "He cut up my back a bit."

Gus wasn't sure which was worse, the answer or the fact that Shawn hadn't tried to sugar coat it behind a movie reference.

"I don't think they're too bad, he wasn't… They aren't deep." Shawn tried to reassure him.

Gus took a calming breath before answering, his voice shaking in anger, "Cuntshit with both legs tied to a different horse, dragged across broken glass before being rammed into a tree. Repeatedly."

Shawn laughed quietly, "I like it. Your turn, you hurt any more?"

"Just the one cut. And remember head stuff bleeds a lot, it's not as bad as it looks."

The car braked suddenly and Gus was thrown into Shawn, their bodies pressing even closer together. As soon as he was able, Gus shifted his weight back onto his side and into the trunk's wall, trying to give Shawn as much space as possible to take the pressure off of his back.

Shawn panted, the fast breaths morphing into giggles, "You just kissed me."

"I did not!" Gus hissed back, relieved to be back to arguing.

"You totally did! I felt lip-on-lip action… And I gotta say, I think I see why you don't have a girlfriend."

Gus' jaw dropped, "I'll have you know, I am a fantastic kisser!"

Shawn's thoughts clicked in amusement as he said seriously, "I'm sorry, man, but that was terrible. Easily top ten worst kisses of my life. It almost made the top five."

Gus debated the wisdom of his next question, "What could possibly be worse than tied up in a trunk and accidentally kissed?"

"Chewing tobacco, locked braces, a dog, learning mouth-to-mouth with Dad… I count that one twice. I almost ranked the dog above you, but his breath was nasty."

"You're one to talk, Mr. Cilantro-morning-breath…" Gus grumbled.

Shawn blew out a long breath and Gus snorted at the smell. Shawn huffed out a small giggle at his reaction. "You could use a breath mint too, buddy."

The car turned, jostling them around, and Shawn bit back a yelp. He breathed out a small sob once the car was moving straight again and Gus tried to think of a way to distract him from the pain, "So, this is definitely putting the moving truck way higher up on the trunk-o-meter."

"No kidding… This is still better than the Roadrunner though."

Gus' face scrunched up in confusion, "Why?! It had a crowbar in it, that alone should bump it way up in the list."

"How do you know about the crowbar?" Shawn asked, just as confused.

"Dream."

"Oh."

They hit a pothole and Gus' arms were rammed into the trunk lid, he hissed at the pain flaring across his cuts. "I think he's doing that on purpose…"

"Probably," Shawn agreed with a groan. "How's this compared to the last car?"

"It was tiny, like Blueberry tiny. Definitely worse than this one," Gus answered. "The Chevelle is still way at the top. You never forget your first… So why was the Roadrunner so bad?"

"Well, one, it was my first kidnapping."

"Leichin tried to kidnap you…"

"Fine, it was my first successful kidnapping."

"Drimmer succeeded…"

"Oh my god, it was my first successful kidnapping where I was awake for the trunk part. Will you sign off on that?!"

"Yes, I'm good with that," Gus answered, trying to layer as much mock-seriousness into his voice as possible. Normal was good, this was normal.

Gus could practically hear the eye roll as Shawn continued, "And dos, at least this time I don't have to worry about the last words I'll ever hear being Gina Rapach talking about herself in third person."

"Really? That's all it takes to be…" Gus trailed off as he understood what Shawn was actually saying. "I'm glad we're still together too."

"No mention of the last words thing, huh?" Shawn asked dryly.

Gus sighed. So much for normal. "Nope."

"...So, how much air do you think we have?" Shawn asked as if he was talking about the weather.

"Trunks aren't airtight, Henry had to have told you that."

"Yeah, but we're all squished in here like sardines and breathing each other's breath. He never trained me on this exact scenario, surprisingly enough… How much trouble do you think we'd get into for kicking out a taillight? More fresh air."

Gus huffed a humorless laugh, "We're gonna die here, we don't need to speed it up any."

"Wow, you're just going right out there and saying it."

"Sorry, man. I told you; I'm done. I can't pretend that things are going to be ok…" Gus knew he should stop there. He continued, "I'm so tired. Watching you get hurt, watching you nearly get killed, listening to you nearly get killed, getting beat up, shot up, cut up… And that's not even getting into them," Gus spat out the last word, barely remembering to keep his voice down. "Earlier I felt grateful that he gave us a bottle of water. Grateful. They did that. The stupid pet shit and having to stay quiet and the mind games and the questions and having to fucking ask to talk and only existing when they want and things being 'perfect' when one or both of us is bleeding…" Tears started dripping down his face and he didn't care; the words kept tumbling out, "and we have to follow the rules but he'll still do whatever he wants to us and oh my god the fucking piece of shit rules and the whole 'your life doesn't matter, change the world' and always being able to feel them and knowing it can get so much worse and why aren't you stopping me yet?!"

"You seemed like you needed to get it out," Shawn said in a gentle voice. His cuffs clinked as he moved his hands until one was squeezing Gus' shoulder and the other was cradling the back of his head, "This ok?"

Gus' throat was too tight to speak so he just nodded, ignoring how the movement pulled at the cut on his cheek. The clicking thoughts grew louder at the touch and took over the work of his mental shield. He listened to the sound, letting it calm him as his hitched sobs evened back into regular breathing.

Shame warmed his cheeks as he spoke up again, "I'm sorry. You're the one who got hurt. You shouldn't have to be worrying about me."

"Well that's just stupid," Shawn said bluntly as his hands stayed in their position of comfort, taking the edge out of his words.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, you may be excused," Shawn answered reflexively. Gus could feel his nose moving back and forth as he shook his head, "What I mean is, I got myself gagged in the first hour, leaving you to do all the heavy lifting. If anyone deserves to break down, it's you."

"Don't do that, don't use his words," Gus told him firmly. "He gagged you, it's not your fault."

"Eh, kinda is. Doesn't matter," Shawn said lightly. Gus was pretty sure it did matter, but he didn't want to spend their entire trunk ride playing the blame game. Shawn continued, "What does matter is we're still alive, we're still together, and we take care of each other, right? 'You get your partner's back'."

"Right." The simple agreement rang with an underlying promise as Gus refocused. He could feel a slight shift, as though he was slowly being pulled back onto solid ground and away from the gaping chasm that had been trying to swallow him whole. None of the other stuff was important, they were just things to survive. He was there to watch Shawn's back and Shawn was watching his. That was what mattered.

And watching Shawn's back right now meant giving him distractions and conversation. Gus commented lightly, "That sounded like a Henry lesson."

"Yeah, it was," Shawn said. If Gus didn't know any better, he'd think his friend's voice sounded almost fond.

"So, speaking of Henry, what on earth happened to make him teach you how to lie better?"

"Oh, that," Shawn giggled quietly. "He caught me not cleaning my room and I spun this whole yarn about bigfoot and a conspiracy theory where he wanted me to get in trouble because I was getting too close to the truth… I think Val Kilmer made an appearance."

Gus huffed a laugh, wishing he could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

"I think he didn't want me to embarrass him by trying something like that with someone else. I bet he regrets it to this day…" Shawn's thoughts colored with pride at his father's annoyance.

Gus was about to point out that the lesson had clearly helped when they hit another pothole that buffeted them around.

"Shit," Shawn squeaked out, his breathing ragged.

"We need better roads…" Gus groaned. The sound of beakers cracked in amusement and Gus clenched his jaw as he spat out, "Cuntshit."

Shawn pinged a question, still busy catching his breath from the latest waves of pain.

"He's definitely doing it on purpose…" Gus noticed the pulling electrodes were still colorless, "and Drizella's completely clueless."

"Evil stepsister? Really?" Shawn asked, his voice tight.

"I blanked, couldn't think of any mad scientist ladies," Gus admitted.

"Poison Ivy."

"Dude, no. She's like the opposite of sexy, I'm not doing that to Ivy."

"Yeah, that's fair…" Shawn's breathing continued to even out as he moved his hands back to their previous position. Gus leaned into the touch, taking the comfort being offered. Shawn spoke up again, "Star Wars or Star Trek?"

Gus huffed in mock-annoyance, "Why do people ask that? Star Wars is set on planets with magic and has obvious bad guys with glowing swords. Star Trek is set on spaceships with science and explores morality with different aliens."

"Star Wars has spaceships and morality and aliens," Shawn pointed out.

"That's not the point," Gus dismissed the argument, "They're two completely different things and the only reason they're compared is because they both have the word 'star' in their title. And if you're going to argue about that, then at least include Stargate."

"What's a stargate?"

Gus frowned, "Really? We've never watched that together?"

He could feel Shawn try to shrug before flinching with a hiss. After a few measured breaths he answered, "You're the nerd here, not me."

"You watched just as much Buffy as I did," Gus countered the old argument.

"Yeah, because everyone on that show was hot."

"Giles."

"Almost everyone on that show was hot," Shawn quickly corrected himself.

Gus smiled. Even if they were squished into a trunk that was too small, hurting from too many injuries, and falling apart at the seams, he was glad they were still together.

The trunk grew warmer as they argued in hushed voices about mundane things, never staying on one topic long and never letting silence settle for more than a few seconds. Shawn's body radiated heat like a furnace and Gus could feel his clothes sticking to his back and legs as he sweated out all of the water he'd been given.

"So… When do we revisit the idea of kicking out a taillight?" Shawn asked after a fierce battle about which Bond was better.

"I guess if we start to get lightheaded?" Gus had been wondering the same thing, but he still didn't want to risk it unless they were literally on the brink of passing out.

Shawn snorted, "Then it should have been kicked out even before I got put in here…"

"Yeah, that would probably be the fever. Or blood loss. Or moving after sitting for so long. Or-"

Shawn cut him off, "OK, ok, I get it. There's a lot going on. I don't need the list."

"Sorry. How are you feeling besides the fever? Chills, harder to breathe, heart beating faster…?" Gus asked, not sure what exactly he could do if the answers were bad.

"Always nice to be screened for sepsis, thanks buddy," Shawn said dryly. Gus sometimes forgot his friend knew a lot more than he let on. Shawn sighed and actually answered the question, "None of those right now, and I guess I should be glad that you're not questioning my mental state yet. How long until the meds start to work?"

Gus really wished it wasn't pitch black in the trunk so Shawn could appreciate the exasperated confusion he could feel on his face. "How do you know about sepsis, but not antibiotics?"

"I dated a girl who was going into forensics," Shawn answered cheerfully, "It didn't last long, but she was crazy into things that could kill you. She didn't really seem to care about what would bring you back."

Gus snorted, "I can't imagine why it didn't work out…"

"I dunno man, some of it was kind of cool. Like, did you know-"

"NO!" Gus exclaimed in a raised whisper. "Nope, nope, no. Not here. Not now. No."

Shawn's grin could be heard through his voice as he replied, "You're missing out, man." His tone sobered, "So, meds…?"

"It'll take a day or two before they start to help, but they'll hopefully make sure the infection doesn't get much worse." Gus thought about adding that they'd also be that much further ahead on their meds if they were rescued, but the hopeful sentiment crumpled to dust on his tongue and he continued, "Though that's assuming he keeps giving them to us…"

"Well that's a cheerful thought…" Shawn sighed and thought for a second before asking, "Have you ever wondered why Johnny got the gold fiddle when the Devil clearly played better?"

Their conversations died down after a while when the car started to stop and turn more frequently. After the third full-stop Shawn finally brought up the inevitable, "I think it's time…"

"Yeah, I know." Gus thought about the idea of last words, "Remember, not your fault and I love you."

"Wow, first kiss and a declaration of love. That's a lot for a first date." Shawn was clearly aiming for a light tone, but it came out strained.

"If we survive this, you get to pick the place for the second date. This venue sucks," Gus retorted, deciding it must be the end times since he wasn't actually fighting the boyfriend joke anymore.

Shawn spoke quickly, "Japadog food cart. Next Friday. I'll even buy."

Gus couldn't let that one slide, "Using the company card doesn't count as you buying."

"Suck it."

"You suck it."

"I love you too."

Gus took a deep breath in and out through his mouth before saying, "Go ahead."

Shawn's hand moved to his cheek and found the duct tape before pressing it gently back over his mouth. Shawn moved around some more, pressing his own gag back into place before wiggling his hands down to rest them inconspicuously squeezed between their stomachs.

The car stopped two more times before turning off and they sat in tense silence for several minutes before the car doors finally opened and closed. Shawn leaned forward to quickly pressed their foreheads together again; Gus leaned into the gesture, the closest thing to a hug they could manage.

They pulled apart when they heard the trunk unlock. Dahmer didn't waste any time, lifting the trunk lid and immediately grabbing Gus' arm to pull him out. Gus let the bad guy do most of the work as he focused on untangling his legs from Shawn's without jostling him any more than necessary.

His entire body ached, his leg, arm and face burned, his throat felt like sandpaper, and all he could notice was the breeze blowing past his face as he breathed in the cool, fresh air. Dahmer only let him enjoy being unfolded for a second before kicking the back of his legs and forcing him painfully to his knees.

Gus blinked rapidly, trying to clear the stars from his eyes as he heard Dahmer growl out, "Stay."

By the time he was able to see again, Shawn was being pulled roughly from the trunk. Gus wished he could do more than just watch as his friend scrambled to keep his hurt leg from hitting the trunk or the ground. He almost succeeded until Dahmer gave a sharp yank forward on his arm and forced him to stumble forward a step with a loud yelp of pain.

Dahmer slapped him across the face before backing up and pulling out his gun. He met Gus' eyes, "You'll help him walk." He looked at Shawn, "You'll behave or watch him pay." He looked between both of them, "Nod if you understand."

They both nodded and waited for him to indicate that they could move before Gus made his way to his feet. He tried to not feel too much nostalgia for the trunk and being able to lay down as he limped over to Shawn's side.

He glanced at Shawn's back once he was in position and had to stop himself from throwing himself at Dahmer, even with his cuffs and injuries.

He had known that Shawn was underplaying how much he was hurt, but that still hadn't prepared Gus for what he saw. Shawn's once-white shirt was stained red and barely hanging off of his shoulders as large gashes in the fabric showed the abused skin underneath. Long bloody lines stretched across his shoulder blades and upper back, one slice even reaching partially up the back of his neck. If Gus hadn't known any better, he would have said that Shawn had been whipped.

Shawn pinged a reassurance: The black knight, "Just a flesh wound."

Gus shook his head slightly as he ducked under Shawn's outstretched arms; they might technically be 'flesh wounds', but they were anything but 'just'.

Once Shawn's cuffed hands were over his neck, Gus scooted closer and braced himself so Shawn could readjust, settling his back arm around Gus' shoulders. In some ways, Gus was glad that his hands were cuffed behind his back; he didn't have to worry about where he could touch his friend without hurting him. He looked over and raised his eyebrows in a silent question, Shawn nodded and Gus took a step forward.

Shawn hopped up next to him as a retch sounded out behind them. Gus looked back and felt a strange rush of satisfaction when he saw Rhianna covering her mouth and looking away. It was about time she saw what Dahmer had been doing to them. She squeaked out past her hands, "Jeffery…"

Dahmer looked at her in concern before realization crossed his face. His expression quickly morphed to anger as he glared at Shawn, as if it was his fault that his back was a bloody mess. Gus tried to take a step forward to act as a shield, but the arms around his shoulders pulled him back.

Dahmer sneered at them before walking back to the car, keeping the gun pointed at Shawn. He ducked down quickly and emerged with a bundle of white cloth in his hands. He shook it out as he walked back to them before throwing it over Shawn's back like a cape. He brought the two sleeves of the garment over Shawn's shoulders and tied them together in a knot, ignoring the gun still in his hand as it knocked into Shawn's chin and throat. Dahmer backed away to look him over and Shawn's thoughts colored in disgust at the lab coat now draped over him.

"This will do for now, keep moving," Dahmer ordered. Gus took another step forward and waited for Shawn to catch up as Dahmer softened his voice for Rhianna, "I'm sorry about that, my dear. I needed to make an example, but you shouldn't have had to see that. I can't do anything about the acquired right now, but as soon as we're back home I'll get him all stitched up for you."

Gus felt a jolt of terror at the words as he continued their painful, slow limp to the building's door. Shawn gave him a concerned look and he nodded back in reassurance. It was fine, it was just a needle going through his skin over and over again without any pain medication. It had to be better than a sliced up back and a broken leg. His pounding heart reminded him with every beat just how terrible he was at lying to himself.

Rhianna kept her eyes averted from them as she walked ahead to open the building's door. Shawn looked around as they limped towards her and sent a broadcast with a hint of hope: A second car sitting empty in the parking lot.

They entered the building and Gus wondered if he dared to hope that there actually was someone else in there with them. It could mean help. It could mean trouble.

The hallways were silent as they made their way back to the room Gus had been in for most of the previous night. He let out a shaky breath as the MRI machine came into view. There were so many ways things could go bad here.

Shawn caught his eye and sent him two quick visuals: Two friends with bleeding hands, Mr. and Mrs. Smith fighting back-to-back against insurmountable odds.

Gus raised an eyebrow at them being recast as the Smiths, but he still nodded at the message. They had each other's backs. They could do this.

Juliet felt like she was swimming through molasses, the scene around her changing suddenly while time seemed to stand still; the moments disjointed and out of order. It was like being in the worst stop-motion movie she could ever imagine.

She looked down at the empty chairs, the red tinged zip ties, the dried blood on one of the arm rests. Their radios crackled as the house was declared all clear. They were too late, they should have seen the connection earlier, they should have been better.

She blinked.

Henry let out a pained, frustrated yell as he turned his back to the chairs, pacing like a wild animal as he tried to control his emotions.

Blink.

They were outside.

They found a crutch; one side splattered sporadically in blood, like it had been used to hit someone who'd already been bleeding.

Henry knelt nearby and reached down to the gravel driveway, picking up something that hung from his hands. Juliet recognized the necklace Shawn had started to wear every day for the last few months. The cord was sliced through next to the clasp.

Henry put it in his pocket. Juliet let him.

Blink.

Lassiter looked like his face was carved from stone as he turned abruptly to leave the basement. To find their next lead. She followed, walking by the CSI taking samples of the blood.

She wondered why they were even bothering; they knew who it belonged to.

Blink.

They heard a gagging noise outside.

"Sorry, he's new. He hasn't gotten used to the smells yet…"

"What did he find?"

The CSI woman pointed at a plastic bag sitting near the large trash bin next to the house. Juliet reached for it first, noticing the smells without truly experiencing them: blood, sweat, urine.

Her hands shook as they found a familiar plaid shirt.

Blink.

The kitchen counter in the basement was littered with evidence. A febreeze can, a handful of alcohol wipes, a bag with clean clothes, a few empty water bottles, a couple of dirty plates. A pile of used duct tape.

She knew the longer strips were for restraint. The smaller ones bothered her more, she knew what they were. She vaguely wondered why they were just as horrifying as the blood.

"The… gags have been taken off and replaced. Food and water. He's planning on keeping them alive," Henry tried to give hope in a flat, monotone voice.

Blink.

They were upstairs.

More empty plates, an empty disposable coffee cup, food still in the fridge. Unmade beds, a locked laptop, two toothbrushes in the bathroom. It looked domestic. It made Juliet sick.

"He was planning on coming back," Lassiter said, bringing her back to the task at hand.

"He's not coming back now…" Henry said grimly, looking back down the steps towards the front door. Juliet traced his gaze to the CSI kneeling next to a small electronic box nestled in the corner behind the door.

Blink.

The clothes were laid out on the driveway, lit up by headlights. Bloody bandages lined in duct tape were placed to the side. Detective O'Hara took over and cataloged the injuries as Juliet looked for something to shoot.

Small cuts littered both shirts, some edged in red: probably minor injuries from the car crash. A large gash in the lower leg of the jeans, stiff with dry blood: a more major injury. Probably still from the car crash considering the blood in the moving truck. The other pants showed injuries not from the crash, two neat cuts and two neat holes.

They were being hurt.

She tried to give hope this time, "None of these injuries look like they're immediately life threatening."

Blink.

"It's an alarm system. Motion sensor. It probably sent a signal to a receiver or a phone…"

Lassiter growled, "I need a trace on that signal and we need to get into that laptop."

There were leads. There was still hope.

Blink.