Spence had known Boyd wasn't happy long before he'd actually stepped foot back into the bullpen thanks to the stream of growled-out yells that emanated down the hallways like rabid grizzlies. He'd hardly managed to dump the rusty lunchbox down and slip his coat off a single arm before Boyd had insulted everyone in the room while filling him in on the fake Conrad Randall news. Frankly, Spence had expected Boyd to be in a bad mood all day because of the budget meeting – he really wasn't a meetings person – but this was a level of volatile irascibility rarely seen on a Tuesday. Of course, they all understood Boyd's frustration and mirrored it, though to a lesser degree, but yelling at Grace about vetting sources really wouldn't do anybody any good. Seeing his chance to prevent Boyd popping a gasket, Spence gestured to the red lunchbox on his desk.

"We found the time capsule thingy you wanted." Three sets of eyes flashed down to the box coated in a mix of corrosion and mud as Spence flipped it open. "Took a few tries, but Sapphira located it quick enough. Got a load of photos in it that look decent enough."

"Good," Said the gray-haired man as an unconscious sigh escaped him. "Get them to Eve and see what she can do with them." Spence nodded and made for the lab, yet he only got a few steps before Boyd's voice dragged him back. "Conrad Randall, or whatever the fuck his real name is, is banned from this building. If you see him, you arrest him. Understood?"

"For what?" Stella queried.

"Pissing me off – I don't know, Stella. Let's go with under suspicion of stalking Spence and lying to police; that'll let us hold him a while."

"Hang on," the black man's brow furrowed deeply. "What do you mean stalking me?"

Grace swivelled a little in her seat to face him. "Remember when you told Stella and me that you felt watched? We're working under the theory that the man impersonating Conrad Randall is a journalist of some kind after insider information – unfortunately, I gave it to him. He might be the one who followed you."

That feeling of being watched hadn't actually lasted all that long, so Spence had kind of written it off as him just being on edge and thought nothing more of it. However, maybe whoever had been following him had realized they'd get nothing from it and changed tact by worming their way in with Grace instead. Either way, they were aware of it now, and forewarned was forearmed as people were fond of saying.

"You guys think he knows we're onto him?"

Stella shrugged. "We've got no idea. Probably not."

Grace was inclined to agree; the fake Conrad might have slipped out rather quickly, but he'd not seemed nervous to her. Hopefully they wouldn't find a litany of confidential information pertaining to the case in an evening publication.

Since they couldn't really do anything else about fake Conrad, Spence turned his attention back to delivering the time capsule to Eve, who'd seemed overworked as usual but pleased the contents wouldn't require more than a few basic preservation tricks. The photographs were soon separated from the notes and other items inside so she could catalogue them and carefully handle any water damage or soil that had managed to slip into the lunchbox.

Much to Boyd's great pleasure, her work hadn't taken more than an hour at most. So, when Eve had summoned them to her scientific domain that was her lab, they'd all shuffled in promptly, donning white coats as they went. Most of the team had waited patiently for Eve to tell them what she'd got, but Boyd's face had been coated in that almost trademark look that insisted she hurry the hell up.

"To be honest with you, I'm amazed these are in such good condition. The notes are all pretty much legible without me doing anything to them, and this yo-yo is in fairly good nick too."

As if to prove that, she flicked her wrist letting the string unfurl only to hand it over to Spence so he could have a go.

"I loved these when I was a kid. Could do all the tricks and everything."

"Yeah, delightful little story there, Spence. Can we get back to the other stuff? Eve, anything useful or not?"

"Well," began the scientist as she pushed a pile of handwritten notes toward the team. "The notes all seem to be messages written by the girls, mostly about how much they love their dad. There are six different handwritings that-"

"Six? There are only five daughters. Did Adam write something as well?"

"No, Grace, not Adam. There's a full letter written by John Callaghan addressed to all of his daughters. It mostly talks about normal dad stuff. You know, that they're the joy of his life, that sort of thing, but the last page talks about the abuse their splenetic mother inflicted and how sorry he was that he couldn't stop it. That word is a quote by the way, and I have to say splenetic fits."

Boyd perked up at that news. "That's great. Until now, we've only really had Sapphie's word when it came to the abuse. Let's face it, Mrs. Bridgeman was shit at her job. None of her reports mention abuse and instead make Sapphie out to be a liar, yeah? This letter is irrefutable proof of abuse going on in the house. John Callaghan might not have been in a position to stop it after his accident, but he was smart enough to document it. A lawyer can't make this disappear."

Undeniable proof of Amanda's abusive nature might not have been the unit's reason for digging the time capsule up, but it had certainly been one hell of a boon to their investigation. They'd quite literally dug up the dirt on Amanda Callaghan.

"I thought so as well; that's why I already made sure to thoroughly document it." Eve's foresight hadn't surprised any of her teammates in the slightest.

"Not sure how much good that's going to do Sapphira." Grace said with a hum. "Her biggest problem is the crushing guilt she feels for being the one who got away. Either she survived a tragic fire while her sisters died, or she escaped atrocious abuse while her sisters were forced to go on suffering."

"Sapphie's a strong girl." Boyd was quick to point out. "Resilient."

"And a good cook judging by the lunches she's been making for you."

That had been Stella's attempt to lighten the mood, but it had fount itself met with an unimpressed expression from Boyd while Eve had wisely chosen to continue with her report.

"As for the photographs, we're not quite as lucky. Some were pressed up against the seam of the lid, which let rust, water, and organic material form a sort of concretion. I've salvaged the photos from the box's centre, but a couple of these are beyond help. Most were taken with a Polaroid camera, and, sadly, the moisture caused chemical degradation resulting in the images becoming mouldy and blurred."

"The ones in the middle are useful, right?" Stella hoped.

Eve nodded as she began to set them all out on the large table. "Pretty much. Most of them are of the girls."

Boyd's dark eyes raked over each new image Eve placed, knowing these were the only happy memories of Sapphira's childhood. She'd, and by extension her sisters, had adored their father with all their hearts, something which had clearly been mutual. Treasured; John had treasured his children regardless of blood. Amanda's true motives for adopting five little girls probably wouldn't ever be clear, but John's were; this man had been a devoted father who'd loved his daughters unconditionally. His work accident hadn't just left him in a wheelchair; he'd been in chronic pain, developed pressure ulcers, and become isolated socially. John's mental health had rapidly declined not only because of his paralysis but because his wife had shifted to abusing him as well as their daughters. Boyd didn't even want to think of the trauma John must have gone through seeing the increasing mistreatment while knowing he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. He hadn't read the letter, but Boyd could guess profusely apologizing to Sapphira and her sisters for his failure was a big part of it – would have been in Boyd's to Luke.

Suddenly, so suddenly that Boyd rapidly blinked out of his inner thoughts with all the speed of a falling star, Grace gasped and snatched up a picture of all the children out in the backyard with their parents. She scrutinized it a moment before shoving it in front of his face. It was probably the last picture of the family taken before John had died and Sapphira was instantly recognizable with those big green eyes of hers. In it, the girls had circled around their father, and it didn't take a psychologist to pick up on the distance they'd put between themselves and their mother and brother. Smiles might have littered their faces, but none of them reached the eyes. Instead, eight sets of eyes remained lifeless and hollow. A façade; those smiles were nothing but a pretence, and it sickened Boyd to the point he wanted to pull Sapphira close so nobody could ever hurt his precious girl again.

"You saw him in my office earlier." She pointed to a face among the family. "I don't think the man pretending to be Conrad Randall is a journalist; I think he's Adam Callaghan."

In an instant Boyd had his glasses out of their usual top pocket and on. The photo was yanked out of Grace's hand only for a series of incoherent swears to escape him. Older and uglier, but the young man of twenty-one in the picture and the guy Boyd had seen in Grace's office were one and the same. Instantaneously their situation became so much worse than they'd assumed. Boyd swallowed; they'd thought their infiltrator was there to gather information on a juicy story. Instead he was there hindering an investigation or, worse, hunting Sapphira.

The Cold Case Unit burst into action before things could get worse. Eve was ordered to enhance the photograph of Adam so they had something to circulate to the public. Hell, Boyd had gone so far as to issue an APW just in case the bastard tried leaving the country. Boyd wanted whichever rock Adam Callaghan had been hiding under for the last decade flipped over ASAP and wouldn't suffer fools lightly.

The second he'd finished barking orders, he'd yanked his cellphone out from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and called home since Spence had dropped her off there earlier. Nothing. He'd called four times in a row without any hint of her being at his house. Of course he'd given her a key ages ago, so logic tried to tell him she'd just gone for a walk to clear her head, but Boyd couldn't ignore his gut screaming something was seriously wrong. Adam had ducked out of Grace's office around the same time Spence and Sapphira had left; maybe he'd followed them. The irascible head of the Cold Case Unit hadn't waited around thinking though; he'd just grabbed his keys and rushed back to his house to see for himself. Thank God he'd had blue lights installed under his Audi's radiator grille because he'd have been pulled over for speeding half a dozen times before he'd made it home otherwise.

Boyd hadn't been able to see her through the large windows behind the overgrown bushes as he'd pulled up outside.

"Sapphie?!"

He rushed up the front steps only for his heart to sink when he found the front door ajar and the key he'd given her still in the lock. Then he spotted the tiny trickle of blood at about the same height as Sapphira's head. That sinking feeling quickly descended into an inescapable bottomless pit as he continued to call out her name and searched the place. Silently sat the house, now the beautiful woman who'd almost made it a home again had vanished.

Boyd grabbed the first thing he found on the kitchen surface and launched it across the room to the backdoor, where it shattered into pieces. 'This is your fault!' screamed his brain as painful memories of Mel tumbling off that building filled his mind's eye. It had been his job to protect Sapphira and he'd failed her just like he'd failed Mel, just like he'd failed Luke. He fished his cellphone back out to alert his team, all while internally screaming at himself. 'You were meant to protect Sapphie, and all you did was fuck her then abandon her when she needed you most. Why didn't you pick up on Adam Callaghan's game sooner, you useless bastard?!' He didn't have the right to call her Sapphie any longer; that name was just for people special to her, and Boyd was far from special now. Angry and with a clenching pain in his heart, Boyd marched back to work like a wolf hunting his prey.

~X~

While police mobilized and figured out exactly how to attack the situation, Sapphira awoke with a pounding headache somewhere dimly lit. With a hiss she stretched a hand up to her forehead only for it to come away spotted with crimson blood. It took a few moments for everything to come back to her, for it to regain focus instead of being that disorienting blur, as she slowly pushed herself up into a seated position on a carpeted floor. Spence had been kind enough to drive her back to Boyd's house, and she'd been unlocking the door when the sound of running had reached her, then everything had gone black. Had someone hit her head on the front door maybe? Her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out exactly why anybody would have done that, but then a door had creaked open, and green eyes had seen a face she'd never wished to see again.

"Adam!"

He was older, with his mother's scowl painted across his sinister face, but that man was certainly her big brother. Just seeing him told Sapphira everything she needed to know about why someone had dragged her away from Boyd's home and the safety which lingered within. Her stomach clenched and shuddered; for a moment she'd honestly thought she'd throw up, but then he'd crouched down and shoved something around her neck.

"Don't worry, Saph, you've always known this punishment was coming." He told her with a baleful grin. "Your own fault for being a whore. You should be thanking me. I mean, I went to all the trouble of bringing you home." His fingers, which smelt like car tires, yanked on whatever was around her neck as he grinned. Only then did Sapphira realize it was a dog collar. "You wanna act like a bitch in heat, I'll treat you like one."

"Adam!" A woman called distantly and that was the moment Sapphira actually began to tremble; her mother was there as well. "Come here, darling."

Adam caught her by the chin to force her to look at him. His nails scraped against her flesh but that only seemed to amuse him.

"You be good, and I'll come play with you later." A single finger tugged the collar of her purple t-shirt away from her neck so blue eyes could peer down at her ample cleavage unashamedly. "Fuck, you might be even sexier now than you were back then. You always were the pretty one. Have fun, girls."

Then he was gone. The door's lock clicked into place, and Sapphira tried to curl in on herself, only for a dark realization to dawn on her. Ever so slowly, Sapphira's shaky hands reached up to the leather dog collar to find a heavy silver chain attached to the bed frame beside her. A small box of a bedroom with wallpaper left over from the eighties had become her prison. Curtains were drawn on the far side of the room; somebody might have been able to see her from outside, but the chain wasn't long enough to reach the door, let alone the window. Apart from the bed, the only other pieces of furniture were an old leather armchair and a beat-up bureau.

"Sapphie?"

She spun around to face the bed as a shadowy figure slowly crept out from underneath and a second chain clinked. From a cloak of black hair emerged the face of her big sister.

"Elle?"

The pain in her head suddenly didn't matter; Sapphira ignored everything and simply wrapped her sister up in a desperate hug. This was the beautiful, kind, and amazing sister who'd made her run all those years ago, the sister who'd protected her, the sister she'd thought dead. Sapphira pushed Elizabeth's hair out of her face to see her better in the dark room. Purple-black bruises littered their way down one side of her face, and her left eye was badly bloodshot, but there wasn't any mistaking Elizabeth. Unimaginable horrors might have lingered in their future, but in that moment neither of them cared; a spark of happiness punctured the evil and fear because John Callaghan's twins were finally together again. Tears dripped down their faces as they clung to one another, as Sapphira desperately repeated apologies for being unable to help her sisters nine years ago, all while Elizabeth whispered words of comfort. The crying only came to an end when Sapphira spotted Elizabeth's own chain, though this one was around her ankle.

"How – How long have you been locked in here, Elle?"

"It's been happening on and off for years. If one of us is bad enough, we're chained up. I've been here about a week now." The fact that Elizabeth had spoken so nonchalantly would forever haunt her sister. "I saw you in the newspaper and that they were investigating bodies found at our old house. I made a plan to run away. Mother caught me and locked me in here. Adam – he's still fixated on you. I'm sorry, you shouldn't have had to come back to this, Sapphie."

The twenty-five-year-old beauty's brow furrowed so deeply it caused a little fresh blood to dribble down her forehead.

"You're sorry? Elle, I abandoned you, Rachel, Abigail, and Mary. I gave up telling Social Services. I'm sorry." The image of Boyd flashed into her head then, and suddenly her whole body released some tension. "Boyd. Boyd will realize I'm gone and come looking for me."

"Who's Boyd?"

"He's the detective in charge of the case at our old house. He's been taking care of me."

Elizabeth's head tilted to the side curiously for a moment, a little squint. Her sister had gone from trembling to certain in hardly a sentence, and Elizabeth found herself wondering who this detective really was to have planted so much confidence and faith inside Sapphira. She'd been kidnapped from the outside world and hauled back to a place where claws were sharpened on lambs in white fleece, yet her belief that he'd come for her didn't waver at all. No, it wasn't just confidence or faith; there was something else.

"Sapphie," began Elizabeth quietly. "Are you in love with this man?"

She bit her lip. "...I think so."

Love wasn't the sort of thing the Callaghan girls had ever thought they'd get a taste of, so if her sister had found it, Elizabeth prayed she got to keep it.

Abruptly the bedroom door was unlocked and thrown open again to admit Amanda, Adam, and who Sapphira quickly realized was Rachel. The years hadn't been kind to their mother at all; the lines in her forehead were deep like crevasses in a glacier, and her eyes were just as icy. This woman had no love in her heart for anyone or anything; her daughters had always doubted she could even love her precious Adam. Mother was just a name for her, a word used out of ease, she'd never understood the definition or made a true attempt to be one.

"Grabbing her off the street was risky, Adam." Amanda admonished with a scowl. "Someone could have seen you."

"Don't worry, Mother, nobody saw me. I was quick." He chuckled. "She didn't even see me coming."

Amanda let out a long hum while glaring daggers down at her adopted daughter. Despite it going against every fibre of Sapphira's natural instincts, she refused to buckle under that glare. She wasn't a scared little girl anymore, and she sure as hell wasn't alone; Boyd would come for her.

Before anyone had realized she'd moved, Rachel had lunged around her brother to slap Sapphira hard in the face before spitting on her.

"Don't you dare look at us like that, you traitor!

Amanda grabbed Rachel and threw her back toward the door with so much force she stumbled onto the floor with a heavy thud and jolt of pain through her wrists.

"You shouldn't be acting like you're any better than her, Ruth. Those chores of yours will get finished if you know what's good for you."

Rachel clearly wanted to say something but was far too afraid of Amanda and Adam to actually argue, to speak her mind. So, after she'd struggled back to her feet, Rachel scurried away downstairs and perceived safety. Sapphira was all too familiar with what her mother meant by chores. Most would assume it meant things like taking the trash out or mowing the lawn; however, when it came to the Callaghans, it meant the daughters did absolutely everything from tidying to keeping the house from physically falling apart. They weren't her children, just her little army of slaves.

The sound of Adam's belt clicking open so he could unthread it had the green-eyed beauty's determination and strength wavering in a heartbeat. She'd survived on the streets for years, she'd learned there were good people in the world who'd help her, yet that sound had triggered an instinctive panic nonetheless. His giggle a violation in itself.

"Don't worry yourself, Mother." He slapped the belt against his hand as his grin grew. "The whore needs to learn a lesson, and it's been a very long time coming. God created a place for women, and she refuses to stay in it, so I'll have to put her in it myself."

"Of course, darling. I'll be downstairs dealing with Naomi."

Amanda departed, closing the bedroom door with sinister slowness behind her. Boxed in with a werewolf, that was how Sapphira had found herself. These people weren't even people, just monsters with bones on their plates. Nothing was ever black and white, always a perpetual state of gray. Never just wolves or sheep; some wolves wore sheep's skin while there were sheep in wolfish clothes. Adam and Amanda Callaghan had worn their sheep skins so long they'd convinced themselves they weren't a costume. No house they'd resided in had been a home since the moment John had died – ossuaries.

Elizabeth stretched out her cold hand to hold her sister's. Boyd would come.

XXXXX

APW – All-Ports Warning.
A type of all-points bulletin similar to a BOLO/BOLF/KALOF used in the UK to alert airports and international railway stations for offenders attempting to leave the country.