Ellie

It was a taunt.

I felt like crying. No, that's not true. I felt like I should be crying. In reality, I was numb, emotionless. Past pain, past hatred, past fear. Just numb, floating weightless on a wave of hurt, but taking none of it on board. I was already soaked, sodden with pain. There wasn't room for anymore.

I reached out for the DVD, stretching out arms that belonged to someone else, but Roman got there first. His eyes were pinched, brow lined. I wanted to hug him, assure him that it would be all right – but also to beg and cajole him to make it so.

No. That's not good enough.

"What does it say?" I asked. My voice sounded alien, other, like I was a puppet and there was someone above me, out of sight manipulating long marionette strings. I wished that that was true. At least then, none of this would be my responsibility. Someone else could take up the burden.

I pinched myself, disgusted by the way I was thinking. It wasn't me, not the real me. I was a mother, not a passenger. It was no one else's responsibility to make this all better except mine. Mine, and the man standing in front of me.

"No writing," Roman grunted, sticking to short sentences, as if he didn't trust his voice to hold out for much more. I couldn't blame him. I knew the feeling. He moved towards a notebook computer pushed back against the wall on the desk that had been turned into the baby's changing station. As I watched, I was suddenly possessed with the desire to rip this place apart, to search for my baby's name. It must be somewhere, so close – yet so far. Yet another part of me, a stronger part, didn't want to find out. Not here, not now. I didn't know whether I wanted the power, no – the responsibility, of naming my child for the first time, yet all over again. I didn't know whether I had the right.

The computer whirred to life, and I wanted to march toward it and will the information we needed out. The second the desktop flickered into life on the screen, Roman pushed the DVD in. The computer's mechanism pulled it in, accompanied by a gentle buzzing sound. The disc moved excruciatingly slowly, and I was gripped with the urge to run it in. I clenched my fists together, digging long, unkempt nails into the soft, delicate flesh of my palms. I rode the pain, savored the way it bit through my numbness.

An electronic ping ripped through the air, all the more startling for its quietness.

A window appeared on the homepage. A video. There was no thumbnail. Roman's hand hovered over the mouse, agonizing over clicking it. I knew how he felt. Terrified of what he would find. "Do it," I said, surprised to hear my voice so calm. He pressed play.

A man appeared on the screen, in the little video box. At first we saw just blackness, yet a moving blackness, someone's head too close to the camera.

"Ellie," the man said, backing away to reveal his head in a black balaclava. I jumped. I never expected him to know my name. It pulled me in, made this even more personal than my own child's kidnapping already was. "You've caused my boss a lot of trouble, you stupid bitch," he spat. I wanted to see his face, to study his expression – the man who had stolen my kid. I wanted to know how he could bring himself to do something so heinous, something that went against every human commandment, and every aspect of human decency.

"But Victor's a… forgiving man," the Russian-accented voice said, cloying in an unexpected, out of place calmness after the bile of the moment before. "And he's willing to make deal." The man indicated off screen, and my heart jumped to my mouth. I bit down, piercing the tender flesh of my tongue, and the metallic, coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.

"You know what we have," he said, reaching out. For a second, the camera's view was blocked, and I wanted to dive in and grab it, fix the view. He backed up, and a sleeping child swathed in a light blue came into shot. I stumbled, my knees turning to jelly, my legs weakening, and I would have fallen over in shock if Roman hadn't called me. Still, my gut felt as though it was being wrenched out, grabbed by some powerful metal hooks and pulled.

"Oh my God," I whispered, grabbing the side of Roman's thick torso and squeezing. He didn't complain, didn't even seem to register the pain. His eyes were haunted, black with a mixture of rage and apologetic sadness. But the video didn't stop spewing its evil message just to give us a chance to recover from the emotional turmoil it had plunged us into. It plowed on regardless, grinding my heart into the dust and not even bothering to stop to crow.

The man rocked my child, my baby boy, or so it seemed, in his arms. It was a gentle, caring action, but I knew that it was a sick parody of real-life. It should have been me, with him, holding him, and rocking him to sleep – not this gangster. A growling sound seemed to bounce off the little office bedroom's walls, like the throaty prelude to a big dog's bark. I glanced my side, and saw that Roman was positively bristling with anger, his fists bundled, and every vein on his powerful neck popping.

I would have felt sorry for whoever he was gunning for, but I knew who they were. And what they had done. What they are still doing…

"You see the kind of leverage we have," the masked man said, his voice dripping with barely disguised thread. "Me, I have no problem with kids. Your boy here, he's a great kid. Never weeps, never cries. You know, maybe I like him more than my own." He looked down, and I wanted to rip that mask off his face, throw it to the floor and rake his face with my nails until his eyes bled. I'd never felt such rage, such desire to hurt another human being.

"Maybe I take him," the eerie, calm voice threatened. He looked up, and flinty gray eyes stared directly into the camera.

"My boss, he no like kids." He paused, allowing just enough time for the message to sink in. The meaning was clear. If we didn't do exactly as he said, then our son's life was forfeit.

"You hand over everything you have on Victor. No copies. Tomorrow, noon, at the Memorial. Don't be late." He turned away from the camera, and seemed about to turn it off. I couldn't pry my eyes away from the screen. Before he left, he turned back. "Oh, and Victor sends his regards."

The video window winked out. I sagged against Roman.

"He's dead," Roman growled. "Dead. I'm going to rip his cowardly little arms right off his body, see how he likes that. His wife and kids are going to find out exactly what kind of man their father is." His body vibrated with anger, his deep voice radiating through his barrel -like chest and trembling against my soft, tear-streaked cheek. He pulled me gently off him, cupped my cheek and stroked away a tear. Even in the depths of his anger, he had a place for me.

"What did he mean, turn over everything you have?" He asked. "You had a look on your face, earlier. You know, don't you?"

I straightened myself and nodded, drawing support from the grip Roman still had on my shoulder, but not needing it. I knew what I had to do now. I remembered who I was.

"Yes," I nodded again, like my head was stuck on a spring. "I was, am, a reporter. But I knew that earlier, I saw my stories on the Herald's website. But I didn't know why Victor put a hit out on me. I do now."

Roman leaned forward, his often-expressionless face narrowed with curiosity.

"When Rick put me in the hospital, I was researching a story on Victor Antonov. The kind of story that would have put him away for a long, long time. He was involved with a city counselor – bribed him to swing contracts his way. Made hundreds of thousands of dollars from it, and that was just the ones I could directly link. I had more. Offshore bank accounts, evidence that he killed to cover up his crimes. I guess he found out." I said, tailing off stupidly as I realized that for all my innocent belief that I'd kept things secret, Victor had outmaneuvered me.

Roman nodded impatiently. "But proof – you have it?"

I nodded, my head moving hesitantly. "Yes. Maybe. I was carrying it when Rick attacked me. If it still exists, it's in police custody."

Roman's shoulders sagged. "That makes things… More difficult."

I felt myself vibrating with an energy I'd never felt before. I had a purpose, one singular role in life. To save my child. And I was going to accomplish it, no matter what tried to get in my way.

"No," I purred. "Just more challenging. Promise me something."

Roman looked up. "What is it? Anything."

"Promise me, that when we find these guys, you put a bullet in them. All of them, except one."

"Who?"

I spat out his name. "Victor Antonov."