Mary: "Why grandmother, what big teeth you have..."

Mary froze and stared at the man’s mouth. She absolutely had to be imagining what she saw before her; there was no way a human being could sprout fangs and change their eye color. It had to be some sort of trick of the lighting, or some really expensive contacts and dental work.

Suddenly she realized she couldn't feel her hands. Or her face. Or any other part of her body, most especially not her legs. Which would explain why the ground was suddenly racing toward her.

So this is what fear feels like.

She didn't like it.

Her kidnapper had moved with her, and was crouched in front of her, predatory. His eyes met hers as he took her free hand in his, pulling it toward him. His lips softly grazed the top of it, then with one swift, violent motion he twisted her wrist up and plunged his two sharp canines into a vein. Mary let out a yelp and tried to pull away, which only made him hold on harder.

She had never felt a pain quite like it. It was deep, and she felt a pulling sensation all the way up her arm, though her shoulder, and to her spine. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Mary: "Well that's going to need antibiotics."

A wave of nausea hit her as she broke into a cold sweat. There was a loud but calming buzz in her ears while everything around her suddenly became very far away before vanishing in a wave of darkness.

When Mary came to, she wished she hadn't. Her stomach felt like there were fish swimming in it. She rolled onto her side, waiting for the dizziness and nausea to pass. It felt like she had been out for hours, but when she looked up, her captor was just shutting the door to the cage.

Mary: "What, no juice and cookies?"

Mary felt a sudden and overwhelming drop in her gut and fell to her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the floor of her tiny cell.

Chris: "I hope you know I'm not cleaning that up."
Mary: "Hey, who am I to question your housekeeping skills. Some people like the smell of fresh vomit."
Chris: "Reynolds, get a mop and take care of this."
Ace: "You've got to be kidding me."
Chris: "Reynolds. Get. A. Mop."
Ace: “Whatever you say, boss.”

Mary tried not to look as the man cleaned, watching transfixed as the mop went from bright white to a sickening shade of brownish grey. By the time he finished, her dizziness had subsided and she sat up.

Chris: "Was it good for you, Love?"
Mary: "That's a pretty risky game you're playing. I’m pretty sure Stone’s not going to pay you a damned cent if you kill me before you even ask for a ransom."
Chris: "Oh you'll remain alive, I'll see to that, but I've been given free run of you, up to and including near death experiences."

Mary tried very hard to remain expressionless as she wondered who had "given" this man free run. She saw a flicker of confusion pass briefly over his face.

Mary: "Well... good."
Chris: "Fine."

Mary hugged her arms to her chest, trying to look as helpless as possible. Her heart was racing as she tried to remember if either one of them had bothered relocking the door, but she didn’t dare even look at the lock and risk bringing attention to it. After studying her for a good fifteen seconds, the blond man produced a cell phone and quickly dialed a number.

Chris: "Mr. Stone? I have something of yours: one of your more recent investments, an artist by the name of Mary McMally... I assure you, Mr. Stone, it's no joke. If you want her back alive I'll need a quarter of a million dollars cash, in non-sequential bills, by noon tomorrow... I’m sure you have ways of getting it."

Chris: "I wouldn't do that, Stone. The second I see a cop, she's dead. And here’s a little food for thought: I have no trouble going after another one of your ‘investments,’ at which point you’ll find my price will keep rising... How original. I'd have thought someone as well-off as yourself would be able to afford better writers. You'll be getting another call from me in four hours; it's up to you to decide whether you want this to be easy or hard."