"Don't react, the damage is done. The police are coming too slow now.

I would have died.
I would have loved you all my life." Ryan Star

Rage was not a new emotion for Greg Whitaker.

He had felt it before. An intense, boiling hatred that coursed through his veins, making him see flashes of red.

The last time he had felt this way, it was directed at his very own flesh and blood. His brother, who had abused Greg's kindness and hurt Aaron. Greg had only wanted to help Nihil, who had lost his job and had nowhere to go. Nihil had betrayed him in the worst way possible.

Back then, Greg had used his fists to release his anger, taking his rage out on the person who would dare harm his child. He used his brother as a punching bag.

This time, his fury was focused on more than just one person. Michael Ray Stevens. Anna Baker. The entire list of employees at Hillhurst Pharmaceuticals.

He would kill them all if he had to. The way he had wanted to kill Nihil before Helen pulled him off. If it would bring his son home, he would tear the entire company to shreds with his bare hands.

He didn't realise he had ripped the newspaper in half until he glanced down at the crumpled pieces in his shaking hands. Anna Baker's smiling face leered up at him, a red flag to a raging bull. As though she was challenging him to come and find her.

And he would.

He would use his anger as a weapon, pointing it at anyone who dared to get in his way.

Helen was still asleep upstairs, oblivious to the bombshell that had arrived on their doorstep this morning, courtesy of the Redstone Register. He had insisted she take a sleeping pill last night, desperate for her to escape their awful reality for a while. Greg had not slept a wink, instead keeping vigil in the lounge. He had paced across it so many times that he was surprised he had not worn a hole in their antique rug.

He didn't bother waking her up. Or leaving a note. In fact, he was grateful that she wasn't there to try and talk him out of what he was about to do.

He dropped the pieces of newspaper on the floor, stepping over them on his way to the door. Stopping only to grab his car keys from the side table, he slammed the door closed behind him.

It took him two attempts to put his keys in the ignition and start the car. He had to get a grip on his shaking hands. Pressing his foot on the accelerator, he reversed out of their driveway too fast, sending one of their trashcans flying. He didn't stop. He didn't look back. He just kept going, racing as though he could outrun death.

The smell of burning rubber trailed him like perfume and it was only as he arrived in the parking lot of Hillhurst Pharmaceuticals that he realised he had left his handbrake on the entire way. He didn't care, didn't even bother closing the door behind him as he ran up the steps and through the entrance.

The halls were deadly quiet, which did little to calm Greg's mind. Instead his rage swelled and bubbled up like a pot of boiling water.

"Where is she?" He yelled to no one in particular, desperate to announce his presence. To let everyone know that he was here and he wouldn't be leaving without his child. "Where is Anna Baker?"

"Sir?"

The voice, so quiet and soft, a direct contrast to his own harsh shouts, stopped Greg in his tracks. He turned to the owner of it, grabbing him by the lapels of his jackets and slamming him against the pristine, white wall.

"Where is she?"

"Sir," the man's face was slowly draininh of colour, the fear in his eyes evident. "Anna Baker hasn't worked here for a year."

All the commotion had brought out a bunch of spectators. The hallway was now full of people, staring wide eyed at the man who had lost his only son. The employee that Greg held up with his fists seemed to gain confidence from the witnesses.

"Greta," he managed a small nod at a petit blonde lady standing off to the side. "Security, please."

At those words, all the fight seemed to seep out of Greg and he released the man from his grip. He slumped to the floor, unable to stay on his feet without his anger holding him up.

"I just want my son." Greg's voice grew thick as he fought to keep the tears at bay. "Please just give me Aaron back."

"Sir-,"

"He's been through so much. And he's so young. So young." Greg's hands were shaking and he couldn't keep them steady as he tried to brush his hair out of his face. The gesture reminded him of Aaron. He had inherited his father's genes; soft brown curls that reached his shoulders and were often tied up in a loose bun.

"Sir, I'm very sorry for your loss, but I don't know where your son is."

"When Aaron was younger, he used to catch butterflies and keep them in jars in his room." Greg lowered his hands from his face and struggled to get to his feet. He faced all the people that were staring at him as though he was a circus act.

"He would spend hours drawing, sketching down anything he thought was beautiful. He still does. He was the kind of kid who loved openly and laughed often. All that changed when he was still a child. His innocence was stolen from him; please don't let his life be taken too. If anyone knows where Anna Baker is, please, you have to tell me before it's too late."

He looked at each person standing there as he said his speech, hoping that it would spark some kind of response. Preferably the whereabouts of Anna Baker. But no one said a word; instead they all just kept staring at the spectacle that was a broken father. He sagged, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he realised that no one was going to help him.

"Sir," the new authoritative voice was accompanied by a firm hand on his shoulder. "You need to leave."

Greg allowed the company security to escort him from the building, two men flanking him on either side with a tight grip on each of his arms. As they turned around he caught sight of one of the employees.

He stood out from the rest of them. Glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and his milky white skin was turning a deep shade of scarlet, almost perfectly matching his shocking red hair. But that wasn't what made him stand out.

It was the look on his face. The way his eyes darted from side to side, like a trapped rat, and the way he nervously touched his glasses. It was the way he refused to meet Greg's eye, and how he shifted from foot to foot.

He knew something.

Greg was thrown unceremoniously out the building and asked not to return. He didn't care. He walked to his car, the door still hanging wide open, and climbed in. The sound of police sirens filled his ears and he wondered briefly if they had been alerted and were coming for him.

Let them come.

All they would have on him was minor assault. That problem didn't even register on his radar right now. All he wanted was his son back, to hear him laugh and see him smile.

It was only then, as the sirens grew closer and the image of Aaron flashed through his mind, that Greg really let himself broke down. He sobbed as though his heart was breaking and his world was crashing down around him.

He cried for his wife, a mother who may never see her child again. He cried for Aaron, the broken boy who had worked so hard to get his life back on track only to be used in someone's sick experiment.

And he cried for himself, a father who, once again, hadn't been able to stop evil from grasping hold of his only child.

I'm sorry Aaron. I failed you.