♡Chapter dedicated to sarahknightly♡

"I would trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday." Falloutboy

Sarah Walling watched as Greg Whitaker roamed the streets, howling his son's name as if he could bring him back by the sheer volume of his voice.

She glanced at her own method of coping; the bottle of vodka in her hand, its contents nearly empty. The clear liquid sloshed as she took another big gulp, feeling it burn all the way down her throat until it settled in her stomach.

Turns out, drowning out your despair didn't work when it screamed loud enough to smother you.

Pierce, her husband, entered the living room, finding her in the same position she had been when he left almost an hour ago to make a phone call. Standing vigil at the window as if waiting for her daughter to come home.

"She's on her way." He referred to Sydney, Sarah's other daughter, currently away at university. He tried to pry the vodka out of Sarah's hand, but she gripped onto it tighter, holding it like a security blanket.

"It will be okay, love." He dropped his hand from the bottle and instead reached up to wrap his arm around her waist, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder. She remained unmoving, unresponsive, as if he wasn't even there at all.

"We will find her." He tried again, desperate to snap her out of this awful silence that somehow seemed to speak louder than words.

"Why do you care?" She had finally spoken, but he wished that she hadn't, her words cut deeper than a knife.

"She's my daughter too."

"Stepdaughter." Sarah emphasized, as if he hadn't been a part of Savannah's life for the last thirteen years. "She's not yours! She's mine and she's gone. SHE'S GONE!" Her voice broke on the last word, and she threw the bottle as hard as she could.

It hit the wall, the glass shattering to pieces, the clear liquid staining the white paint, turning it to a pale grey colour that ran down in streaks. 

Pierce tried to brush off her accusations, knowing that she didn't mean them. He loved his two stepdaughters, he always had. The fact that Savannah was missing tore him into shreds that littered the ground, mingling with the broken glass.

"I'm sorry, love." He muttered, the only consolation he could possibly offer, barely managing to catch his wife as she crumpled in on herself, the grief overtaking her. 

He lowered her to the ground, sitting on the floor with her in his arms, rocking her back and forth as he softly stroked her hair while she wept into his shoulder.

"She's gone," Sarah repeated, a heart-breaking mantra. "She's gone."

Pierce couldn't find the words to comfort her, their marriage had always been based on honesty, and he didn't want to offer her false promises now. He hoped with all his heart that they would find Savannah, that she would come home, that he would get to see her again.

But there was always the chance that she really was gone.

And if that was the case, they needed to be prepared. The pain they were feeling now was a mere gust of wind compared to the hurricane that would be heading in their direction.

Anna Baker was born on the fourth of July 1986 to the now deceased Mavis Baker, her father's name noticeably absent. No living relatives could be found. She had lived in the trailer park just outside of town until the age of eighteen, when she received a full academic scholarship to Redstone University. A straight A student and teenage prodigy with an aptitude for the sciences, Anna Baker had no trouble finding a job at Hillhurst Pharmaceuticals, climbing up the ranks until late last year, when her employment was terminated.

After that, the details of Anna's life became vague, the only other important piece of information that the research team had been able to find on short notice, was her last known residential address. The very door that Jon and Isaiah were standing in front of.

Jon's heart pounded wildly, slamming against his chest like a caged animal, desperate to escape its captivity. Though he didn't necessarily follow a religion, he found himself praying desperately that there would be answers behind that door.

He leant against the wall, letting the cold seep into his heated skin. Just across from him, Isaiah gave a slight nod, his gun held securely in his large hands. Jon returned the silent cue with one of his own, raising two fingers and pointing them at the closed door that stood between them. A large golden five hung in the middle of the dark wood, proclaiming the number of the apartment on the first floor. Anna's home was very different from what the detectives had been expecting.

The whole building screamed 'wealth' with its trendy interior, clean hallways and bright green pot plants placed in every corner, bringing colour to the cappuccino coloured walls. It seemed she had travelled far from her trailer park roots. Isaiah turned to the officers behind him, ensuring they were all in place.

A sense of anticipation filled the hallway, like air in a balloon, expanding until there was no room left.  One of the constables began fidgeting in the back, eager to get the go ahead. Pulling the search warrant out of his back pocket, Jon knocked on the door twice, careful to keep his voice steady, though the animal inside him threatened to break free.

"Anna? Anna Baker? This is the police, open up!"

Nothing. He waited a minute or two before trying again, raising his voice slightly. When there was still no answer, Jon gave a slight nod to the uniformed officers and stepped back so they could break down the door.

A constable came with the small ram and slammed it against the door. A loud bang echoed throughout the hallway, but the heavy wood didn't budge. He withdrew and tried again, and again. Finally, on the third go, the wood began to splinter with a loud crack, the door swinging forward on its hinges.

The officers streamed into the apartment, a burst floodgate, jostling each other on their way in. Jon and Isaiah followed, guns held in the air, ready for anything.

What they were not prepared for, were the obvious signs of neglect that covered Anna Baker's home. The fine layer of dust that coated every countertop, the chill that pervaded every inch of the space, evidence that the heater had not been used recently, the pile of mail that littered the floor just inside the door.

Jon felt himself deflate, the breath he had been holding whooshing out of his lungs in one long huff. She wasn't here. She hadn't been for a long time, possibly even weeks. He had never really expected her to be, but this had been their only lead and a small part of him had been hoping that they would open the door to find her here.

Because if she wasn't here, then where the hell could she be? And where was she keeping those kids?

The police fanned out, searching every room of the spacious apartment, only to come back minutes later with their heads hung low in defeat. Isaiah pulled on a pair of latex gloves, the rubber slapping against his wrist, and picked up the mail from the floor, flipping through it carefully.

"Nothing here."

"You know what this means don't you?" Jon pulled on his own pair of gloves and began sifting through the things scattered across a pine desk; a blank notepad, a broken pen, a picture of Anna Baker standing next to a large oak tree. 

Isaiah nodded. They were at a dead end. Until the research team could find more information and the IT team could run her credit card bills, the only other options they had were to start questioning suspects. It's what they should have done first really, but as soon as her residential address was found, everything else was put onto the back burner.

"We need to start combing through the employee lists for Fever and Hillhurst Pharmaceuticals."

This was a process that would take time, something they didn’t have. Each minute that the kids were held captive could mean the end of their lives. The seconds were ticking away too quickly, sand falling through the hourglass at a steady rate.

How long did they have before one of them died? 

"You four," Isaiah pointed out some of the officers assembled in Anna Baker's living room. "Go through everything, any piece of paperwork you can find. I want every inch of this place searched. Call the forensics team and get them here to dust for fingerprints, see if there's been anyone but her in here recently."

"The rest of you," Jon picked up, so well attuned to his partner that he could guess Isaiah's next order, "back to the station. Follow up with the research team and IT. We want background checks on every single person on those two employee lists."

 The officers who weren't staying behind to search shuffled out quietly, Isaiah and Jon bringing up the rear. 

"Who first?" Jon questioned his partner.

"I say we go straight to the top." Isaiah mused as soon as the door was shut behind them. "The owner of the company she worked for."

"Hillhurst Pharmaceuticals, here we come."

No, Jon did not follow a religion, but he found himself looking up to the sky and begging to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in.

Please. Please may we find those kids before anything happens to them.