Her eyes fluttered open with the sound of ringing. Slowly lifting her head, she took note of her surroundings. She was in her office, a mere file box filled with nothing but papers, a computer, and a telephone.

Oh, yes, the telephone was ringing.

She took a post-it off her face and straitened up in her chair. She picked up the telephone, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Agent Sanders here."

"Rebekka? Its me, Damian."

She rubbed her temples to reduce the throbbing.

"Oh hey Hun, how are you?" She said sleepily. Damian was her fiancé, or her to be fiancé. They had met back in California, her home town and when she was transferred here to Seattle, he had agreed to come up with her. But work had kept him back and he was finally supposed to arrive next week. When in San Francisco, he had been planning to propose to her, and they agreed that he would propose when they were comfortable in Seattle. But that seemed so long ago.

"Rebekka, Hun, I tried to call you at home but you didn't answer. You ok?"

And then she remembered.

The day before, the murders. The child in her arms. She looked at her arm, the fingerprints of that man were imprinted on her skin with black and blue bruises. The child…where was he? She remembered why she was at work so early, she had been here late into the night, searching for any information on the boy's parents after they were taken away.

"Rebekka? Are you there?"

She focused back to the present. "What?"

"Look Rebekka, I just called to say my flight is next Tuesday at 7 pm and they'll be faxing you the receipt."

"Ok Damian. Thanks."

"You sure your ok?" He asked. He seemed genuinely worried.

"I'm fine, honestly. Just busy and tired."

"Ok then, talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you too."

She put down the receiver slowly and looked at the clock. It was 6 in the morning, too early for anyone to be here yet. She peeked out the window, no rain, just clouds. Not much better, she thought. She grabbed her coat of the hook on her door and put it on, noticing its wait. It was a gift from her friend Leslie Parker back in California. She missed Leslie. They had been best friends from high school and even though they went to different colleges, they still were best friends. Leslie owned her own salon in San Francisco and was a very light hearted.

"Screw the Universe Becky, your way to serious."

And Leslie was right. Ever since she was a young child, she had been serious. It was her duty in her family, to be the serious one. Her parents were always fighting. Never stopped. They never got a divorce either, just tore each others throats out every waking moment. Rebekka had two younger siblings, 5 and 7 when she was 12, and it was her job to keep them in line, feed them, do the chores and the grocery shopping. Besides Leslie, she had no friends. So she focused completely on school, getting A's in everything. It became her goal in life, to be excellent in school.

She locked her office door behind her and walked down the hall, empty offices on either side. She pressed the button for the elevator and it lit up, an arrow facing down. She tapped her foot impatiently, listening to the roar of the elevator slowly creaking up the passage way. With a large groan, it opened its doors, beckoning Rebekka inside. She stepped inside, pressing the button to close the doors. She grabbed the railing as it started down, she had always been frightened a bit of elevators, too many scary movies probably. She counted the seconds until the bottom, 19, 20, 21… it stopped and it opened its doors again, spitting her back out.

When she walked outside, the air was cool and crisp, with a small breeze and lots of clouds. She jammed her hands in the pockets of her jacket, amidst the jumble of money, car keys, and a cell phone. She walked down the street, heels clacking on the sidewalk. The world was beginning to move about, a few people were just coming out of their houses, others hadn't even woken up yet. She took a right and opened to the door to a coffee shop, "Java Jammer's." It was silent, apart from a young man at the counter counting change. He looked up at her and smiled.

"Hey there woman." He winked, his normal routine. "Usual?"

Rebekka nodded, "Same old, Ralph."

He started up the expresso machine while Rebekka picked up the morning paper off one of the tables. Smoothing it out, she read the headlines, "Two murder victims found in beat down house. No suspects at the moment." Ralph interrupted her reading with a hot expresso.

"Here's your expresso Rebekka. It'll be a buck."

She fished out a dollar from her pocket and handed it too him. He nodded thankfully and pointed at the story.

"Read the story this morning. Where were you in all this?" He asked. She gazed back down at it.

"I was the one who…"

And then she saw.

"Carl McConaly, chief detective, was the first to scout out the scene."

First person, my eye, she thought. Of course the office would do something like this. She folded the paper back up again.

"Can I take this?" She asked. He nodded.

"Sure thing, on me." She smiled at him.

"Thanks Ralph." She bolted out the door with the paper. She could feel her face heating up in fury. Of course they would have told the press that Carl found the murders. It made them look better.

Carl was chief detective, the best of the best is what everyone called him. But he was dumb in Rebekka's opinion, he had no critical thinking skills.

She bolted into the office, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. The building was a hive of activity now, it was already 8 am. She opened the door and stormed past her office. The secretary hobbled out of her office.

"Miss Sanders, you got a call from Gregory Arnold, he wanted to speak to you about…"

"Not now Margaret, not now." She had cold fury on her face. She slowed down a bit in front of an office at the end of the hall. She knocked firmly on the door.

"Come in."

She bolted in, laying the paper down with a large slap on the table.

"You mind explaining THIS to me?" she asked. The man behind the desk was old, wrinkles and age on his features. He wore a gray suit and a black tie, a stylish ensemble that he wore every day. He adjusted his glasses and rubbed his balding head.

"Ah yes, I meant to speak to you about this." Was his only reply. She shook is fury.

"Well I do wish you would." She sat down on the opposite chair.

"Miss Sanders, we need good press when things like this come up, and using Carl…well, helps."

She twisted her features. "How does it help Chief? He's no higher than I am! Is it because I'm a woman? Or is it that I'm so young? I bet that's it isn't it?" He sighed and leaned back, rubbing his temples.

"I won't lie to you Miss Sanders, your young. And we all think you're a bit too young for a case like this."

She felt her ears burning. "Ah, I see. And who is 'all'? You and Carl I assume?" She turned as the door opened once again. She smiled half-heartedly. "Oh hello there Carl, so glad you could join us." He grinned, a foolish, bouncy grin.

Damn she hated this job.

The chief rubbed his temples and sighed. Rebekka wheeled around and slumped into a chair. She calmed herself down and spoke.

"I got through school with A's, chief." She said, cool and collected. He nodded in response.

"You gave me this job, chief." He nodded again in agreement.

"Then give me a chance."

He adjusted his glasses on his face and sighed.

"Alright, its all yours." He said. "Carl…the files please?" Carl stood like stone, clutching the files with his dear life.

"But chief…"

"No buts, they belong to Miss Sanders now." Carl looked at Rebekka, his boyish grin erased and red anger replaced it. He slammed the files on the table and walked out in silence. Rebekka ignored Carl, instead opening the file folder. The chief pointed at the files.

"That boy you found has no living relatives, only his mother and father who are now dead. We've only gotten results on the mothers blood, she was of Porte Rican descent, her name was Maria Garcia. The boy has no official records, and we can't get a name out of him."

"Where are you keeping him?"

"The local hospital. He's being monitored and questioned but he just won't talk."

Rebekka closed the folder and stood up, grasping the old man's hand firmly.

"You won't regret this, I assure you." She opened the door. The chief leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head.

"You better be right. Oh and Miss Sanders?" She turned to look at him. He smiled at her.

"You would have made a great lawyer Rebekka." She grinned.

"I know, but I like this job better. Arguing all day is too tiring." She closed the door behind her and got on the elevator, putting the folder in her coat.

It was time she made a trip to the local hospital.

The boy looked around the sterile room. White, all white. A metal bed with white sheets and pillow rested at one end of the room, while a water fountain and urinal was at the other.

God, what he would do for his own room and his own house.

He felt caged, like a parrot in a zoo. Only it wouldn't be so bare at a zoo. For a moment, he even wished he was a parrot. He sat on the bed and looked up. Cameras on all four corners of his room. He couldn't even get privacy when he pissed. He shuddered, rubbing his bare arms. They had taken his old clothes away, they were unsanitary is what they said. Now he sat on the bed, in stark white hospital gowns.

They questioned him continually. Asked him his name, his age, who were his parents.

But he didn't like them, didn't like them at all.

They poked him with big needles. The put a cold metal stethoscope under his shirt. They were always there, always watching him.

There were no windows.

He always wondered what time it was, what the weather was like. But he didn't ask.

He didn't like these people, this place.

He didn't like it at all.

She watched the boy from a window. He couldn't see in, it looked like part of the wall to him, but she could see inside perfectly. She could see his terror, his anger, all the emotion wrapped up inside him.

She yearned to hold him again.

She turned to the nurse next to her. "Why do you keep him like this? Why don't you keep him with other children?" The nurse looked down at the floor.

"We were worried that he would upset the other children is he started telling them about…the murders." Rebekka nodded, understanding the situation. Yet he looked so sad.

Like a caged animal.

"I want to go in." She said. The nurse stared for a moment in disbelief, then took the key from a nearby drawer.

"If you wish Miss Sanders."

The boy saw the door open, its iron jaws coughing someone up. At first, he thought it was one of the nurses but he saw it was someone else.

He saw Rebekka, but he also saw a part of his Momma in her.

And it all came back.

His Momma on the floor of the kitchen. Her pale blue face. He suddenly decided he did not want to go home anymore, he never wanted to see home again. He shuddered and huddled on his bed.

He didn't want to remember, to see anymore.

She saw the boy shrink at the sight of her, and froze. She wondered if it was because he remembered his mother at his house in the pale light of death. Or maybe it was simply because he was scared of someone knew. She pulled a chair out of the corner and sat down across from the bed where the boy sat in a small little ball. She pulled out a pen to write notes, but refrained and looked at the frightened child.

"Hi there. My name is Rebekka, what's yours?" She asked quietly. He stayed silent.

"I know what you've been through and I know its hard for you to deal, but we need to ask you questions about your parents to find out what happened to them. Can you help us out?" He simply shivered. She leaned back, pulling something out of her jacket. At first, it looked just like a lump of gray fur, but it was a stuffed rabbit, with only one button eye. It looked like it had been put through a lot of use.

This had once belonged to Rebekka.

She had dug it out of a box not more than a day ago, all crumpled and old. Yet its presence, its smell brought back so many memories. It was her second mother, her guidance, every tear she had ever shed had been caught and quieted by this one rabbit. She put it on the opposite side of the bed than the boy. She spoke again, her voice shaky.

"When I was your age, I didn't have a mother that took care of me, like you did. I was the oldest of four brothers and sisters and I had to take care of them, comfort them. But sometimes, we all need someone to take care of us, and I didn't have that. This rabbit was who took care of me." She sat in silence, waiting, watching.

The boy eyes the rabbit. It reminded him of a stuffed bear he had at home, it had been his Momma's when she was little, and she gave it to him. He leaned over and took the rabbit, carefully touching one floppy ear. He opened his mouth and whispered to Rebekka.

"What is its name?" She gazed at him in wonderment, the same look that him own Momma gave him.

"What did you say?" She asked him. He spoke again, louder this time.

"What is its name?" She looked hard at the rabbit.

"I…I don't remember." She said, disappointed. Yet strangely, the boy smiled.

"Damian." He said matter-of-factly. He clutched it by his face, breathing in its scent. He whispered into it's ear.