A/N: Standard disclaimers apply. If you don't like, move on. Flamers and trollers see my profile.

This was written by me in an hour and a half as an attempt to dispel my personal demons. Although I'm not usually the type to divulge an awful lot about myself except to a select few (thanks Lex), I will say that this story is a fictional account of a RL situation - as in, the feelings are real but the details have been substantially altered. Leave reviews or constructive criticism if you like but don't poke the rattlesnake.

It's been many years since I've felt this way. Unsure, insecure, uneasy... None of them quite describe it and yet they all do. I've felt them a little bit over the years whenever something big happened, like a promotion or a change in responsibilities, but not all at once and never as strongly - not since the day I first started in the department.

Over the years I've seen just about everything that people can do to each other. I've seen just about all that nature can throw at you. Even hellish snowstorms, although not here. You never get used to it but you become... desensitized, to a degree. You get where you can turn off your emotions and get the job done. There's a price to be paid later, of course, but while you're working a scene everything stays clinical. Compartmentalized. Objective.

No matter how hard I try, I can't distance myself from this.

If I close my eyes, I can remember exact details from the day I found out something had happened. Sights, sounds, smells - all as clear as if had been this morning instead of two years ago. The only thing that doesn't come back to me is thought. Not that unusual, considering everything that was going through my head at the time came screeching to a halt.

It doesn't help that it wasn't my kid. That as soon as my brain started working again I went home and hugged my own children. I didn't even care that they were long past the age where overt displays of affection were considered 'cool' or were even wanted. If anything, it made me feel guilty for having them to come home to.

Throwing myself into the search effort only pushed the pain back for a while. It didn't disappear, didn't assuage the guilt or make me feel any better for getting out there and helping. When the official search was over, I used up all of my free time organizing volunteers to keep going. I even drafted my family into it a few times. Somehow I thought if I could be the one to find her, I would feel better.

The guilt wasn't all from simply being fortunate. As was the way of life, too much time apart had driven a wedge into a once-impenetrable friendship. Before I knew it, years had passed and I didn't even know where my best friend was anymore, let alone what was going on in his life. It's not something I'm proud of. My wife has told me to let it go - it's not anyone's fault - but that really doesn't help as much as I let her think it does.

As if to make up for it, I put everything I had into that search. Hoping against hope that it would still be a 'search and rescue' and not 'search and recovery'. As the weeks went by I knew, deep down, that I was just fooling myself. My fantasy of being the one to bring her back to her father tired, scared, but none the worse for wear was slowly turning into the nightmare of hearing that she had been found - and would never come home again.

How I wish that had been the real nightmare.

I suppose, in a way, it only makes sense. By that time there were very few people still out searching for her. Many had decided that she'd taken off willingly and would be found when she came to her senses. Even I was harboring a little hope that that was the case. That's not what happened, though. In one of life's ironic twists of fate, I was the one that finally found her.

Many times I've counted my blessings that it wasn't on one of the days where I'd pestered my family into coming out to help. I think by that time they were getting sick of my obsession with finding her. At least my wife understood why I needed to do it, even if she didn't agree. My kids... well... They think their old man's crazy anyway. I imagine it just gave them more proof for when they complained to their friends.

It's funny how the brain reacts to shock. When I first found out she was missing, my mind just took a vacation for a few moments. That day... Instead of a vacation, I stood staring down at her but all I could see was the little baby she'd been, squirming in her car seat with a huge grin on her face while her daddy proudly showed her off. Images of her as a toddler, playing with the stuffed toy I'd given her - her first ever - while we sat at the table reminiscing over coffee. Scenes of her dancing around her room, singing into her hairbrush at the top of her voice while her mom applauded her talent. None of that matched what I was actually looking at.

When I finally came back to my senses, I hoped to God he'd never have to see her like this - never have these images replace his tender memories - but I knew that he would. Life isn't fair at the best of times and this was the sort of thing that would make it turn brutal. I remember wishing I could spare him this pain but at the same time I knew I couldn't. I wouldn't even be able to share it with him.

And now... Now it's two years later and I still can't do anything to help. As the person most active in the search effort and the one who finally made the discovery, I've had to spend an entire morning reliving my own horrible memories so that a group of complete strangers will understand what happened that day. Ever the professional, I left out my personal anguish and gave 'just the facts, ma'am'. Even the judge thanked me for my expert testimony. I wonder if he knows what kind of scar that it's going to leave.

I know they'll be out here any minute, telling me it's time to go back inside. Despite the obligations of my job, I still refuse to carry a personal cell phone. I have one for work, of course, but I'm not on duty today. They'll have to come find me in person. In the meantime, I can stay out here a while longer and try to reclaim some of the peace that's been missing for the past two years.

I wonder if that monster realizes the true impact of what he's done. Never mind the lives he's destroyed - what has he robbed from the world? Nowadays girls have just as many opportunities as boys. Did he take away the person who finally finds 'The Cure'? The one who blesses the world with the voice of an angel? The one who would lead us to true world peace? Who did he deprive us of?

For myself, he's deprived me of the chance at rekindling an invaluable friendship. Before, the possibility always existed that either one of us would pick up the phone and take the necessary step to put us back on the right track - a little older, a little wiser, but still best friends. For my friend, he's stolen life just as surely as if he'd stabbed him in the heart. I saw it myself.

It didn't matter that we were hundreds of miles apart. I knew that I had to be the one who told him she'd been found. Not some sheriff or fire chief. It had to be me. And when he opened the door, I could see the last spark of life leave his eyes. Without saying a word, I told him she'd never be coming home again.

Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't have been kinder to spare him this part, too. He could've given a sworn statement to a judge where he lived and never had to go through all of this. That's not what they did, however. They sent him a subpoena and flew him down here like he was a mere witness in a liquor store hold-up.

In a way, I almost wish this trial wouldn't end. I'm afraid of what will happen to him once it's over. It's like this is the only thing keeping him going. His marriage finally fell apart last year and she was his only child - and since his injury several months ago, he can't even go back to work. From the few times I've seen him since the trial started, I can tell he's only hanging on by a thread.

Apparently my moment of solitude is over. I can see one of them heading my way now. Perhaps when this is all over I can take him aside and talk him into coming home with me. I used to be able to, years ago. I hope my powers of persuasion haven't gotten rusty. His life may depend on them.