The throbbing of his heart sounded loud to his ears, a constant reminder that time moved forward, that his life was passing by—second by second, heartbeat by heartbeat.

How much time had passed—was it a minute or an hour or was it more?

The harsh sound of his inhalations and exhalations were his only answer.

He refused to think, to dream, or to hope.

The pain had subsided until it was an undeviating undercurrent, a steady reminder of where he was and what had happened.

But he didn’t care.

He’d felt something break deep inside of him. He’d felt it snap like a twig caught underfoot in the autumn. That last shred of reason, that last link to humanity, had disappeared.

He was gone.

The bindings did not matter. Nor did the mask.

His body was numb, as was his mind.

He was already dead. It was only a matter of time before his body figured it out.

Wayne smiled to himself as he watched them scurry around, in and out of the rooms of his house. In and out. Out and in. They were forever in motion, their eyes constantly seeking something they would never find.

The woman, Samantha Carter, had flashed him a blank look as she walked by, her steps leading her outside to join her friend Daniel Jackson.

The bonds between these people were astonishing. Wayne could almost feel the cords binding them together.

Sam Carter’s voice drifted into the house on the wind. "Sheriff, can you come out here please?"

"Sure, Major," Lane replied, eyeing Wayne carefully. The large dark skinned man, whom Wayne did not know, was standing patiently to the side, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I will watch him Sheriff Lane," the man said, speaking carefully, precisely.

Lane nodded and walked out. The low murmur of Lane’s conversation on the porch provided the only background noise. The house was eerily silent.

The dark brown eyes regarded Wayne carefully, then turned aside. Wayne had been weighed in the balance and, according to the man’s indifferent response, had been found wanting.

Wayne didn’t care.

His time here was just about finished.

It was time to move on to another location, another life.

The man turned again, this time speaking directly to Wayne, his tone low, his voice serious and dangerous. "I would be within my rights if I were to tear you limb from limb."

"What’s stopping you?" Wayne asked, rising to the challenge.

The man’s eyebrow rose. "My desire to see you suffer for what you have done to O’Neill."

Wayne didn’t contradict him. "We are not so different after all, my friend," Wayne said, offering a savage smile.

The man’s face closed, his eyes narrowing with suppressed rage. "I am not your friend and we are very different. You enjoy what you do."

"Of course," Wayne said, stepping closer. This one would be just as much fun as O’Neill had been.

Sheriff Lane interrupted their conversation, entering the house with Daniel Jackson and Major Carter close behind. "Wayne Nichols, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of Colonel Jack O’Neill. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you understand?"

Wayne nodded. He’d expected as much. "Yes, I do."

"I’m going to take you downtown where you going to be processed," Lane said, stepping forward to grab Wayne’s arm.

"Can I put on something more suitable, Sheriff?" he asked, gesturing to his rumpled shirt and boxers.

Lane nodded and indicated that he would follow him into the bedroom. "Very well."

Wayne dressed quickly as Sheriff Lane stood silently in the door, watching his every move.

Wayne was pleased. Everything was as it should be.

O’Neill’s body would never be found.

Daniel watched as Lane walked with Wayne into the bedroom, standing guard as Wayne pulled on some more appropriate clothing.

Daniel was dumbfounded. Where was Jack? What had he done with him?

As Wayne and Sheriff Lane walked by, Daniel stepped closer. He had to know. "Where is he? What have you done with him?"

"You should have kept a better eye on your friend, Doctor Jackson. He just attracts trouble," Wayne said, his voice low and intimate.

Daniel nearly throttled him on the spot. "Where is he?" Daniel growled.

Wayne shrugged in ignorance, but in his eyes, Daniel saw the truth. Wayne knew where Jack was. He knew how to find him. He knew how to save him.

Before Daniel could utter another word, Sheriff Lane led him away, into the sedan, sitting him calmly in the rear seat.

As the car drove off, silence fell over the three of them, a heavy suffocating silence.

Daniel was the first to turn away.

"Daniel, we’ll find him, Sam said, her voice determined and kind at the same time.

"He could be anywhere, Sam," Daniel whined. "How large is this property?"

"Several acres, Daniel Jackson," Teal’c replied.

"We have to start somewhere, Daniel," Sam said, stepping closer, her outstretched hand falling to her side, never touching Daniel’s shoulder.

"I’m going to look around here again," Daniel said, his voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

"Daniel," Sam started, but Teal’c interrupted.

"We will begin our search outside, Daniel Jackson. Join us if you are unsuccessful."

The soft sounds of their footfalls faded, leaving Daniel alone.

Daniel’s feet led him through the house, taking in everything from the dust-free shelves to the books lined up precisely. The kitchen cabinets were perfectly arranged down to the smallest detail. Even the handles on the mugs all perfectly aligned.

Everything was in its place.

There was something not right, though.

There was something out of place.

Standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, Daniel glanced around, looking carefully at each and every item. Maybe something would give him the answer he wanted. The answer he so desperately needed.

He hesitated.

Was he going crazy?

Was he seeing something just because he wanted it to be there?

Daniel raced outside looking frantically for one of his teammates. He spotted Sam near the clearing leading to the lake. "Sam!" Daniel shouted, his voice carrying easily across the yard.

She turned, her blonde hair catching the sun’s rays perfectly.

"Can you come here?" Daniel yelled, gesturing for her to follow him into the house.

Standing at the door to the bedroom, his hands on his hips, he waited for Sam to arrive. He didn’t have to wait long. Glancing back when he heard her footfalls on the hardwood floor, he noticed Teal’c had also returned.

"There’s something wrong with this room," Daniel said, his tone matter-of-fact.

"I do not see something amiss, Daniel Jackson," Teal’c said, his voice patient.

"Daniel, what is it?" Sam asked, shaking her head in frustration. "What do you see?"

"Look at everything. Look at how everything is so carefully placed. Why are his shoes not on the shoe rack in the closet?"

"Daniel!" Sam exclaimed, surprise and confusion filtering across her features. "Shoes?"

"He is correct, Major Carter," Teal’c said, stepping into the room and moving to the closet. He knelt down, his eyes carefully examining the panels. "The shoes are out of place. As are the clothes."

Teal’c stood, his arms pushing the clothes to the side, his hands moving along the rear wall of the closet. He grunted in gratification and a soft click could be heard across the room as a door swung open.

There was a door in the back of the closet.

"Holy Hanna," Sam whispered, her voice nearly failing her.

Daniel moved forward quickly, sweeping past Sam and Teal’c, pausing at the opening, the darkness below absolute. He reached along the wall, his fingers searching for the light switch he knew had to be there. A few seconds later and he was rewarded when he felt the switch and flipped it on. The light illuminated a long set of stairs descending beneath the house.

This was not on the plans filed with the Records Office.

Daniel descended quickly, the damp and musty basement air coming up to met him. Wordlessly, they spread out, checking the rooms, but again, there was no sign of Jack.

There was nothing here other than an unfinished basement used for storage. There were old cabinets, old mattresses, and a variety of other odds and ends that Wayne had obviously wanted to keep. Daniel was sure that it wasn’t for sentimental value. Wayne had no positive emotions—at least as far as Daniel was concerned.

Daniel could have sobbed in disappointment.

He’d been so certain.

He looked up into the crestfallen faces of his friends, seeing his own reflection in their faces.

"Come on, Daniel," Sam said, gesturing him to follow her back up the stairs. "Let’s get some fresh air. Maybe then we can figure out something. I want to take a look at his computer and his desk files. Are you coming?"

Daniel shook his head. "You go on up, Sam. I’m going to think for a little bit. I just need some peace and quiet."

"Are you sure, Daniel?" Sam asked, her voice kind.

"Yeah," he said, finally meeting her eyes.

Sam nodded and started up the stairs. Teal’c hesitated, and Daniel could see that he was torn. He wanted to stay with Daniel, but he also understood his need for solitude. Daniel figured he’d let Teal’c off the hook.

"Go ahead, Teal’c," Daniel said, his eyes drifting to Sam’s retreating figure. "I’ll be up in a little bit."

"Very well, Daniel Jackson," Teal’c replied, inclining his head regally to Daniel before following Sam up the stairs.

He just needed time to think. He needed time to think like a madman. Like Wayne.

Daniel sat on the stairs, his head resting in his hands, his mind constantly in motion, going over and over everything that had happened.

His eyes wandered around the basement, finally coming to rest on the metal bench in the corner.

Part of an idea came into his mind. It was only a suggestion, the barest sliver of an idea, but it was something. Rising to his feet, Daniel moved steadily to the metal bench, pulling it over to the bottom riser of the stair.

This basement had a drop ceiling—the ceiling tiles hanging several inches below the floor above, a space between the two.

Why?

Normally in unfinished basements, there was no need for a special ceiling. What was Wayne concealing?

Standing on the bench, Daniel pushed the ceiling tile up with his fingertips, moving it to the side so he could see into the space between the ceiling tile and the floor above.

There were wires. Tons and tons of wires.

Many of them, high tech cables.

Where did they go?

Squinting in the dimness, Daniel tried to follow one with his eyes, but he found that he couldn’t follow it for long. He quickly scampered down off of the bench, and moved it several steps forward, pushing another ceiling tile away allowing him to see, so he could follow the cable.

Again and again he repeated the motion until the cord vanished into the wall—on the opposite side of the house. If he was right, this cable went right outside through the foundation.

That was just not possible.

Jumping off of the bench, he pushed it aside, and began to examine the wall before him. It looked just like the rest of the walls.

Something had to be different.

He knocked on the wall and a hollow sound rang in his ears. Basement walls were not usually hollow.

Digging frantically at the obvious seams, his fingers reaping abuse, Daniel ignored the pain. Shoving his shoulder against the wall, it gave a little and then moved back an inch. He glanced carefully into the gap and then gave the panel a shove to the side. It slid easily, until it was tucked away behind another section of the basement wall—leaving Daniel standing in front of a metal door.

Correction: a large locked metal door.

When pulling and pushing at the handle didn’t get it to budge, Daniel stepped back, his breath coming in harsh pants.

He had to get through that door.

His eyes fell on the cabinet standing next to the door—the cabinet that at first glance had been filled with odds and ends.

Yanking open the doors, his eyes ravaged the inside shelves, finally coming to rest on a single key ring, hanging from a small hook on the side.

Grabbing it, he ran back to the door, his hands trembling, trying to find the key that would fit the lock.

The third key fit.

The smell of damp leather struck him squarely in the face as the door opened before him.

Flicking on the light, his eyes fell on the single form in the room—hanging completely still from the ceiling, a mass of bruises and burns, restrained and bound in an obscene mass of leather and flesh.

Jack.

"Oh my God," Daniel whispered, his heart dropping to the floor. The need to vomit returned suddenly, but he pushed it down. "Jack, what did he do to you?"

He finally found his feet and was next to his friend, touching his cold flesh through the leather straps, trying desperately to find a way to get him down.

"Jack," Daniel said, his voice nearly breaking at the sight of his friend so helpless. "Jack, it’s Daniel. I’m here. Oh God, Jack, we’ve finally found you."

Torn between wanting to stay at his friend’s side and needing help to get him free, Daniel was frozen. "Jack, I’ll be right back. I’m not going anywhere. I just have to get Teal’c."

Daniel ran to the bottom of the basement stairs and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"Teal’c!"