It was around three in the morning, on February 3rd 2012 when I got the call. The call that changed my life forever. “Kayla Hammonds calling,” as it displayed through the only source of light in my pitch-black bedroom.  A muffled, dark, and mischievous voice spoke as I answered the phone. “Hello Jim. I have her. Don’t even try to find us.” So many thoughts were running through my mind. Why is my ex- girlfriend kidnapped?  Why did he call me?  What do I do first?” I had a semester exam that next morning that I just had to skip. This was way too important to me. I still loved her.
       At the time, I haven’t seen or spoken to Kayla for three months. She broke up with me due to “personal problems” and needed “time alone”.  Then she got kidnapped…
       After the alarming call, I got in my Volkswagen Passat, and drove as fast as I could. Within seven minutes, I was at Kayla’s apartment to find clues. Her bed was slept in, a window was broken, and glass was everywhere. My anxiety started to kick in and I was sweating bullets. My heart was beating out of my chest. The walls felt like they were closing in and gotten darker.  I saw she still had the picture of us at Harvard Law for orientation hanging up. It made me feel slightly better, but even more worried at the same time.  There were muddy foot prints leading from her room to the front door and out into the hall. They looked around a size eleven or eleven and a half. Feeling like I hit a dead end, I headed to the nearest police station. They didn’t do much. The policeman claimed he would put an article on the local news website, and call for a breaking news on television, but they didn’t.  I had to call Kayla’s parents. Although it was now five in the morning, this couldn’t wait. But they did not answer.
      I went back to my dorm on campus, feeling drowsy and tired. I passed out and unexpectedly slept for hours. I had vivid dreams of the terrible and horrifying things the man could be doing to Kayla. I continue to still have these dreams today, and it scarred me. In the dreams, the man was always masked, tall, built, wearing all black, and breathed very heavily. He would not say a word in any dream. He would just kill her, but in a different way every time. With the waste of ten hours of sleep, I finally rose and got back onto my search by three in the afternoon. I tried to brainstorm ideas of what to do. Would a kidnapper take her to another state? Another country?
      Days and weeks started to pass and I haven’t gotten anywhere. Kayla’s family sent out a search party. No signs of Kayla yet though. No one knew if she was dead or alive.  I missed her so much and I needed to go find her as soon as possible. My father, who is a part of the mafia, or some of his mafia friends could search for her to. I called my dad and filled him in on everything and he told me he would do everything he could to help find her. This was the last time I spoke to my father.
I wasn’t going to my classes for 3 weeks. I was failing but to find her. It was worth it. I went to my parents’ house because I got kicked out of the dorms for not showing up to class. I tried to explain but they didn’t listen. As I walked aimlessly into my parents’ house, I thought of all the times Kayla used to come over when we were in high school. I missed her so much. I would keep thinking to myself, I will find her, I will find her.
       Hours past, through dinner with my parents and I was about to go to sleep. In the room, I used to sleep in until I was eighteen. My father comes in my room and says creepily, “Don’t come downstairs Jim until tomorrow morning.” Even though I’m 25, I still love to rebel against my parents. I wait a little to go downstairs and I could hear voice from our basement. I slowly opened the door and walked down the wooden creeking stairs, trying not to make noise. The voice becomes more audible and I feel as if I recognize it. When I turn the corner into the actual basement I see the same dark, tall, masked, buff figure as in my dreams. I gaze over and see Kayla, behind him strapped down to a chair. Screaming and begging for her life. The masked figure then takes off his disguise. He had her. My father was the kidnapper.