When Michaela awoke, her head ached. The skin around her mouth and nose felt chapped and irritated. Nausea battled with the cottony taste in her mouth. She tried to move and felt woozy. After allowing herself a minute or so to regain her balance, she tried again and moved herself into a sitting position. Her memory slowly returned. She remembered the hand over her mouth, the awful smell, and someone grabbing her.

She got up in frighteningly, unfamiliar surroundings and found the bathroom after bravely trying a few doors at random, her symptoms temporarily overpowering her need to figure out her location. Sprinkling water on her face helped a lot, and she found some Tylenol. She hesitated as she habitually would first ask an adult, but then decided to carry two pills with her back into the living room, hoping to find something to help her swallow them. Her arm hurt a bit, and she rubbed it on the way. She felt a lump and examined it once she reached the living room. She saw something under her skin. It bulged a little like a bug bite, but it hurt a lot more than a bite.

The alien apartment unnerved her, smelling of ammonia. At the window she couldn't see the ground directly below because of the trees in the way. The skyline belonged to New York. Scanning around, she saw no telephone. She tiptoed from room to room, but she found no one in the apartment.

The doorknob on the front door wouldn't move, remaining frozen when she tried it. A small frosted plastic pad sat next to it, about the size of her thumb. She tried placing her thumb on the pad but nothing happened. Not sure what else she could do, she walked into the propane-scented kitchen.

She found the refrigerator packed with food. She saw sodas on the top shelf, and she opened one and washed down the two pills. It took a few minutes, but she started to feel like herself again. The fridge contained a variety of meats, two crisper drawers filled with vegetables, various condiments, some fruit, butter, milk, and a full freezer too, including (yum!) some vanilla ice cream. She pulled out some deli-sliced ham, Swiss cheese, a loaf of bread, and a small jar of mayonnaise. It took little time to go through the mostly empty cupboards to find a plate, a dinner knife to make the sandwich, and a cutting board, but she eventually found them. She also found some salsa and chips, which looked delicious. She made herself a meal and carried the food into the main room. It took her about a minute to devour the sandwich, and she dove into the salsa and chips immediately afterward as she pondered her situation.

What am I doing here, and what am I going to do? She now remembered the unknown man walking across the lawn who met Mr. Donahue. At that time, it reminded her of an Agatha Christie novel, but it frightened her to fall into one. What can I do?

She explored the apartment more carefully. She found one normal bedroom with some man's clothes in the closet and drawers. The other shared duty as a storage and hobby room. The owner enjoyed an electronics-based hobby of some kind. Wires and computer cards and other kinds of circuits lay strewn around a large table. Opening a closet door revealed more electronic equipment. In the middle of the closet she found an old laptop computer. She pulled it out, plugged it in, and it booted successfully. It refused to connect to the Internet, however.

How could she get on-line? If she could manage to find a way to connect, she could send a message to someone asking for help. Nothing useful jumped out of the pile of discarded electronic components. She returned to the living room and found a TV. Turning it on, she discovered that it had cable access. Tracing the wires behind the TV, she found the cable wire. Now if she could only find a cable modem!

She went back into the electronics bedroom to dig around. Going through drawers and boxes, the amount of junk amazed her! Then she saw a long, low box sticking out from under the bed. Pulling it out, she carefully inspected every piece, and finally the miracle happened. It contained an old cable modem with a power supply. She searched frantically for an RJ-45 cable, found one, and grabbing the cable modem, took them into the living room. She returned to the bedroom to retrieve the laptop and power supply, brought them into the living room as well, plugging them into the wall next to the TV. Then she connected everything. Opening a browser window, she tried visiting Woohoo search. It worked! The 'net appeared on her screen.

A quick glance through the list of programs installed on the laptop revealed no communication programs. So she visited talkscape.com and downloaded their user client. After installing it, she logged on using her ID and password as she tried to remember Lizzie's talkscape name. It took her a moment to remember, but she finally got it. She asked talkscape to search for it. Bingo! Unfortunately it showed Lizzie not currently logged in. That's okay, Michaela‘s breathing started to become short and rapid. I'll just text a message to her. Let's see, what should I write?

She shook nervously, and it took her awhile to compose her message. After a number of backspaces and deletes, she finally wrote, “Lizzie! I've been kidnapped. I found a laptop and rigged an Internet connection. I'm in an apartment in a tall building in Manhattan. I can't get out, and there is no telephone. I'm all alone, and I'm scared. Please help! Michaela.”

She addressed it to Lizzie's cell phone and sent the message. In a matter of minutes that seemed like hours, a message came back to her. It said, “Michaela. Message received. Are you hurt? Don't worry, we'll find you. Look outside the apartment. Do you recognize any of the buildings? Lizzie.”

Michaela ran to the window and checked out her nearby surroundings. She thought she recognized the south end of Manhattan. She ran back to the laptop and typed, “I'm okay. I think I'm near Dad's bank.”

A minute passed, and then another message came back to her. “Why can't you leave?”

She typed back, “The doorknob won't open. There's a pad for your finger, but it doesn't work. I'm really scared. You gotta help me!”

After another moment, another message came back to her. “Michaela, this is your father. Lizzie just told me. We're figuring out how to get to you.”

Michaela typed back frantically, “Dad! Help me!”

Struggling between wanting desperately to help her and simultaneously wanting to maintain his habitual reserve, Justin responded a moment later, “I am coming, sweetheart. Keep this channel open. Do not worry if you do not see any messages from us right away. We are coming; count on it! Lizzie says to see if you can find a microphone or a headset to plug into the laptop in the meantime.”

Michaela immediately tore off to the spare bedroom and started digging around some more.

Meanwhile, Justin and Lizzie talked about this latest new development. “It certainly sounds like the kind of setup Roone would use. He probably has an apartment near the bank, but I do not know where,” said Justin.

“Call your attorney again,” Lizzie suggested. “He can find it a lot quicker than we can.”

While Justin made the call, Lizzie thought about the locked apartment door. How could they get past it? Charles interrupted to announce that a visitor from the FBI had arrived.