[Damn, this is slow going. Sorry...]

From the kitchen to the upstairs took Joe all of seven seconds. He heard the nasty laughter as soon as he'd rounded the corner and hit the stairs, and it led him right to the master bedroom.

He gave a strangled little cry as he stopped in the doorway. Chris was sprawled out on the floor next to the bed, his head against the nightstand. He looked dazed, his eyes a little unfocused. The lamp that stood on the nightstand was wobbling, throwing odd flashes of light around the room.

Standing almost in the doorway was a man Joe didn't recognize, though he could only see his back. He was a little shorter than Joe, wearing a baseball hat and a faded blue work shirt. Bits of straight black hair stuck out from around the edges of the hat, and the skin Joe could see was a dark tan. His left arm was outstretched, palm open and pointing at Chris.

His right arm was cradled around a smaller form, the small head of black hair barely showing around the man. Toby. The man's posture was familiar. He couldn't see it, but Joe was sure he was holding a knife near Toby's throat.

Joe froze. He wasn't sure what to do. The charge up the stairs hadn't been planned, he'd just done it. And while he might have had a gun, the guy had a knife far too close to Toby to be safe. Fear had the upper hand, and Joe just didn't think he could shoot a man from behind.

That didn't stop him from raising the gun and pointing it at the man.

"Drop the knife," Joe said, in as deep a voice as he could muster. He hoped the quaver he felt didn't come out in his voice.

His voice brought Chris out of his daze. When he'd hit his head the distraction had let the fog rush in for a moment. His eyes widened as he saw Joe in the doorway to the bedroom, Chris' service pistol in his hand, pointed straight at the head of the man holding Toby.

Joe was a strange sight, standing there. The grey silk lining of his jacket shimmered, broken by seams and pockets. His left arm was half hidden under the coat, which was falling off Joe's shoulder a little, exposing the straps of the sling. Joe's face was pale with fear. The contrast with his bright red hair and the dark jacket made him look ashen.

Chris was terrified that the maniac would hurt Toby. He was between Chris and Joe, a tenuous position at best. Toby was leverage, and Joe wasn't nearly a good enough shot to end the standoff safely. Even if he was, Chris wasn't sure he wanted Toby to have to deal with that, have the brains of the man holding him prisoner splattered all over him.

The strange thing was that the man didn't react, like he hadn't heard Joe. He didn't turn until he saw Chris look behind him, and even then it was only a glance.

"You keep trying that trick, Detective. It won't work."

Chris struggled to keep his voice calm. "Can't blame me for trying," he said.

"Oh, but I can. I can," he replied, his grin wide and feral.

Joe was puzzled. He'd been loud enough that there was no way he hadn't been heard. The man clearly had heard Chris, so he wasn't deaf. And while he hadn't looked directly at Joe, there wasn't any way he could have missed seeing him in the doorway. That just didn't make any sense.

He worried that it might be a trick, some way of luring him closer so he could attack. That appealed, in its own way. Joe knew what was going on, and was in a position to react in a way that Toby wasn't. He'd been stabbed once, and while it hurt like hell, he knew he'd survive. Chris could use the distraction to get Toby safe. Joe started edging around to the man's right, the gun wobbling but never losing its target.

"You won't make it out of here," Chris said, defiance in his voice. He was just as puzzled as Joe was, over his 'grandfather's' apparent blindness to Joe.

"I think I will, grandson," he said. "I think I will, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

'Grandson?' Joe mouthed. Chris shrugged and started to stand.

"No, I think I like you down there," the man snapped. Chris sat back down, his legs bent and to his right. It was an uncomfortable position, but the best he could manage. It there was an opening he'd be able to move fast enough to grab Toby. There was something wedged between him and the nightstand, something fuzzy. He pulled it out. Snuffles.

Holding the bear seemed to push the fog away, letting Chris' head clear.