Prologue:

NICK

Obsession. It’s a funny word. It just has so many meanings. Some fans are obsessed on a conventional level, some on a more unbalanced level, but others–and there a only a few of these–on a personal level.

What I mean is simple. A normal obsession would be a fan going to concerts, buying merchandise, and trying to meet us. A fan with a couple of more screws loose might sneak into a dressing room or hotel; attack bodyguards or rip A.J.’s earring out.

But then there are the fans who get personal. There are levels in that too. The first level would be innocent stalking. The next– violent stalking. I would guess the next up is kidnaping Brian’s dogs. But way up above that--in it’s own little world–is kidnaping the actual celebrity. And yet, still above that, is wanting to preserve that celebrity in an unhealthy way. That includes stalking said celebrities and their friends and family and kidnaping said celebrity. It also includes just about anything from video tapes to blood.

As I said–Obsession. It’s a funny word. To some who have been on the receiving end of it, they might say it’s a form of mental illness.

I would have to concur. Obsession is scary. Obsession is demented.

It can even be fatal.

I really tried to get this one out for you guys. It's short I know. I'm really sorry! Still love me?

I'm trying to figure out photoshop so I can make a nifty banner type thing.

Just as a warning, it's final week(s). My last class is next Tuesday, so just hang in there, aight hooligans?!

Nothing but love!

Carpe Diem!

First Chapter Invitation Narrated by Nick

I don’t remember much of how I got there. In fact the last thing I remember was retrieving the frisbee my dad threw.

It was a good toss too. My step-mom had just broken her finger so catching it was out of the question. The throw was meant for me anyway. It sailed off into the woods, nothing but an orange blur surrounded by green.

“I got it dad, don’t you worry! I know you old people can’t move right anymore!”

It bothered me that the last thing I may ever have said to my father was an insult. Albeit a joke, it was still an insult.

But whatever, Kevin always taught me never to regret.

My dad has a good arm though, don’t get me wrong, and I had to trek halfway into the woods to find that damn thing. I couldn’t even tell you how long we had that frisbee. Leslie had stolen it from her elementary school in like the fourth grade. It was this ugly 1980's orange and it glowed in the dark. One time there was a bulldog on the front in black, but that wore off somewhere after the Millennium album.

I was thinking of something snarky to say to my father when I returned to the field and in the back of my mind was some bizarre thought of using a machete to cut through the trees.

“There you are!” I remember saying. I reached down to pick up the frisbee but something struck me in the head. I wavered for a moment before I hit the ground.

I remember rolling onto my back and touching my head where I had been hit. And I remember seeing a figure dressed in camouflage.

That’s about it.

When I woke I was in a room. A cellar really, the walls were of grey concrete and I lay on a cot, a heavy blanket was covering me. As I sat up I noticed that my feet were bare, but I still had on my jeans and the white T-shirt I put that morning. Next to the cot was a makeshift night table and there were pictures on it. Further inspection of said pictures proved almost antagonizing.

They were personal pictures. One showed me and my father with our arms around each other. We’re smiling into the sun, my dad wearing his favorite out of style Rayban sunglasses. The next was of my siblings and I. We were situated outside sitting on a blanket, I recognized it as the local park where we used to have picnics in the summer. Aaron was holding a half eaten sandwich and B.J. and I were both holding sodas. Next to that a larger picture sat in a sandalwood frame. It was one that hung in my livingroom above the leopard print couch A.J. got me as a gag gift when I first moved there. It became his seat. No one else dared to sit there but my cat. The picture was of A.J. and I. Kevin’s living room is evident behind us and we're forever trapped in that moment, goofy smiles and all. There was also a picture of Brian and I at his wedding in the gold frame that sat in my office and one of all five us I remember Andre taking while we were in Japan last year. That frame was homemade with sticky glue fingerprints and messy sequin and blue cotton balls. Baylee made it and the picture with its frame used to sit on Brian's counter top.

The last was the most disturbing. It was me in my bedroom playing my guitar and singing. I’m dressed pajama pants and a wife beater and it was obviously late at night. I didn’t know how my kidnaper got this picture. I only sang like that when no one was around. It sent chills down my back.

Adjacent to this room was a kitchen. Or a wannabe kitchen. Whichever you would prefer calling it. An old card table, an old microwave, and a sink in need of CLR. The walls were at least painted in here, though only white, it was better than ‘Ha-ha-ha, you’re-trapped-here-grey!’.

The bathroom surprised me the most. It was actually finished with blue and yellow ‘happy’ walls. Everything was new–the tub, the sink, the toilet. On the walls were pictures of the ocean.

And one of Brian in the ocean during the Incomplete video.

I turned quickly and left it behind me.

The room I had first found myself in also contained a shelf with a television set and a VCR. Though no matter how long I held the power button down, it would not turn on.

It was then I noticed the King Kullen shopping bag sitting on the floor next to the bed. Inside was a ziplock bag colored black. When I opened it I couldn’t help the sob that ran from my throat or the loss of breath I fought to get back.

Pulling the article from the bag I held it up to my face and breathed in. It still smelled like he did.

I smoothed it out on the bed and just ran my fingers over it.

It was A.J.’s blankie he lost when he was fifteen.

I need to explain how these chapters work. The majority of the story is in third person omniscient. However, there will be chapter invitation and chapter farewells that will be in a first person point of view. It won't be for every chapter though. They will be labeled as such however, I'm not looking to confuse anyone.

This chapter is dedicated to Sam who hinted she wanted a new chapter in a review for another one of my stories. :P

Carpe Diem!

–

It was unfathomable to Bob that one moment he had his son and the next he was gone. Even three days later–long after the detectives finished their search of the wooded perimeter and long after his family gave up hope that Nicky had just gotten lost–Bob was still baffled.

He walked the circumference of the park in a false hope that his baby would be returned to him; he searched for clues that the detectives might have missed; he searched for signs that Nicky was near.

He searched to keep his mind busy.

The flashlight bounced off the trees and ground furiously. Every step taken was, in Bob’s mind, another silent prayer to God that his son would be returned to him. There was a small marked off area where the frisbee had been found, yellow tape squaring it off. The beam of the flashlight momentarily lingered as he stared most uncomfortably at the area. Not a trace of blood nor a hair nor anything that could be linked to Nicky was found. A heavy rain the night before was still seeping into the ground and the winds had partially ripped the police tape.

Bob frowned. Kneeling to the ground he ignored the wet mud that dampened the knee of his jeans. His hand touched the spot where the frisbee had lain, although there was no trace of it. The light reflected off of the golden wedding band on Bob’s tanned fingers. He paused.

It took six months for Nicky to even call him back and another three before he agreed to meet his new step-mother. The divorce did not go over well for the eldest Carter child, it set Nick into such a depression they thought, at first, that they might have lost him. But the twenty-five year old found it incomprehensible to live a life without family. He let his walls down and met Ginger.

It was rather awkward at first, but Ginger wanted so to have Nick as her step-son. She was the one who made sure there were pictures of Nick in every room and she was the one who convinced Bob to let her paint the guest room green for Nicky. She stocked all his favorite foods and snacks and bought just about every movie he loved. It made Bob feel so good knowing his new wife didn’t just want Nick to like her for his sake, but because Ginger wanted a son, a friend.

Though awkward, they made it through those first couple of weeks together as a semi-happy family. As expected it took Nick some time to let his guard down and when he did he found a wonderful step-mother waiting.

Bob’s heart swelled for a moment as he thought of how mature his Nicky acted. And when Ginger fell on the patio and broke her finger Nicky was the one who drove her to the hospital. Nicky was the one who calmly called Bob at his work and informed him about the accident. He stayed by Ginger’s side until his father showed up and then stood back as not to get in the way.

But now he was gone. Kidnaped, the detectives said, though Bob was still in denial that someone would want to maliciously hurt one of his precious children.

The sun was rising over the California State Park, it created wispy lines of red, pink, and orange. Bob Carter had been in the woods since ten after three that morning.

Slowly picking himself up from off the ground Bob felt older than his forty-something-odd years.

Unbeknownst to him however, as he slowly walked away, his Nicky was less than a hundred yards from where Bob had been kneeling.

About seven miles from the park, pacing in his living room was Kevin. He had only received the news that Nick was missing at a quarter past eight that night. It unnerved him that no one found him important enough in Nick’s life to tell him right away.

Kevin had yet to tell the other boys though, as he had been instructed by Nick’s sister. She could not cope with telling all four of them herself.

How does one inform three people with whom Nicky was closest that he had simply vanished? These thoughts trampled through Kevin's mind as the earth brightened in the morning light.

On tiptoes Kristin padded down the steps and into the living room. She clicked on a light.

“Hunny?” Kevin paused when he heard his wife’s voice. He looked at her. “Kevin–Kevin I’m sure they’ll find him.” The thirty-three year old sighed and looked out the bay window that covered half the living room wall. A car went passed, casting a quick flash of light across Kevin’s features.

“I can feel him Kris...he’s alive. I’ve known him too long not to know.” Kristin stepped up to her husband and placed her hand on his arm looking sadly up at him. “He’s frightened Kris. He’s scared for his life...and there ain’t a damn thing I can do about it.”



Kevin organized the counter in what he thought the most plausible solution would be. The order, coffee–including decaffeinated for Brian who stopped drinking regular three years prior–a small container of orange juice, plain bagels, everything bagels, butter, cream cheese, and a twelve pack of glazed Krispy Kreme doughnuts sat perfectly placed in what Kevin thought his friends would go for first.

His plan was to tell the boys about Nick over breakfast and discuss exactly how they would handle the situation with the media. It was the last thing Kevin wanted to do, but it was, as Kristin put it earlier that morning, a necessary evil.

When they arrived, they were all smiles. Ignorant to the truths that lay before them. Kevin let them indulge in their ignorance for a small while before he sat them down.

Brian, half gulping his coffee, asked, “Where’s Nick?” His cousin paused from where he was buttering himself a bagel. He cautiously took a seat next to A.J. who was too busy shoving doughnuts into his mouth to notice the distressed look on his friend’s face. “Kevin?” Brian set his coffee onto the table. “What’s going on? Where’s Nicky? This is about him isn’t it? Where is he? Why is he not here? Kevin?”

He couldn’t face them; he had to turn away. He couldn’t face the looks on their faces when they heard what he had to say. “Nicky is gone. He was...kidnaped. I don’t...we don’t know for sure but he vanished sometime Thursday afternoon.”

“What?” Howie had lost his appetite. He pushed his bagel away. “Kidnaped? Where? How? Why?”

“California State Park. They–they don’t know how. Or why.”

A.J. swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. “What can we do?”

Kevin sighed, “The detectives told Mr. Carter to watch for any suspicious behavior from those surrounding him and to report any leery phone calls that might be received. He advised Mr. Carter to tell us to do the same.”

“That’s it?” A.J.’s brow furrowed. “That’s all we can do?”

“Until they can find further information regarding the case–yeah. That’s all we can do.”

“Bull shit!” A.J. stood. "I’ll look through that God damned park myself!”

“Aje...” Howie began quietly, “I’m sure that has been taken care of.” A.J., looking close to tears, turned a frustrated look toward Howie. He began to speak but stopped. Instead he fell, defeated, back into his chair.

“I feel like a sitting duck.” Brian placed his hand on A.J.’s shoulder.

“Yeah...I know what you mean.”

A.J. picked up his doughnut and began eating again, ignoring the worried looks that passed between his friends. One hand guided the food, but the other twisted at the bottom of his shirt.

He kept a cool demeanor on the outside–the mature, responsible Alex--but on the inside he was screaming.

Carpe Diem!

First Chapter Farewell Narrated by: Nick’s Kidnaper



I was the only one who saw A.J. twisting at his shirt. He thought no one saw. But I did. I always see. It’s foolish of anyone to doubt my abilities.

For the first couple of years after I paid that dumb maid to snag his blankie, I watched him twist his shirt the way he used to twist that blanket. I was disappointed when he stopped. He stopped because he became famous, and famous people don’t twist their shirts.

There are times when I like the famous Backstreet Boys better and there are times when I like the non-famous Backstreet Boys better. It’s not by much, I saw both sides.

Of course, it was easier then. That was before they kicked me out of their lives. Watching them everyday was simpler. They didn’t question me when I snapped pictures or took out the video cameras. Now I have to hide myself. I hate it.

I have four hidden cameras placed around the room in which I keep Nick. I loved his expression when he pulled the blankie from the bags I held it in for all those years. I did that to keep it fresh. I wanted it to smell like A.J..

I know what I’m doing.

What was better though, was watching Nick sleep. That blankie grasped in his arms like it was his salvation.

He hasn’t cried yet. I expected him to break sooner.

I guess I need to work a little harder. Breaking him makes my job so much easier.

Then maybe he’ll understand why I’m doing this. I won’t confront him yet. I’ll just drop the food off while he’s sleeping a little longer. I’ll know when to talk to him.

These things take time.

I know what I’m doing.

AC is back up! This morning the site would not allow updates. My story came up blank. But it's back now!

I'm so sorry guys. My computer is really disliking me. It erased this chapter six times from Word and then my internet went down. I hate technology!

CHAPTER TWO

If he stood on the moldy wicker chair–and on his tip toes at that!–Nick was able to reach a small crack of fresh air through the musty basement. It was from a window that had been filled in rather sloppily and he would stand there, his hamstrings hurting with the pressure he put on them, seemingly for hours just breathing in the crisp air. With his nose pressed against the crack and with tears streaming down his face he would inhale deep and slowly exhale. The crack was barely an inch wide and four inches long but it gave Nick something to hold onto.

Time moved slow for him. His entrapment was rolling into its second week and although he was fed and able to be washed Nick still felt dirty and violated. The sliver of air he breathed in from the crack was almost like a hot bath. It cleansed him, though he still felt that nauseated feeling you get when you feel so desecrated. He at least was on the verge of clean. It was the only thing keeping him going. That and the small blankie he clung to at all hours.

He felt like he was being watched.

The very thought made his skin crawl and he turned away from his beloved air and looked around the dimly lit room. The feeling was hard to shake and although he searched each hour of the day, he could never figure out exactly WHY he felt eyes upon him.

Turning back to the crack Nick breathed in deep. As he exhaled he could hear the distinct sound of a child laughing. With his eyes struggling for some visual connection he screamed.

"HELP! Please! Somebody help me!" The laughter paused and he saw two sneaker clad feet scamper by. "HEY! Hey! HELP ME! Please, I'm trapped!" But the child had run, afraid of the sounds he was hearing. Nick's pleading was in vain.




Her husband had refused to eat a nutritious meal for the last time. Ginger furiously chopped the vegetables and at the same time kept an eye on Bob. He was shriveling away, living on quick Seven-11 snacks and soda. She tossed the carrots into the pot beside her and picked up an onion. Bob had the new cast on every hour of the day. Switching back and fourth between Fox News, CNN, MSNBC and the local broadcasts in hopes some form of information on Nick's disappearance would be released. But each day it was the same. Some overdressed anchorman would say, "Still no news on the case of the Missing Backstreet Boy, Nickolas Carter. Missing since May fifth, police have found no leads..." And each night Bob's hope would falter even more.

Ginger placed the pot onto the stove and set the timer. She could hear the baby waking up from his nap.

"B.J., sweetie, can you get a new package of diapers from the basement?" Her step-daughter nodded her head, too sullen to express any words and retrieved the wholesale Pampers.

As she was making her way down the cellar steps B.J. recalled what her brother had last said to her. "I wanna be a child again Bubba," Nick had taken his jacket off and handed it to his sister. It was windy and she was cold. "I can't help it sometimes. Don't you ever feel like you just wanna be a kid again. Not knowing shit from shit?"

She pulled the diapers from the shelf and muttered to herself. "Yeah Nick, I don't wanna know shit from shit anymore."

The steps creaked as she returned upstairs and handed the Pampers to her step-mother. Outside the birds had gone elsewhere and the early spring bugs were noisily taking there place.

Stepping outside B.J. let the cool evening air blow her blonde hair around her face. She looked just like him, she knew that. The eternal bonds of siblings written on their faces long before they knew what conversation was. They were often mistaken for twins rather than Nick being the older brother. Across from where she stood was an antique mirror Angel had brought at a thrift shop. B.J. stared restlessly at her reflection hating that whatever glance she made she would see her brother in her face. She wondered where he was now–If he was alive at least–and if he was afraid. She wondered what he was thinking and if he missed her. The long strands of her hair flew around her with the wind and she grasped it, the soft locks caught in her hand. The porch was where Nick loved best to sit and B.J. could not help but think of him sitting there just a couple of weeks ago, his hair flying around just like hers was doing.

Closing her eyes Bobbie Jean Carter sent a silent message to her brother. “Nicky...hold on.” She thought she could feel his heart beat, steady and strong. “He’s alive I know it.” Sibling Bonds take more than a kidnapper to break.




He heard the door open. He had been waiting. Pretending to be asleep for nearly five hours. When his kidnapper was close enough to his bed that Nick was sure he’d get a look at him he jumped up and grabbed the man’s wrist. “I demand you let me go!” He had more planned to say but shock had quieted him. The kidnapper pulled from Nick’s grasp and backhanded him.

“You are never to touch me!” The tears sprang into Nick’s eyes quickly. Looking at the man he felt defeat wash over him. The plan was remember the kidnapper’s face so that if he escaped he would be able to track the man down. But instead of a face he saw a mask. A cheap plastic Bill Clinton mask one could easily pick up at a Party City or some other party store.

Nick cowered. Two weeks of entrapment had worn him down. He had lost a substantial amount of weight and most all the color had faded from his cheeks. His hair had dulled and his lips looked ghostly. He had turned as grey as the walls. The only color left were in his eyes. The blue still burned brightly and somehow he knew that the color was his hope. It was a fool’s hope, all he had left. But sometimes, as A.J. had once told him, a fool’s hope was the only kind of real hope. And life without hope just wasn’t worth living.

“I want you to understand something. You are never to lay a finger on me. I own you now. You are mine. Got it?” Nick’s eyes fell to the floor. “Look at me! I said look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Briefly a thought of defiance passed through Nick’s mind but the realist inside him told the young singer that going against this madman’s claim would most definitely meet him an untimely end.

Nick looked up. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“Just call me Padrone. Do you know what that means?” Nick shook his head. “No matter.” He handed Nick a text book from a box that had been set on the floor. Oggi in Italia “Learn something while you’re down here. It means today in Italy. A college level textbook. When you’re done with that I have other languages.” He kicked the box. “You’re supplies,” and left.

Further inspection saw that the box contain the usual food supplies–Water, bread, sandwich condiments, three Twinkies, a small tubbaware with breaded chicken cutlets, a thermos of milk, and a box of Cheerios.–but that week it also held a large drawing pad with pencils and colored pencils. A leather bound notebook with a pen attached was in addition to the box.

The first thing Nick did however, was look up Padrone in the Italian textbook. He was shocked but not surprised to find that it meant Master.

He tossed the textbook to the side and laid back on the bed. Picking up A.J.’s old blankie he pulled at the loose threads, lost in his thoughts. Why had Padrone chosen that name? Or better yet, was there a reason for the Bill Clinton mask?

Nick picked up the pencil and the drawing pad and started sketching a face. He was used to drawing cartoons rather than actual people but he just didn’t feel like creating funny veils of humans.

He didn’t know who he was sketching, he just let the pencil take the paper away. As he finished and realized whom he had drawn the leftover tears from when Padrone had entered the room began their long awaited dance down his cheeks. He had captured A.J.–no–Alex. He had set to paper the true insights to his friend. The ache that had been forming in his heart grew and Nick signed the drawing with his usual signature and titled it, in neat letters at the bottom, ‘Fool’s Hope.’

The light in his eyes dimmed. Even the precious blue was starting to fade.

A.J. was unable to sleep. He tossed and turned and by four in the morning both his fitted sheet and mattress pad had been torn from the mattress itself from his restlessness. The night was unusually cold for Malibu but keeping the windows closed was out of the question. He needed to feel the breeze on his skin in order to feel alive.

He lay on top of his blankets, unmoving and staring up at the ceiling. Slowly he counted to himself. “One...two...three...four...” His own tired effort to fall into sleep.

The night haunted him. During the day there were things to keep him occupied, or rather to keep his mind occupied, but at night there was nothing, nothing but the dull ache that lay within him, a slow pain that ate at his heart and taunted at his soul.

There are things in life that you never expect to happen to you or any of your loved ones. Lightning striking you is one of those things. Someone you love being kidnaped is another.



The clock read 8:07 when the phone rang, morning light swept through the curtains and spilled like milk across the floor. A.J.’s hands created a shadow as he reached for the cordless.

“Hello?” He adjusted the receiver on his face.

“Hi A.J..”

“Nicky?” A.J. sat straight up, sleep no longer an option, he knew that voice, had to!

“No, I wish...it’s Aaron.”

To say his heart dropped was an understatement, A.J. was simply crushed. “You sound just like him over the phone.”

“I know, sorry.” He heard Aaron sigh. “I’m sorry to call you, but my step-mom thinks it’ll be a good idea to have everyone over for dinner...see...dad isn’t doing too well and she thinks that maybe having everyone there might cheer him up.”

“Everyone won’t be there.” A.J. wiped a tear that was threatening to slip from his eye.

“I know. Nicky won’t be there. But it’s important for us to be strong and support each other too. So maybe she isn’t far from the right idea.” A.J. could hear Aaron shuffling about through the phone. A small sob escaped the young boy’s throat.

“Aaron? You okay?”

“I never told him I loved him.” Aaron who was still an innocent child in so many ways broke down, “he was my brother and always there and I never thought that I would lose him and I thought that if I needed to I could always tell him but I never did...I never told him. And now I may never see him again and he doesn’t know.”

“Hey..hey...it’s okay..” A.J.’s heart was breaking again, “he knows Aaron, I know he does. You don’t need to tell someone you love them for them to know.” But Aaron was still crying and A.J. knew that nothing he could say would help ease the pain save bringing his brother home. It also didn’t help that he felt the same way. He never told Nick how much he loved him either.




The china her stepmother picked out after the wedding was very pretty. Angel studied the butterfly design carefully as she set out the plates around the large dining room table. Bob had thought his wife insane when she insisted on buying so many plates but Ginger was big on family and told him pointedly: “everyone gets their own plate and you never know whom you’re going to have over for dinner or how many will come. I turn no one away.” They had yet to use more plates then there were Carter’s and it saddened Angel to think that this had to be the first occasion.

She always understood the importance of family, but unlike Ginger, Angel hadn’t grown up with the everyday Leave it to Beaver type setting. Her stepmother was lucky in that her family was more than a little normal. Angel had only a few sparse memories of her family ever being conventional.

“But then again, what is normal?” She thought to herself as she put down another plate. How she grew up was normal to her. Neither she nor her brothers and sisters knew of anything else really. The brief years before Nick was famous was so far in the past for all five Carter children that it was more like a nice bedtime story they remembered let alone how life used to be.

She placed another plate down and peered into the kitchen. B.J. and Leslie were helping their step-mom with the food; Ginger had opted to order out rather than cook for twelve.

The four remaining Backstreet Boys and both Kristin and Leighanne were due at the house in less than an hour.

Angel placed down the last plate and set out the forks, knives, and napkins. Counting the plates to make sure she had enough she saw that the number was wrong.

She had set out thirteen plates by accident. She had set a place for Nick.

With her head hanging low, Angel cleared that last place setting. Looking up she caught Aaron’s eyes. He knew what she had did and an understanding passed through them with use of their twin intuition. But they couldn’t hold each other’s gazes, so each looked away–Aaron to the wall and Angel to the china cabinet where she put Nick’s plate back.

Sadness settled onto the room like a dense fog.



“Here.” A video cassette tape was dropped into his lap. Ever since Nick caught Padrone off guard, the captor had given up on walking into the room only when his prisoner was asleep.

“What is this?” Nick’s voice was meek, he was afraid and Padrone knew that. In fact he played on Nick’s weaknesses, taking each and rolling them in his mind like dough or silly putty. Often he wouldn’t answer Nick’s questions; Padrone knew the young man had quite a vivid imagination and the less answers he gave meant the more Nick’s mind made up its own. In that way he broke the singer down also, by turning his own mind against him.

He grumbled, “never you mind,” and left, slamming and locking the door with a finality that shook Nick’s nerves and set a new stream of tears rolling down his cheeks.

Slowly Nick advanced to the small television, after so many days of it not working he had given up on it. However, Padrone was sneaky and Nick had a suspicion that the man had fixed the television, most likely when his captive was asleep.

Sure enough, when Nick pressed the power button, the screen came to life, though only with fuzz and lines that streamed across the set. Somehow that sight was sadly familiar to him. The picture was smashed together and without any sound, the exact way Nick’s life seemed to be lately.

It took a few tries but the tape finally pushed into the old VCR and with the press of the play button the lines and fuzz dissipated and what Nick saw instead broke him down even more.

Somehow Padrone had video taped his siblings outside on their father’s porch. And they were holding each other and crying. He heard Leslie’s voice over the sobs.

“God let us find him please...let us find our Nicky...”