"Kitchen."

The word was written in bold, black capital letters on the side of the cardboard box, traced by a Sharpie marker. Sealed in packing tape, the box was carried across the living room to sit in a stack with its brothers. The house was a stark contrast to what it had been only a few short weeks ago. Once a place of life and family, it was now soulless. Room upon room of four stark white walls, neutral carpet, cardboard boxes and the random bits of disassembled furniture that were too large to fit inside a smaller container.

The man that had not just carried the box, but also packed it and wrote the concise description on it, walked around the house. He surveyed each room with a face of forced emotionlessness. It was something that came easy to him, too easy he had thought at times. He hadn't seen this coming, not by a long shot. Still, he had to appreciate the way in which seemingly small and unrelated events could affect his life so drastically.

His ears picked up a sound. It was the crunching of the white gravel driveway that led up to his house. By the volume and timbre of the sound, he identified the source as a pickup truck, heavy duty, dualie wheels. Without even needing to look out the window, he followed the aural signature, tracing its way around the twisting driveway until it stopped just a few feet in front of the front porch.

In his head, he counted back from five.

four...three....two...one...

The pickup made two quick honks just before the engine turned off and the door slammed. The man stood behind the front door. He listened to the stacatto thumps of the boots that mounted his front porch and approached the screen door. He recognized the sound the boots made, they were police issue. The person wearing them walked with slow deliberation, as though he was reluctant to get to the door.

The man decided to save him the trouble. He clicked open the latch on the door and let it swing in, plastering a tired but genuine smile on his face. "Hi Floyd" he said, even before seeing his visitor. He didn't need to see him, he had identified him almost from the first rock that popped out from under his truck's wide wheel base.

Sergeant Floyd Richter smiled broadly as he opened the screen door, still in his Los Angeles Police Department uniform from the night before. The old cop's smile seemed to make his old, weathered face shatter. Cracks and crow's feet, the result of a lifetime underneath the California sun, split and criss-crossed his face. There was something underneath that smile, a need for answers.

"I've missed you, Tony." Floyd said. "I wish you would have returned my calls. I've been worried about you, especially after..." He trailed off, leaving that last sentence unspoken.

Tony Gavilan stood aside to let his old friend inside the house. "Well, don't just stand out here. Come on in, let me get you something to drink. You came all the way out here."

Floyd walked inside, his easy smile turned into a frown as he looked at the state of the house. "Where's Lisa and Lauren?" he asked.

"Gone" Tony said, walking into the kitchen to get his friend a beer out of the fridge.

"What do you mean gone?" Floyd asked.

"Gone" Tony said. "The adjective use of the word. Meaning not here, departed, away, flew the coop, got the fuck out of Dodge..."

"Tony!" Floyd said. "In the words of your daughter, take a chill pill.I don't know what is going on, you haven't been returning my calls. All I know is that we talked on the phone on a Thursday night and everything was fine. The next morning I find out that your daughter had been kidnapped, your partner was dead, and lieutenant Trellis is under arrest, and you are retired. Plus, the case is sealed and everyone that knows anything about it is being tight-lipped. Is there any chance you want to tell me what in the flying fuck is going on around here?"

Tony stood staring into the refrigerator. He had his hand on a bottle of Miller Genuine Draft, but the reason he had even opened the refrigerator to begin with had momentarily escaped him. "It doesn't matter." he said quietly. "I'm out of it."

Floyd came around the corner into the kitchen, studying him for a moment. "You are a cop. Cops don't retire at thirty-seven years old. I want to know what really is going on, and I'm not leaving until I do."

Tony closed the refrigerator, handing the bottle of beer over to his friend. It was true, he was a cop. Even retired, he was still a cop. Everyone has a label with which they identify themselves. They say "I'm a teacher" or "I'm a Christian" or "I'm a drug addict".

Tony Gavilan was a cop. It was who he was, and walking away from it would not change that fact in the slightest. Moreover, he knew it. The thought had not gone unanalyzed by him that had he changed that label to "I'm a husband" or "I'm a father", then he would probably not be preparing to move out of his house at that moment, divorce papers sitting in the passenger seat of the Beemer in the driveway.

He looked up at his friend, who was obviously not going anywhere, and Tony didn't ned his mythical "cop-sense" to know that. he didn't know exactly where to start, but the beginning was probably the best place.

"What do you know about synesthesia?" Tony asked.

Floyd's face clouded over with a fleeting mask of confusion. "I don't even know what the hell that means."

"Synesthesia" Tony repeated. "It's a neurological condition where brain pathways get inadvertantly crossed. There's a lot of different ways it manifests, but in the case of my daughter, it is numbers and colors. When you tell her a number, she automatically attaches a color to it. You tell lauren... let's say the number four, and she thinks of the color red, or something to that effect."

Floyd shook his head. "Tony, I don't understand what that has to do with..."

"Everything." Tony said, cutting him off. "It has everything to do with what happened, because that's how it all started."

Floyd said nothing, not even bothering to open the bottle of beer.

"What I'm about to tell you goes no further than you." Tony said. "You have to promise me that if you want me to tell you the whole story."

Floyd nodded gravely. "Okay. Whatever you say, Tony."

Tony sighed and nodded, leading him to the living room. "Lets go get comfortable then, this will take a while."