Father Knows Best...or Does He? (COMPLETE)

Can You Hear Me Running...Can You Hear Me Calling You...

Paul angrily slammed the phone down in its cradle, a combination of rage and sadness rising within him.

"Hey..." Gene said, already figuring out what was wrong by the hurt expression on his best friend's face. "Paul, it's okay...they'll find her..." He assured, trying to be a voice of comfort.

Paul shook his head, his dark eyes lifting and burning into Gene's.

"Will they?! Will they, Gene?!" He roared, his emotions and lack of sleep taking over. "My little girl is out there somewhere with a guy who I used to trust and think of as a brother and now I have no idea if she's ever gonna come home!!" Tears of anger welled in his eyes as he could no longer fight himself. "I just want my angel back...that's all..."

"Stanley?" Caroline asked, coming in where the two of them stood. "What's going on? Is Santana all right?"

Paul ran his hands over his face and through his hair in frustration. "I can't do this!! I have to get out of here!!" He said, grabbing his keys as he stormed out; the roar of his truck's engine echoed and rumbled from the garage as he drove off.

"I-It's Santana, isn't it?" Caroline asked, looking up at Gene.

Gene sighed, knowing he had to tell her. "I'm afraid so...they didn't find her, she and Peter were gone by the time the detective got there..."

Caroline then broke into tears, her hopes of seeing her granddaughter again shattered. "Why can't she just come home..." She cried.

"She will..." Gene assured, gently pulling her into a comforting hug. "We have just have to give her time..." He said, though he didn't feel as confident as he made his words sound.

Santana was his goddaughter and he was just as worried and scared for her as her father and grandmother were, if not more.

Continuing to give his best friend's mother his support, he closed his eyes; silently hoping that Santana was all right and that she would come home soon...

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Paul stood all alone in his daughter's bedroom, loneliness paired with heartbreak hung heavy in the air and surrounded him as he slowly looked around.

Santana's rhythm guitar, a replica of one of her daddy's favorites, sat in the corner; neatly propped on its stand. Her record player and a collection of albums including every one that KISS had released so far also sat on a table near it.

Her perfume, make-up, and makeup brushes were now gone from her vanity; though her black and white makeup just like he used onstage remained.

Paul's eyes then fell upon the wall where two pictures that Santana had painted not too long ago hung correspondingly. Running his fingers over the frames of both pieces, he recalled how Santana had always had a passion for everything that he also done. Playing guitar, singing, painting, even dance; all were talents that he had passed on to his daughter and in his opinion, she had surpassed him in all of them.

He then moved to the quad frame of Santana's dance and cheerleading pictures, hanging on the wall adjacent to her paintings. He smiled at the two photos from her childhood in dance; dressed in costume and posed, her aspirations to make him proud were evident in her smile. The two photos below reflected her middle school and high school days in cheerleading; in no time, it seemed she had become a beautiful young woman.

Covering the wall above her bed was the shrine of her pride in him and what he done. Pictures, posters, and memorabilia of KISS along with solo shots of him both on stage and posed looked down on him; almost mocking him.