The room was lit in a dim orange glow, the girl's bedroom lavishly appointed with furnishings fit for royalty—the ideal picture of a young ballerina's bedroom.

The APPARENTLY 12-year-old girl sat on the white bedspread, the fritillery of her skirt spread in a circle as she looks up at you, the chain attached to her wrist leading across the bed from where the kidnappers chained her to the floor.

"What's your name?" she asks in a sweet voice.

"My name's Abigail. I don't know what's going on." The girl says amid sniffs, her eyes red from whimpering.