“After some moments she began to perceive that the floor was all covered over with clotted blood, on which lay the bodies of several dead women, ranged against the walls. (These were all the wives whom Bluebeard had married and murdered, one after another.)”

 Charles Perrault, Histoires ou contes du temps passé, avec des moralités: Contes de ma mère l'Oye (Paris, 1697).

 

 Oct. 12, 2007

 Once upon a time...

 His excitement rose as he watched the silver Jeep come to a halt near the yellow tape where police personnel had already gathered, keeping a small number of onlookers at bay.

 His eyes never left the woman who emerged from the vehicle, his breathing growing heavier. She was walking up the stairs to the old house, a building like something out of a Grimm fairy tale, as if with a sense of trepidation. He could feel the reluctance practically pouring off of her, though her steps seemed determined to a casual observer.

 He could feel what she felt. Because the woman was his.

 He imagined her walking down the narrow hallways where techs would already be busy looking for DNA they wouldn't find.

 Had they told her it was him? Or would she walk onto the scene obliviously, freezing, her breath catching when she saw what he had left for her? When would she figure out the clues? This house, the oriel window like Rapunzel's tower? He had no doubt that she would, eventually.

 He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, his palms sweaty now.

 This was the best moment, in some ways even better than the killing.

 There wasn't a whole lot to see, just her silhouette. He hadn't bothered with any of the high tech surveillance equipment he owned; this close to the crime scene, it was too dangerous, though he would have loved to see her face at this moment.

 Looking down at the growing commotion on the street, he found himself momentarily distracted when his eyes caught on a flash of rusty-red hair. His lips curled into a disdainful smile. The silly reporter girl was pushing hard to become part of the circle the inspector and her friends had created, but he was quite sure that she wouldn't get very far – Lindsay Boxer wasn't known for indulgence.

 Maybe she'd enjoy the younger woman's hero worship; she was human after all. He knew how that felt, too. Billy had been useful so far.

 This momentary distraction would all be forgotten the moment he came out of hiding and revealed himself to her.

 From that moment on, Lindsay would only see him.

Happily Ever After...

 

 The first hint of daylight was just appearing outside, beginning to chase away the night when Lindsay woke in vaguely familiar surroundings. Not home. For a peaceful, deceptive moment she thought she was still back in Texas at her grandparents', until the full impact of reality hit her once again. Her home was gone.

 Erased in an explosion that had killed a man, and had nearly taken the life of one of her best friends and a colleague.

 Her thoughts were strangely detached from any feeling, like broken pieces of a mirror, until they came together to form a picture that led to the same reaction she'd felt the moment she'd seen his name on that paper; a nausea so profound it made her stomach clench painfully. Trying to breathe through it, she waited for it to subside slowly, though some of the queasiness remained.

 Lindsay had tried to be sensible about her reaction to the true identity of Pete Raynor, not spend an inappropriate length of time in the shower trying to wash off the touch of a man who had blood on his hands, but she hadn't entirely succeeded, and she knew it.

 These weren't the best conditions to convince Tom that she was back and handling the case, but she would anyway. If her vision kept blurring just now, it didn't mean anything but anger; at Kiss-Me-Not who had played her so well all these years, and mostly at herself, for letting it happen.

 A gentle touch to her waist made her flinch. "Good morning," Cindy whispered, and Lindsay noted that it sounded more like a question. Oh well. Waking up with Cindy beside her made it a good one, no matter how much in shambles the rest of her life might be – literally.

 Cindy snuggled closer. Lindsay turned to her, pulling her close, though the first startling impulse had been to draw away. "I didn't know you were awake."

 "I could sense that you were," Cindy said as if it was the most normal thing ever. "I guess it's not appropriate to ask if you're okay?" she added somewhat sadly.

 "I am for now." It wasn't exactly a lie, but Lindsay wondered if she could ever put her fairly desolate state of mind into words. Here and now was the only safe space left for her, and still she felt like she didn't deserve it. Cindy's undeniable love for her was the last reassurance she had that she wasn't somehow cursed; she needed her close, needed to touch her, and at the same time, she couldn't stand it.

 It wasn't rational. Lindsay acknowledged wryly that she hadn't been that rational in a while, but if being a little crazy helped to finally stop a monster, then so be it.

 "It's a start," Cindy said. Leaning just a bit closer, Lindsay savored a moment of not feeling completely sick of herself. It would have to do for a while.

 The hunt was on again.

 Only the stakes had become much higher.

 *******

 

Act I

2003, Easter

 The first love: In the end, she wasn't worthy, but he gave her a worthy ending anyway. She stared up at him with a mixture of pain, fear, and a small residue of anger. Sarah didn't believe she was going to die.

 Calmly, he made stitch by stitch, sewing her lips shut, her tears feeling warm against his cold fingers. It was an unusually cold night for April. Easter in six days.

 Resurrection.

 Not for Sarah Rice, though.

 Her eyes widened when he picked up the silver rope. She knew what it was for. Now she believed.

 Lilacs were for the first love, so he bedded her in them before he tightened the rope around her neck.

 *******

 

He sat in the pew, a churchgoer like everyone else, a wolf among sheep. He hadn't really expected to see the inspector here, a pleasant surprise. He frowned at the sight of the man squeezing her hand briefly, then a smile glittered over his face when he saw the older woman sitting beside the man, shooting daggers with her gaze for whatever reason.

 Hypocrites they all were.

 He had already established that she, definitely, was not. He could read her body language like a book; she didn't want to be here at the Easter service where they would mourn Sarah, but instead going over the crime scene again, huddle in the morgue with the ME to rehash every single detail, trying to figure out the clues.

 She was a worthy opponent. He'd be her first serial killer, although she didn't know that yet.

 She was going to, all in good time.

 From now on, he wouldn't let her out of his sight.

 *******

 

"What a way to die."

 Inspector Margaret Snow stepped down onto the partially opened concrete foundation to take a closer look at the dead body, wincing at a twinge in her back. She could have taken more sick days, but sitting around in her apartment that didn't really feel like home yet, had her slowly going crazy. Aside from that, she'd been motivated to get back to work for a variety of reasons. Not all of them had to do with closing cases.

 "Let's hope you weren't alive when they put you down there."

 Early in their shift, construction workers had detected rifts in the concrete after a wide-bucket excavator had ablated more of the ground nearby. When they realized that what they saw was part of a human hand, they had panicked and called the police right away.

 Maggie had been at the precinct for barely ten minutes when the call came in. She hadn't yet made up her mind, but something told her that the man she was looking at hadn't just happened to stumble into liquid concrete accidentally.

 "Hate to say it, but I think he definitely was. See these?" Dr. Washburn pointed to the bruises on the back of the man's neck.

 Maggie winced. "Any chance he was strangled before ending up in here?"

 "No. The bruises don't go all around. He was held down until he asphyxiated."

 "Fuck."

 The corners of Claire's mouth twitched though not enough to form an actual smile. "You could say that," she acknowledged, but her voice remained cool. Maggie knew she hadn't made any friends with the suggestion that Lindsay Boxer could have been responsible for the Hallelujah Man's death, but someone had to say it. Even the best could snap under pressure – it was only a matter of how long and hard it was administered, and Lindsay had gotten lots of it in the past year.

 It had been a theory. No hard feelings. Right.

 It didn't have anything to do with why she was out here at 7:30 in the morning instead of following leads regarding Arnold's murderer. Or regarding Boxer's creepy ex-boyfriend, who, as it had turned out, were most likely one and the same. She wondered if she'd still have been with this department if it weren't for the explosion and its outcome.

 "I'm going to talk to the workers who found him, and the site's foreman."

 "You do that," Claire returned neutrally.

 Maggie turned to find a slightly green-looking DDA standing at the edge of the makeshift grave. "DDA Bernhardt, hi," she greeted, her mood going up by several degrees. "I'm surprised to see you here. Most of the DDAs I worked with didn't usually come to crime scenes."

 "Right now I wish I hadn't." Jill grimaced. "I guess the idea that he accidentally fell inside is out of the question?"

 "I'm afraid so," Claire said, giving her a sympathetic look.

 It was with quite a bit of regret that Maggie left to see the men who had found the body, but there might be another opportunity to talk to the DDA soon. She was actually glad to have told Jill about her partner, clear the air between them. Anyone else could just be as mad with her as they wanted to be.

 *******

 

Lindsay peered through the half-drawn blinds, satisfied when she spotted the unmarked police car. She wouldn't have even thought of it if she'd come home to her apartment, but since there was no more apartment and she was rooming with Cindy for now, she hadn't hesitated to ask for a security detail. This wasn't just about her any longer.

 Turning away from the window, she breathed in the scents of coffee and the pancakes Cindy was making in the kitchen. Lindsay felt fairly relieved when the idea of food didn't make her stomach churn. She'd gone through various situations of having her boundaries shaken, but restored again; this time, she just wasn't sure if she could ever be the same. She knew how to do her job, to detach herself. Few murderers had gotten to her. No one had ever gotten this close.

 The washing machine was rumbling in the bathroom. The clothes she had taken with her for that one week in Texas were basically all she had. It had been a good idea to meet Tom during his lunch break; aside from all the paperwork, she would have to do some clothes shopping this morning.

 "Hey." Cindy turned to her with a smile, brave and determined as always. She tugged on Lindsay's shirt playfully. "It's good you had some left. I would have given you one of mine, but that would have looked kind of funny with the sleeves ending here. But at least I'm going to feed you."

 "You do great. And thanks for harboring me." If her voice had gotten a little shaky, Lindsay had to admit it wasn't all profound gratitude, but the sudden realization of the things she'd lost in the fire.

 Cindy turned off the stove, wiped her hands on a dishtowel, and then wrapped her arms around Lindsay who leaned into the hug, trying not to imagine what more could have been lost. "I'm so sorry about everything that's gone. We'll find a new place soon – and it's going to be beautiful."

 Burying her face in Cindy's hair, Lindsay barely kept herself from saying something utterly corny, and just as barely, she willed away the breakdown for another time.

 *******

 

"Why are you doing this?" Corinne Stevens asked again, tears streaming down her face. Silly that they wanted to know why when there was nothing they'd be able to do with that knowledge. Some of them had just read too many mysteries where keeping the killer talking bought time until the rescue arrived. Pete smiled to himself. Surely, not this time.

 Billy had been in a manic phase since he'd killed the Stevens' neighbor. He was pacing the room, muttering to himself. "Shut up, bitch!" he yelled, coming to a sudden halt in front of her. He was annoying, Pete thought; there was something he'd have to do about him, and soon.

 He turned his gaze to Corinne, the smile still in place, satisfied when she flinched. She hadn't flinched at Billy's outburst. Smart woman, she had known that he wasn't the one to be afraid of. "Why?" That recurring question had been for Pete. She'd never get an answer. She'd never know that she was just a tool, fulfilling the destiny of another woman.

 Thinking of Lindsay, his smile grew wider. "Corinne?"

 She cringed.

 "It's time."

 Billy gave him a somewhat startled look, but he didn't need any more prompting to leave the room. Pete pushed himself off the wall, each step closer to her increasing the anticipation.

 And not just for Corinne Stevens to die...

 He was counting the days now, perpetually recalling the last times.

 Pete Raynor enjoyed the sight of Lindsay striding to her car parked by the curb outside Cindy Thomas' apartment. He didn't like this arrangement at all, but he had expected it. First things first; he just couldn't take Arnold replacing his work in the attic; their sacred space had been violated more than once, so it had lost its meaning.

 Pete thought it had been kind of genius to take out the Hallelujah Man's legacy along with Agent Ashe in one fell swoop. He wouldn't have minded to see Margaret Snow die, but everything had worked itself out beautifully. Jill Bernhardt as collateral damage had not been in the plan. He was actually kind of fond of Lindsay's friends, by proxy.

 With one exception.

 He knew that everybody thought he would go for Cindy Thomas next, and God, he wanted to. He had seriously miscalculated her influence, and he thought she would look so good with those black x's over her mouth – but it wasn't possible, not at the moment, when everybody would be watching over her.

 With a wry grin, he remembered Arnold babbling about how he couldn't save Jill. Even though it had been his duty to execute him, Pete surely understood where the man had been coming from. There was something unsettling about having found a nearly perfect victim and not being able to save them from their sins.

 Then again, once he had fulfilled his fantasy, Cindy Thomas would be none of his concern anyway. And none of Lindsay's either.

 At the moment, less-than-perfect had to do. The beast was rising. He needed to indulge it before the happy ending.

 *******

 

"With what's left of his face, we're going to need dental records before we can even get close to IDing him."

 Back in the morgue, Jill winced at Claire's matter-of-fact delivery, but then again, she figured if this new case took her mind off Arnold's lips stitched shut, she would deal with it. And who was she kidding anyway; she hadn't stopped thinking of him – at all.

 Why did this happen when she'd just been starting to feel like she was getting her feet back under her? Lindsay could probably sympathize these days but she wasn't here at the moment, which was probably for the better.

 Jill studied Inspector Snow who was intently listening to Claire's report. Aside from owing Maggie her life, Jill found she was still mad at the woman, but at the same time developing a new appreciation. Talk about conflicted feelings. Snow's insinuations about Lindsay had been all but rational, but she had taken a big risk for what, to her, had been an attempt to uncover the truth. It had nearly killed her. You could admire the woman's dedication. And still...

 "I'm wondering if this could be gang-related," Maggie mused. "Those are track marks."

 Claire nodded. "They are, but that would have been a very creative way to get rid of somebody. A shot to the head would have done it."

 Maggie met her gaze. "More like a ritual. I think whoever did it, wanted him to be found."

 Jill had a hard time not sighing. The word seemed enough of a trigger to guarantee more nightmares than she was living with anyway. As if sensing her mood, Maggie turned to her, saying softy, "I'm sorry. Should you even be back at work yet?"

 Jill just snorted at that.

 "I get it. Pot. Kettle. So, it takes a while to dispose of a body like that, you don't just do it accidentally. You have to have knowledge of the material. Wasn't there a legend that you had to bury something living in the foundation to protect the building?"

 As if on cue, the door opened and the person who was probably their best bet at finding out about any legends came rushing in. Cindy stopped cold when she saw Maggie Snow. "Oh, hi," she said to Jill and Claire, making a point of ignoring the inspector. "I'm just going to wait... whatever. I'll see you later."

 "Well, as the expression goes, 'If looks could kill'..." Maggie said. "I need to head out, too. Thanks, Dr. Washburn. Jill."

 When she was out the door, Claire added, "How about, 'I made my bed, I lie in it'?"

 Jill shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think she's all that evil."

 She didn't miss the somewhat amused look Claire gave her.

 *******

 

Walking across the room and up the stairs to Tom's office, Lindsay could feel the looks on her. News traveled fast in a police station, and by now very few would not know that her former boyfriend was most likely a long-hunted serial killer who liked just one thing about women: Deadly silence.

 Maybe she was just paranoid, but conversations seemed to come to a halt in a wave across the room. Lindsay felt somewhat relieved when she finally drew the door closed behind her. 

 "Linz. Have a seat." Tom was businesslike, but Lindsay could detect a hint of regret. Maybe about something he was going to tell her.  Maybe about things lost long ago. Bringing this case to an end would also mean the last bit of closure they hadn't even known was still needed.

 "So tell me everything I've missed these three days while trying to feel like a normal person again."

 "You could always take more time," he reminded her. "Actually, now would be a good moment."

 Lindsay knew him well enough to have expected this turn of the talk, and she had rehearsed for it. There was only one way to go about this case. "I'm going to stop him, Tom. I need to."

 "Snow and Jacobi are on the case."

 "Come on. From what I hear, Snow got the man in concrete, and didn't you tell Jacobi that he was just as biased at I am?"

 "I thought you just got here," Tom said dryly.

 "No one knows him the way I do. Ashe was right about that. So you have to let me finish this. I know I screwed up, but you have to give me this chance to make it right."

 "This is not about you. He's clearly threatening you, has obviously been fixating on you for years. Do you really need any more reasons why I can't let you work on this case?"

 "Not about me, huh?" Getting up from her chair, Lindsay gave him a look long enough to clearly make him uncomfortable. "It is all about me. That's the whole damn point; every single cop downstairs knows that I slept with him, and bringing him down is the only way I can come even close to saving my reputation. You can't deny me that!"

 "You had no way of knowing who he is. No one suspected him."

 "I should have," she insisted. "I am on this case, whether you like it or not. I haven't stopped being on it since Sarah Rice."

 "That's why you should think about taking some more time off. Can't you see it? You're burned out. You don't do something about it, you're gonna be a hazard to yourself and others, and that has nothing to do with Raynor."

 Halting the pacing she had begun the moment she was on her feet, Lindsay mentally counted to ten. She hated how much of his analysis was hitting uncomfortably close to home. Still, she couldn't back down. "For your information, I'm planning to take time off after he's behind bars." Or dead, she thought darkly. "For finding a new place with Cindy, which has obviously become a priority now that my place is... history. Honestly, I don't even know if I'll come back after that."

 She could see that this was a surprise, and not a pleasant one. "I see. What does Cindy say about you wanting to be back on the case?"

 "That was low."

 "Was it? Compromises aren't always a bad thing, you know. When they are worth it."

 "Cindy isn't going to walk out on me."  The way you did, rang unspoken. Talk about being low, but she just couldn't help it.

 "You don't have anything to prove. Lindsay, no one is blaming you."

 "Maybe. But I am, and that's enough reason for me. If you don't have anything for me to do right now, why don't I go home and enjoy my vacation?"

 The thought of slamming the door was very tempting, but remembering that there was an attentive audience, Lindsay closed it softly behind her.

 *******

 

The past, the recent one as well as memories from further away, and the present were beginning to blur uncannily as Jill and Claire waited for the verdict in Claire's office.

 “I hate this.” Jill stared into her coffee mug somberly. “Flinching at noises, and I can't seem to even drive by a church these days. I thought it would get better – but seeing him like that just made it worse. Knowing who did it--” She shuddered.

 “Brings up a lot of bad memories,” Claire summed it up gently, sitting across from her friend.

 “I shouldn't even feel like this. I'm the one who got away, this time.”

 “You can't compare this. Any of it.”

 “Really? If Lindsay had known – hell, if I had known, I would have never pushed her so hard to--”

 “But that's the point.” Claire couldn't stand her friend's bitter self-reproach any longer. “None of us could have known. We do now, and we'll go from here.”

 Jill gave her a grateful look, though her eyes were still bright. “We promised to be there for her this time. I hate that I can barely take care of myself.”

 “You're doing fine,” Claire insisted. “It's true, we all have amends to make. We made mistakes before, but we'll learn from them. And he won't get away this time.”

 Jill's smile was almost feral. “No, he won't. Aside from everything he's done, he took away my chance to see Arnold sentenced to life. I guess we're all motivated.” She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Talk about the past coming back to haunt you, right? I guess it really was just two steps behind."

 "That's a way to put it," Claire agreed, though she sensed that there was more behind Jill's words than a general statement. Patiently, she waited.

 "I've been wondering," Jill picked up the thread again, "where we all would be now if we'd caught him sooner."

 "You've been thinking about... you and Lindsay?" It wasn't such a wild guess.

 “Yes...” She straightened abruptly as if she had just now realized what Claire had meant. “No! No, really, I haven't. I'd never – come on, Claire. Lindsay and Cindy, they are perfect together. I just wish--”

 “You just wish there could be someone just as perfect for you,” Claire completed her sentence. Jill's wistful gaze was more than enough of an answer.

 “There will be. Hmm... and I think Inspector Snow likes you,” Claire went on, trying to break the dire mood that had settled over all of them once again.

 “Maggie?” Jill blushed a little at that, which was unexpected, but interesting for further reference. “Oh, please. I appreciate what she did for me, but the thought of her and Lindsay in the same room is scary. There's gonna be murder. No thanks, I don't need any more excitement in my life. Besides, if I wanted to date the most hated person in the Hall, I'd go out with Denise.”

 “Yes.” Claire nodded. “Denise is definitely an option.”

 It didn't solve any of their problems, but when Jill started laughing, she felt ridiculously accomplished.

 At the same time, a hint of sadness for something that was never meant to be, remained.

 *******

 

On her way downstairs, her mind still reeling with the previous conversation, Lindsay nearly ran into someone. “Excuse me, I--” She took a step aside, face to face with a rather beaten up looking Maggie Snow.

 “Inspector,” she said coldly.

 “I heard you were back.” Maggie met her gaze unflinching.

 Lindsay wondered wryly if she really seemed that crazy to an outsider, or if Snow was just that sure of herself. “Obviously.” She was aware of pretty much everyone in the room holding their breath. What did they expect her to do, slap the woman? She had to admit, if she'd seen Maggie right after she'd heard about the accusation, it would have been an option. But surely not in a room full of cops who loved innuendo and of whom some still thought women were much too emotional for the job.

 “I am glad you survived the explosion.”

 A faint smile tugged at the corner of Maggie's mouth. “Thanks.”

 “However, I am not yet convinced of your investigative skills. Here's the truth, Hollywood, sewing has never been my hobby.” With that, she turned to leave a blushing inspector standing at the bottom of the stairs.

 *******

 

Claire had a lot of things on her mind after Lindsay had dropped by to inform her and Jill that Tom would not have her on the case. Actually, seeing her mad wasn't such a bad thing. The scene in the bathroom after her friends' early return had spooked her a bit, reminding her how close to the end of the line they all really were. But Kiss-Me-Not wasn't the only murderer out there. She made a mental note to bring up Maggie Snow's suggestion about the legend later.

 Jill had left together with Lindsay. Claire was watching the two of them walk away when the phone rang.

 When she heard the name, it was like someone had knocked the breath out of her, like she couldn't take in any air no matter how hard she tried. Only when the edges of her vision started to gray out did the memory's hold on her body loosen, and she managed to take a deep breath.

 "Dr. Washburn? Are you still there?"

 "Yes," she said, her voice surprisingly calm for someone who was shaking. "Thanks for letting me know."

 After hanging up, Claire fought the temptation to just lock up her office and flee.

 Darren Spencer.

 There had been a time when she'd thought she wanted this man dead; she'd struggled with her feelings, but had been unable to fight them. Maybe they had never gone away entirely. Maybe she had just repressed them. It was the worst possible timing for her to be confronted with him again, even if he had ended up on a slab in the morgue.

 Spencer had nearly killed the man she loved and changed their lives forever in a heartbeat. Now, someone had killed him by drowning him slowly and painfully in concrete.

 *******

 

Lindsay had spent a few more minutes venting about Tom being 'damn stubborn', before she headed out to interview some witness in a robbery. So she was back for now until there was an opportunity for a real vacation, which everyone, Tom included, knew Lindsay wouldn't take before the Kiss Me Not case was closed.

 No matter how hard Jill tried to focus on the present and the files in front of her, all properties related to Pete Raynor that were about to be searched, her thoughts kept drifting. To her own passionate speech, promises made to her friend when she couldn't have known that another killer would nearly take her own life underneath Jesus on the cross.

 Drifting further back to another kind of passion they had once shared.

 It was true what she had told Claire; she wasn't jealous. Just wishing there could be someone for her to take a part of the burden like Cindy was doing for Lindsay now.

 “Are you actually working or just staring into space?” Under a thin layer of exasperation, Denise's concern came across just as well. Jill had to stifle a smile.

 “Trying to find a way to close Pandora's box,” she said.

 “Good luck. If you found it, I'd like to have the Masters file.”

 “On your desk in a minute.”

 *******

 

“I have a surprise for you.” Cindy greeted her at the door with a kiss, and Lindsay held back the retort that she could have done without any kind of surprises lately, good or bad. There was a suspect in custody regarding the robbery. She'd worked half a day, made a ridiculously easy arrest, and already she felt exhausted.

 “I can't wait,” she said, hoping it didn't sound too forced.

 This was actually a good one.

 Upon hearing her voice, Martha came nearly flying from the living room, jumping up at her mistress with enough force to threaten her balance. “Hey, girl, easy.” Lindsay felt the smile spread on her face as she crouched down to greet her canine companion with a hug. Looking up at Cindy's happy expression, she whispered, “Thank you.”

 “Thank me,” said a familiar voice. “Poor girl's been crying two nights in a row, missing you badly.”

 “I'm sorry.” Lindsay straightened, giving her partner a slightly abashed look.

 “Don't be. I'm glad she was with me,” Jacobi said.

 There was nothing to add to that, and here they were again, back with the subject matter at hand. “Tom gave you and Snow the case.” No point in beating around the bush.

 “He's the boss.”

 “Doesn't mean you can't tell me about the case I've been working on for over five years.”

 “Linz,” he warned. “Don't let your pride get in the way of this.”

 “Pride, huh?” She laughed bitterly. “There's not much left, really.”

 Martha started to whine at the terse voices. Cindy sighed. “I have to say, I'm with her. Let's save that discussion until after dinner, shall we?”

 *******

 

The sun that had been shining through the window strongly enough to nearly give her a headache was gone by the time Jill walked home. Needing to clear her thoughts, she hadn't taken her car in the morning, something that she regretted now as it was pouring down.

 Anticipating another evening alone in her apartment, she could already tell what her nightmares would be. They were pretty much the same as before, with the exception of Arnold's mouth being sewn shut, which didn't do anything to keep him from spewing his hateful words. The deeper they delved into the recesses of the dark mind of Kiss-Me-Not, the closer her own not-so-distant horror hovered, and the two started to collide.

 The feeling of being watched, something that couldn't be mistaken for anything else, jolted her out of her dire thoughts.

 Abruptly, Jill stopped and spun around. “Who's there?” she asked, hating for her voice to sound this small.

 *******

 

“I'm a man with a purpose,” Pete told the woman who was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Remembering Corinne, he felt anticipation rise. It had been too long.

 “A bastard with a purpose,” she shot back at him, and for a moment, he thought about striking her, but he reined in the impulse. She would stop talking back at him eventually. They all had.

 “You be good,” he said to the blonde woman with a smile. “I have to make a call – and then I'll be right back with you.”

 *******

 

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