Welcome, welcome. The re-write of Jack-O-Lantern is here. Thank my muses Adurna and Calpernia. They made this possible. I wasn't going to write this but Adurna hit me with an idea filled sack and this came out of the concussion. Enjoy…

Chapter 1

October 25, 1995

New York City

Wednesday

The sky was a cast iron gray; it had been threatening to rain for several days now. I shivered as a gust of wind cut around my coat. I could feel goose bumps raise up on the flesh of my arms.

"What a shitty way to lead up to Halloween." I grumbled. Up ahead of me I could see the flashing lights of several emergency vehicles. What the hell was so important that I had to miss my first day off in a year? As I arrived at the crime scene, I noticed my friend and co-worker, Sergeant Dan Wells, standing off to the side, watching the proceedings while looking nauseous.

"This better be good Dan." I said in mock anger. He looked up at me, seemingly grateful for the distraction.

"Hey, Lieutenant." He said weakly. "I thought you might like to see this. I know how much you like stuff like this…" I nodded and walked over to the Medical Examiner, or M.E. Maybe I don't get out much anymore but I did not know this guy. I have an interest in forensics so I make a point of knowing the people down at the morgue. Anyway, this guy gave me a dirty look as I came over.

"Yes?" He snapped. I frowned, knowing who he was seeing. He was seeing a 5'10" slacker with chestnut hair, brilliant jade eyes, wearing a black tank top under a leather biker jacket, a pair of baggy pants in a broken grey-and-black pattern, and a pair of heavy black combat boots. It wasn't a Lieutenant of the NYPD he saw. Just a 28-year-old girl trying to be someone she's not.

"Is thatthe body?" I asked, pointing to the blue tarp at his feet. You don't call a homicide detective if there was no homicide.

"Who are you?" He snapped at me, again. I was getting mad, but, with difficulty, I suppressed it.

"I'm Lieutenant Nell Nemissen." I said and pulled my badge out of one of my many pockets. "So I'll ask you again.Is thatthe body?"

He gave me a sour look and pulled the tarp up without a word. I pulled on a pair of surgical gloves I had fished from my pockets and down at what the tarp had been covering. It was a black garbage bag. Scary, right? The only thing wrong with the bag was that it was sitting in a pool of bloody water. I knelt down next to the bag and pulled it open, recoiling from the stench of blood and rot. It was full of bloody pulp. And what was that sticking out of the ooze?

A finger.

It was a finger.

I covered my mouth in shock. I had seen people stabbed to death. I had seen people shot point-blank in the head. But I had never seen anything remotely like this. I glanced up at the M.E. He was…smiling? What a tool. I looked back down at the bag, trying to get my nausea under control.

About 20 minutes later, they forced me away from the bag, leaving me wondering how the hell they would i.d. the body. I wandered around, weaving between emergency personnel and fellow officers. Then the dumpster caught my eye. I stopped a sergeant to ask him about it.

"Hey, uh, Sergeant."

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Why isn't anyone bothering with that dumpster?"

"It was emptied yesterday. We figured there wouldn't be anything else in it."

"Never assume." I snapped. Where do they find these jokers? "It'll make an ass outta u and me."

"Yes, ma'am." He said and kept walking. Bad report heading his way, I can tell ya. I strolled over to the dumpster, which was one of those common green affairs, and pulled myself up against it. Then I peered inside. A piece of blue caught my eye and I reached in to pull it out.

"Ahhh." I gasped. Blood welled from a fair-sized cut on my palm. Carefully this time, I reached back in and pulled out the object. I placed it in my non-injured palm and stared at it, still hanging on the side of the dumpster. It was a piece of dark blue glass. It looked really familiar. I racked my brain trying to figure out what it was. I had seen it someplace before, but where?

The recent kidnappings.

About a week ago, two completely un-related were kidnapped. There had been no ransom note. There had only been a rag soaked with chloroform, and a black silk rose. And within the center had been a small piece of dark blue glass. The press hadn't been told about the glass. Was this really the work of the person dubbed the 'Black Lover'?

"This has to be coincidence." I told myself.

"It's very unwise to form a theory without any proof, Lieutenant." A smooth, richly accented voice cut through my thoughts, startling me so bad that I fell off the side of the dumpster into the puddle below. I looked up from my new position on the ground to see a guy wearing a fancy black suit. He had really blonde hair combed straight back from his forehead and matching pale blue eyes. He looked like he hadn't been outside for years. Even so, he was kinda cute. If you were into the whole vampire look-alike thing.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Pendergast." What's with that cryptic smile?

"Who let you in here?" I demanded, glaring at passing law enforcement. None of the met my eyes. This guy was a journalist. I could feel it. Who ever let him past the barrier was going to get in so much trouble. "You better not be a journalist. I loathe journalists. No comment." I sat up and glared at him.

"Special Agent Pendergast." He held out a thin hand to help me up. I rightfully ignored it and stood up on my own. I held my hand up to my face to inspect the wound. It wasn't bad. It had already stopped bleeding. I made a fist, which hurt like hell, and directed my attention back to Pendergast. He really did not fit my image of what an FBI agent should look like.

"FBI. Great…" He gave me a quizzical look for God knows what reason. "You people interfere with everything. I figured one of you would show up sooner or later. Just not sooner. Anyone else I should be aware of?"

"Whatever do you mean?" He asked. That accent of his was getting one my nerves. Where was he from, anyways? Alabama?

"You guys always travel in packs. I watch the X-Files." I tapped my chest then paused, "And I have no idea what that had to do with anything…"

"No. It's just me, I'm afraid."

"Me, too." I muttered. He looked amused so I figured he had heard me. "So what's you nonsensical reason for interfering? Did the perp sell drugs?"

"There was a murder with the same mondus operandi in Chicago three months ago." Wha? Can't this guy say MO like a normal person? I've known him four seconds and already I want to strangle him.

"Wait. Did you say Chicago?" I asked. I was born there. Not really, but I hope I didn't know the victim.

"Yes."

"Who was it?"

"One Bara Minamino." An image began to form in my mind. Dyed pink hair, eyes like mine, glasses…

"No way. You've got to be joking." I said, panicking.

"You knew the victim?" Damn that accent.

"We used to be friends. We lost touch during collage." I took a deep breath. I was closer to crying then I had been in years. Pendergast looked slightly uneasy. I guess he wasn't used to cops bursting into tears in front of him.

"I'm sorry." He said simply. I rubbed my face rapidly and looked up at the sky. It was almost as if the sky was just as upset as I was. A fat raindrop hit my face. I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. Pendergast gave me an odd look.

"I'm going home to cry or something. This was my day off. I might as well use it."

"I'm looking forward to working with you." He said, all proper-like. Creepy.

"Same here." I said, then added, "I think." I frowned and looked at the piece of glass still in my hand. When I looked up, he was gone. Creepier. I pulled a bag out of one of my pockets and slid the piece of glass into it. Now I just have to find the evidence locker. This case was going to be interesting. But at that point I had no idea how interesting it was going to be.

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Chapter 2 preview:

I stopped talking. All of Pendergast's attention was seemingly directed at my lunch, which had congealed.

"What's up? Is my uneaten lunch that interesting?" I peered at the plate. It looked like ambergris, a mix of macaroni & cheese and browned hamburger.

"What is it?" He asked.

"That is an old family recipe called ambergris." His look said it all. Too late I realized that ambergris is a whale product. "It's hamburger mixed with mac-and-cheese." I clarified.

"Ah." Stupid gourmand.

"You want some?"

"No, thank you."

"Your lose." I took a bit of it for show. It actually wasn't that bad cold.

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