After some thought, I decided to do a sequel to "Escape." I'm not sure how far I'll go with this, but I have an idea of how it will end, which I think is important.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha and Co. and make absolutely no profit from this fanfiction.

Prologue:

The girl slowly began waking. The overall sense of grogginess still kept her mind clouded. As she began to gradually open her eyes, looking around the small, sterile hospital room, only one thought came to her mind, "Who am I?"

oOo

Two months earlier

Police responded to several 911 calls regarding loud disturbances at the Sunset Shrine. When the first set of officers walked up the numerous steps and finally came to the Higurashi private residence, the first policeman knocked on the door. While he continued to knock, the second officer, a female rookie, peeked through the windows.

She had only worked for the force about three weeks. She still felt like a bumbling idiot at times, but she was also getting better. It really was difficult to make the transition from theory and textbooks to hands-on application. It was while she was looking for the unusual that she noticed the interior wood floor was half-covered in…blood.

"J-J…Jack," she hoarsely whispered as she trembly pointed to the window.

"You noticed something, Mujitsu." He calmly responded. He expected her to be wary of anything out of the ordinary. What he didn't expect to see was what her demeanor confirmed. He had worked for the Tokyo P.D. for years. He knew that he hadn't seen it all, not that he wanted to. But he'd seen enough to know that there were a lot of sick bastards out in the world—some you'd never see coming.

This would be his first blood bath.

"Call for backup."

Mujitsu scrambled for her receiver and quickly made the call. As she did, Jack went for his Colt 45 and quietly made his way to the back. He knew that he should have waited for backup, but something in his mind told him that he need to move, now. He eventually made it to the open backdoor and, with gun ready, moved in.

Immediately, his gut feelings kicked in. He couldn't explain it, and he knew there was no way that he would write it in his report. But he knew that whatever occurred here was evil. The air was thick with a heaviness that gripped at his own spirit. There was nothing wrong with the air, but the atmosphere was so heavy that he found it difficult to breath.

He knew what this feeling was telling him. Growing up in a very religious family, he knew, but he wouldn't admit it. Just because he grew up with religion pounded into his head, didn't mean he would follow and believe it. He held on to what he knew was mentally tangible; he did his job.

When he passed the door and saw the middle-aged woman on the floor, he already knew she was dead. No one bleeds that much and lives. Still, he went over and checked her pulse—it was procedure after all. With nothing, gun held in front, he headed towards the living area. Careful not to step onto blood, he checked for pulses.

It was one thing to see an old man like this; but, his heart truly ached for the young boy. He had handled so many murders and accidents. However, no matter the situation, seeing a dead child always seemed to get to him. It was the idealistic side of him; children should not have to get hurt, children should not have to feel pain, children shouldn't have to die, especially like this. Like the older man, the boy had a slice across his throat. The cut wasn't clean across to bleed out his jugulars; the cut was made so that no one would have heard him scream.

The rest of him looked like someone broke all his major joints into disfiguring directions, then cut up his body with some type of hand rake, and finally put him out of his misery by taking his heart out. Through all this, the sick bastard had left their faces untouched. Some other sickening thoughts crossed his mind, how did the sicko get the heart out and where were the hearts?

Jack wasn't a coward, but he now knew that he should have waited for backup. He didn't want to find the fucker and take him down on his own—if he could even take him/it/ whatever down.

As he slowly backed away, he had that some sense to keep looking for something, something important. His internal dilemma continued to gnaw at him. Should he go back or continue on? The choice was made for him when he noticed the curve of what appeared to either be an upper arm or thigh from upstairs. He didn't know why, but he lowered his weapon and sped up the stairs.

Naked, clawed up, bite marks, and bleeding out of open wounds, he assumed the girl was dead too. He kneeled down and gently pushed her silky black hair behind her ear. Looking intently at her doll-like face, he saw that she was barely a woman. He wasn't an idiot; he knew what had most likely happened to her.

And he swore that he was going to find the bastard and see him brought to justice. Justice held a different definition for Jack. Yes, the man would definitely see jail. But Jack would call his connections to make sure the bastards life would be hell behind bars and maybe, just maybe, after a few months of hell, he would use those connections to get him killed.

Jake wasn't the hero of the story. He just believed in a more absolute sense of justice—maybe his upbringing had more of an effect than he first believed it to be.

Out of a sense of respect, he wanted badly to cover the girl's naked body, but he had to make sure Crime Scene had the proper evidence—his jacket wouldn't be it. He gently laid his fingers on the girl's pulse point and expected nothing. Nothing was, in fact, far from what he actually got. Christ, the girl was still alive!!

oOo

There you have it. What do you think? Reviews are most welcomed.