(Hello everyone! This is a fanfic for The Boondock Saints, one of my favorite movies. This is dedicated to Rachel who, like myself, is a huge fan of Murphy McManus.)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Boondock Saints, or any aspect of their franchise. The characters Murphy and Connor MacManus are sole creations of Troy Duffy. The only thing I own are Ashlea Godfrey, Eileen, and the South Boston Jack, which I created.

(Now, since I have that covered, on with the first installment of Angels in Waiting.)

Angels in Waiting

Chapter One

It began with one girl. Felisha Elwood, was her name. She had gone missing one evening back in September, and her girlfriend called the police-worried out of her mind that Felisha hadn't made it home. They found her three days later-dead, abandoned in some dank ally, bound by her wrists and ankles, and completely naked. Ashlea remembered the stench of the freshly rotting corpse, though she had smelled things worse the macabre scene displayed before her had her mind reeling and her stomach clenching horribly.

There she was lying on the ground, naked as the day she was born, thin cords cutting tightly into her pale, blue wrists and ankles. Her fiery red hair fell across her pallid face in bloody ringlets and draping her shoulders like a blanket. An endless amount of foot-long gouges traced up her body as if someone had used her as a carving board. What struck Ashlea the most were the pale blue eyes staring blankly at her, two large gaping abysses forever petrified with fear.

That had been the first girl.

Ashlea Godfrey stood on the concrete stoop of a dark, decaying building, her blonde hair swirled around her face as fierce gusts of wind whipped up the streets like the hounds of hell and she vainly combed her thick hair behind her ears. She felt a foreboding shudder skate up her spine, the street was deserted and it left an ominous weight in her gut.

South Boston wasn't the most desirable place to be alone and in the dark, but here she was, standing outside a decrepit tenement at eleven-thirty at night. Ashlea groaned crossly and pounded her fist on the old, beaten door. "Connor, Murphy!" she yelled, "Its Ashlea Godfrey open up!" After a minute pause she decided the twins would be in a more charitable mood if she added a small 'please' to her order and quickly tagged that onto the end of her demand.

She stood back as the sound of foots thundering cacophonously down the stairs erupted behind the door, and a hasty scrambling to undo the locks on the front door began. The door was thrown open wide and on the threshold, drenched in warm, golden light was Murphy MacManus, clad only in a pair of rumpled jeans, "Ah Detective," he said in a pleasant, Irish lilt, "what can I do for you in the middle of the night?"

"Shut up and let me in," she replied brusquely, shouldering her way past Murphy and into the warm, old, foyer of the apartment. She was already unhappy that she was going to the Saints for help on her case, and Murphy-the smart ass he was-was not improving her mood in the slightest. Her eyes lingered over the dingy interior of the apartment, from its chipped marble floors to the broken radiator that ran along the side of the wall sputtering to life vainly for a few minutes before dying again with an all mighty groan. "I see you've remodeled," she remarked scathingly.

"Ay," Murphy quipped, "our profession leaves us loads of extra time."

"Here I thought killing low-lives would consume your whole schedule." Ashlea retorted coolly. She glanced back at Murphy who still stood on the threshold of the post-and-lintel doorway his lean, pale back contrasting beautifully with the dull, gold light he stood in. Murphy glanced back at her, dark blue eyes staring a hole through her.

He rotated slowly and Ashlea drank in his lean, muscular figure like water. He was the clichéd dark, and brooding beauty that girls coveted and boys were envious of. He was sin. Murphy MacManus was desire taken physical form. His dark, cropped hair and tormented dark blue eyes were the likes of supermodels, and every teenage girls dream. Ashlea noted dazedly that he was rather like a fallen angel, damned to walk amongst the piteous mortal everyday for eternity.

"-go up stairs to talk." Murphy's voice brought her out of her reverie, her cheeks tinged a light pink and she avoided looking at Murphy, instinctually knowing he was smirking at her.

"Yeah," she said absently, "I need to speak with Connor as well." Murphy smiled smugly as she hesitantly met his eyes and stepped past her.

"Right this way, Detective," he said, and led her up the crumbling wooden staircase to the fifth floor where he lived with Connor. "Mind yourself though, Eileen's in a right foul mood for waking her up."

"Who's Eileen?" Ashlea asked absently, trying to keep a civil conversation with the MacManus twin; she might have disliked them and what they stood for, but she needed their help and being rude wouldn't help her to persuade them into teaming up with her.

"Con's girl," Murphy elaborated vaguely. The rest of the climb up the immense set of stairs was spent in silence as Murphy walked ahead of Ashlea. Murphy stopped at the fifth floor landing and waited for Ashlea to catch up to him. "Going for a stroll?"

"Shut up," she grumbled wearily. "After you," she gestured down the hallway and Murphy walked confidently down the hall. Ashlea followed behind him grudgingly glaring holes in the back of his head. Murphy reached the door that led to their homely flat and knocked on the frail, wood door, "Oi," he yelled, "ya fucktard open the door; I forgot my keys."

The door was opened and Murphy waited until Ashlea was by his side before entering into his apartment. Ashlea entered the roomy flat and nearly doubled over at the improved living conditions of the twins. Long gone were the days where they slept on two little cots shoved against the walls; dividers separated two areas for the twins to sleep in, and the loo was also roped off nicely from the rest of the house. No clothes littered the wooden floor, and the coffee table was also bare of its usual assortment of beer bottles and cigarette ashes.

"I thought you said you had no time for renovations," Ashlea said to Murphy with a quirked blonde eyebrow.

"Aye, we don't. However, Eileen-God bless her-she does," Connor, the second MacManus twin, said amiably, as he pushed the door shut behind Ashlea and Murphy. Ashlea spun around to face the bronze-skinned counterpart of Murphy.

It was almost comical how Murphy and Connor differed from each other, while Murphy was dark and pale-skinned like the Moon incarnate, Connor was blonde and tan like the sun's child. He was the same height and build as Murphy, though a little more broad in the shoulders, but he had dark blonde hair and dark, chocolate brown eyes.

They also differed in personalities, though they both shared a witty and biting sense of humor, Murphy was standoffish, more withdrawn, but on the inside he was brimming with this quiet energy that seemed to radiate from within him. He drew everyone's attention to him, without ever saying a word. Connor, on the other hand, was pure spit-fire; everything he did was filled with this passionate drive that took many by surprise.

"So Detective Godfrey," Connor asked pleasantly gesturing her to sit at the ancient wooden table, "What can we do for you?"

Ashlea lowered herself into a chair and waited for the MacManus twins to seat themselves across from her, each piercing her with their inquisitive stares. Ashlea picked at a knot in the roughly hewn table, stalling herself for the inevitable. "Well," Murphy urged gently, his Irish accent soothing her frayed nerves, "What is it Ashlea?"

With a shaky breath Detective Ashlea Godfrey began, "I'm sure you know about the South Boston Jack," she started hesitantly.

Connor cursed lowly, "That god damned mother-fucker."

Ashlea nodded, she agreed fully with him, though, she had never phrased it that eloquently. "Yes, well, we, the FBI and I, are having some difficulty tracking him down-"

"Our sympathies Detective," Murphy cut in, "but what do you want us to do about it."

Ashlea sighed, "Fine, I'll cut to the chase, I need your help. This man-no-this thing he has already killed seven girls, and he won't stop, he'll kill again. "

Murphy and Connor exchanged a glance, surprise clearly etched on their face. Ashlea waited with bated breath as the twin's seemed to have a silent debate that no one besides them could understand. Finally, just as Connor opened up his mouth to reply a stern, unfamiliar voice interjected:

"Absolutely not." Ashlea glanced up and her eyes met with fierce, fiery green eyes. A petite girl, clad in a black tank top and black underwear stood in the center of the room watching them with narrowed eyes, and a cigarette hanging limply in her right hand, long, pale fingers holding it aloft. Her long, raven colored hair spilled over her shoulders like night against untouched snow. This must be Eileen, Ashlea thought as she scrutinized the glaring girl.

"You will not involve them in your work," Eileen continued imperiously, "you have no business asking them to put themselves in such danger."

"Asking them to put themselves in danger," Ashlea muttered faintly, disbelievingly, "You are telling me that I can't ask them to put themselves in danger? Are you blind; they do that every day without my help!"

Eileen stalked forward and slammed her fists on the table, "You are only asking them because you cannot do your job properly!"

"We are doing all we can," Ashlea defended her blue eyes clashing with Eileen's green eyes, "but I need their help. I don't want to involve them, believe me, it's bad enough keeping this secret, that I know who the infamous Saints are, and that half the Boston Police Department are roped in with them, but I need to bring this sick bastard down."

Eileen prepared for another verbal assault before, Murphy's voice broke into the din, "Enough," he ordered quietly, bringing Eileen's retort to a halt. "The South Boston Jack, for the past three months has been killin' girls: rapin' them, and then mutilatin' their bodies beyond recognition. He has taken seven girls already, seven beautiful, innocent, young girls, and he won't stop."

"Not unless we bring this sick fuck to justice," Connor continued angrily. Eileen looked at Connor, in stunned disbelieft, her emerald eyes welling up with tears. Connor stood up and wrapped her in his sinewy arms. "Don't cry Leeny," he murmured into her ear, "we have to do this, what-what if it is you next time?"

Ashlea averted her eyes, she felt like an intruder just looking at such an intimate display of affection between the couple. For a moment, her eyes met Murphy's brooding eyes, and for a second, Connor and Eileen were forgotten, for a second it was just Murphy's eyes searching hers earnestly for something-she didn't know what.

Just as quickly as that spell had been cast, it was just as abruptly broken when Connor moved away from Eileen and agreed to help Ashlea on the case. Ashlea jumped, her cheeks tinging pink. She felt foolish, oh so absurdly foolish to be drawn into whatever possesive hold Murphy held over her twice that evening. "Yes, well," she muttered absently as she stood up, desperately clutching for the composure that seemed to be flying out the window. "Thank you very much; I'll stop by tomorrow after my shift to give you further information." She shook Connor and Murphy's hands before proceeding towards the door.

"Wait," Murphy called out, as he half-rose from his chair, "you're walking home alone, and after all we just said?" His eyes blazed passionately and he looked ready to bound out of his seat in an instant. How chivalrous, Ashlea's mind supplied.

"I'll be fine," Ashlea assured, letting them both get a glimpse of the revolver concealed within her black blazer, "I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself."

Connor ran his hands through his hair and groaned, "Alright, but if anything happens you call, understand?"

"Yes Dad," Ashlea rolled her eyes and wrenched the flimsy, excuse for a door open and walked out into the hallway, "Goodnight Murphy, Connor, Eileen." Ashlea departed from the apartment building swiftly and stepped out into the dark, menacing night, the wind still howled fiercely and nipped at her hands and face, Ashlea bowed her head to the wind and walked on into the night.

(Well that does it for chapter one. If you are a little confused that is fine; this is technically a sequel to another story, but I had the idea for this in my mind and I couldn't get it out of my head so I spent about four hours writing the piece of work above. I think this story will be good and hopefully you guys will be hooked on it.)