Carpe Nocturn

Title: Carpe Nocturn

Author: Kara (Chynesegarnet)

Feedback: Feed my muse. Scarlettablue137@aol.com

Classification: R (JW), A

Rating: PG-13 (for language, violence, gore)

Disclaimer: Crossing Jordan doesn't belong to me. Amanda Sykes does though. Please don't use her without my permission.

Author's Note: This is my second Crossing Jordan fanfic and I'm pretty sure there will be either:

Continuity issues since I have only recently started watching the show Characterization issues

Other than that, I apologize for grammar and spelling mistakes. I do beta, so I'm pretty sure that there won't be many. Enjoy.

Jordan Cavanaugh was not having a good day. Perhaps it was the fact that she had gone for several hours without a cup of coffee and that she had not seen Woody in quite a few hours. She had done several autopsies because they were understaffed. She had to go grocery shopping because her refrigerator was growing to be quite empty and she needed a drink, a shot, something.

Woodrow Hoyt was not experiencing the benefits of a good day either. He hadn't had a cup of coffee at all that day and he was going to pick up their murder consultant. They were dealing with a stalker/rapist/murderer and he had murdered many women so far. Jordan was making up all the time restraints by doing autopsies every fifteen minutes. He had heard that the Morgue was understaffed and he was generally sorry. Being from the country, he would have pitched in to help if he could, but he lacked the certification.

Garret was practically steaming. In old fashioned cartoons, steam would be emerging from the character's ears if they were infuriated or ate something spicy. He thought that he would be a perfect human portrayal of such a character. The morgue was understaffed and they were dealing with another mass murderer. The details were few and Woody was picking up a specialist who was flying in from Minnesota, although he doubted their use greatly. He had to practically pick Bug away from Lily's office and he had to pry Nigel away from his goddamn computer and electronic gadgets. Peter was a diligent worker, but he had stopped to chat to another intern and he was pretty sure he was going to spontaneously combust and with so many witnesses…Mulder would be proud.

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A few hours later, Jordan was sure she would pass out from fatigue. She was so tired and there were kinks in her neck and shoulders, which she tried to relieve by stretching her neck a bit. She hadn't even heard him approach her from behind. It was when she felt his quasi-calloused hands on her shoulders. She twitched instinctively and turned but his scent had wafted over to her and she felt calmed and relaxed by the mere scent of him. When his fingers began to slowly ease the knots out of her shoulders and neck, she thought she was going to kiss him. Yet again, her emotions placed the lid on the proverbial pot and she felt her urges tamped down a bit.

Woody was supposed to pick up the specialist from Minnesota but the precinct had called in last minute and asked him to inspect another crime scene. Woody was sure that the precinct must be running out of yellow caution tape from the looks of it. He had gone and inspected the crime scene. There was a tarot card on the scene. It was the Joker. He had taken his victim, raped her, and dressed her up in a jester costume. There were no stab wounds. He was distressed. How the hell did this guy kill her without a wound? And then he saw it. It was an inkling of a wound. Little indentations made in the skin with multiple needle pricks by the carotid artery. "This guy is slick," he commented to his colleagues. That was when he noticed it. There was something underneath the tarot card. It was the tiniest glimpse of stark white. Snapping on some latex gloves, he lifted the tarot card and asked them to scan it for fingerprints. He picked up the paper and unfolded it:

Her blood spills

A crimson gift for me

Just as the killer kills

All the clues are laid out for you to see

I am God and I can kill everything.

He hastily shoved it in a plastic baggie and handed it off to CSU. This was not what he needed right now. This was a ritualistic killer. Which is precisely the reason you were supposed to pick up the specialist, his mind argued. His cell phone chirped, as if by cue. "Hoyt. Yeah. I'll be right there." The specialist had arrived. He was to meet her at the Morgue.

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"So who is this mystery specialist?" Jordan asked, setting aside the scalpel for the first time today. She removed her latex gloves and stifled a long yawn. She waited. She heard the distant footfalls and she recognized them. He entered the room. The specialist entered from Garret's office. His face showed shock and then recognition. She was medium height, medium build, and she had long, bright blonde hair. Her blue eyes sparkled with girlish charm and allure.

"Amanda?" he asked, tentatively. He took one step. She ran over to him and giggled girlishly as he enveloped her in a large bear hug. "Wow, I haven't seen you since—since high school! How have you been?" Nigel quirked up an eyebrow. He eyed Jordan and watched her eyes twitch as she blinked, and he knew that something was off with her. He smiled a little to himself.

"Woody. I didn't think—wow! Boston? Living it up, huh?" She nudged him a little with a hint of playfulness and teasing. Jordan snapped into professional mode.

"Could we hear the details of the case please?" Woody's glance diverted over to Jordan, where it remained for a while. He opened the manila file folder and began to recant the story. Amanda glanced back and forth between the two and her eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, Jordan. Sure. Let's see. There's this mass murderer. He stalks, rapes, and murders women. He has killed around 30 women or so within the last three months. He calls himself God. At crime scenes, he has left tarot cards and a little poem. It's the same poem but never the same tarot card. He dresses the victims like the people displayed on the tarot card. His method of killing is very unique." Amanda's hand touched onto his arm as her face displayed concern.

"Unique? How?" It did not go unnoticed by Jordan.

"He pricks the carotid artery with multiple needles. He seems to target thirty to thirty-five year old brunettes, around 5'4" to 5'6", and he's very precise."

"It sounds ritualistic. Especially since this man calls himself God. He seems to enjoy baiting the police. He likes to tease and taunt them. I suspect that he has lived around the area since he was young. He had probably experienced a terrible home life. Very introverted, graduate of high school. His parents might have been devoutly Christian or Catholic or Protestant or something, which may have forced him to turn to practice Satanic magic or such. He might have an inferiority complex and does this to boost his ego, to prove to himself that he is stronger than these women. Maybe it's a biblical representation. The way Adam prevailed over Eve in avoiding the forbidden apple." There were a few blank stares in her direction and she blushed. "Yeah, I'm a ritualistic killings specialist who has a degree in psychology." Jordan's glance diverted to her arm, which had secretively linked through Woody's.

"Great," she said. "I'll start on the autopsies." Jordan headed for the autopsy room. Woody shot a glance to Nigel who only shrugged. He headed inside, leaving Amanda bewildered. Jordan snapped on her latex gloves. She heard the swinging doors and turned her head.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing," she replied, reaching for her scalpel. "Just thought I'd get on the ball with these autopsies. If there's thirty-plus, there's going to be a lot of work to do considering we're understaffed." She cut the first line of the Y.

"Is it because of Amanda?" He watched her cut the second line of the Y. "No, of course it wouldn't be about her." His tone was sardonic, almost bitter. She set down her scalpel, thinking he had stopped, but it was only a pause. "Because if it was about her, that would insinuate us, and I forgot. There is no us!" He stormed out and she could only hear the doors swing back and forth. The doors swung again with the entry of another person. She assumed it was Woody and she turned.

"Woody, I…" But it was not Woody. It was Amanda. Amanda Sykes stood there and glanced the brunette up and down. She smirked and placed her perfectly manicured hands on her hips.

"No, it's not Woody. You'd like it to be, wouldn't you? You know, we were high school sweethearts. I have a lot more history with him than you do, sweetheart." She took one step forward. Jordan, unintimidated, clasped the scalpel again. "And it's no use trying to catch him, honey. I've already got the hook baited. He bit once and he'll bite again." As Amanda turned to leave, Jordan sent a comment her way.

"You know what? Hell hath no fury like a woman with a scalpel." The doors swung again as she left. Probably to "investigate" with Woody. Her Woody. He wasn't an object and Jordan wasn't about to objectify him like Amanda Sykes was. Amanda Sykes, his perfect high school sweetheart. Amanda Sykes, the slutty little bitch. She wanted to know more about that petty little bitch.

She headed off to see Nigel. With a few words, he clacked away on the computer keyboard and searched for her in the national database. He showed her the page and she read it aloud.

"Amanda Sykes. Born January 6th, 1969. Parents: Joshua Sykes and Louisa Pillsbury. Attended Maple Birch High School. Can you find that high school website or yearbooks from the past or something?"

"Anything is possible, love." He typed away and another window popped up. Her eyes scanned the page. "I'm searching the high school records for an Amanda Sykes."

"Wait, wait. There's a match." He clicked on it and there was a picture that made Jordan want to vomit. It was a picture, obviously digitized with zooming and cropping and all that, of Amanda Sykes and Woody at their senior prom.

"Hey, it's Woodrow."

Amanda was wearing an ultra-feminine gown. It was pale pink and it trailed down on the ground. He was wearing a plain tuxedo and he looked stunning. It was the same boyish charm and adorable good looks with the sparkling blue eyes she knew so well. She felt a churning desire in the deepest chasms of her heart to injure Amanda.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Jordan followed them to the next crime scene. She listened to her flirt with Woody, while giving her professional opinion of the murderer. "I have an idea to trap this serial killer and rapist." Oh jeez, thought Jordan. I gotta hear this. "We get someone who fits his profile. I'm sure we can get Nigel to track him."

Jordan was very skeptical about Amanda's plan, but she didn't say anything. "How are we going to get Nigel to track him?" Woody asked as he inspected the crime scene. Her Woody was so good to her in ways that she could never imagine. He was so involved in the case that he was half-listening to her.

"Let's just say I have sources." Jordan was now extremely skeptical about Amanda Sykes.

"Okay. Who is going to be our someone that fits the profile?"

Amanda smiled coyly. "Jordan Cavanaugh." Jordan nearly dropped her evidence baggie. Was this woman trying to send her to her death? Her mind answered automatically. Of course. She thinks you're taking her territory. Even though it's vice-versa. Woody looked extremely worried.

"Are you insane? She—she—sh…" he stuttered.

"I'm not insane," she said, with a faint smile. " She fits his profile. She's in law enforcement so she can defend herself."

"She might get herself killed."

"We wire her, give her a bulletproof vest, arm her with a scalpel. She'll be fine."

Woody wanted to scream at her. A scalpel! You're trusting the love of my life to protect herself with a fucking scalpel? Are you fucking insane or are you just out of your mind? "I don't know."

"Well, let's ask Jordan. Jordan, are you up for it?" There was a slight challenge in that tone. She didn't like the whole idea of it either.

"I don't know."

"Come on."

"Don't egg her on, 'manda'panda." What the hell did he call her? Jordan reeled. She didn't know that earlier, in privacy, Amanda had asked Woody to call her by her old nickname. He doesn't have a cutesy little nickname for me. Her mind chided her. That's because you're unsure of your feelings and he cares for you so that he doesn't want you to get hurt.

"I'll do it!" she replied, eagerly.

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That night, they suited Jordan up with .32 mm automatic, a bulletproof vest, and a wire. Through Amanda's source, they tracked him using federal equipment. He was in the park. So they sent Jordan out there. She sat on a park bench. He approached her.

"Hey there." He was medium-height, brown hair, green eyes. He was somewhat short. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay. And yourself?"

"Why are you in the park all by yourself, hmm?" He leaned in closer and it just made her all the more claustrophobic. Her adrenaline began to pump and she could feel every thudding beat of her heart. Suddenly, a hand clapped a rag drenched in chloroform over her mouth and she drifted into unconsciousness.

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"Nigel, nigel!" urged Woody, worriedly. "Track him, track him!"

He gestured for Woody to be quiet as he quickly entered in commands. The federal tracking system appeared and they followed the moving dot through Boston. He stopped at a certain street. "Let's go! Let's go!" Woody ordered and they raced off in police cars. Amanda glanced at Nigel before she clapped a rag drenched in chloroform over his mouth and he dropped to the cold ground. The walkie-talkie buzzed with static.

"Nigel."

"Sorry, sweetie. Nigel's incapicitated at the moment. He went to the bathroom. What can I do for you?"

"Where is he headed?"

"Take the next left and it will be the fourth house on your right." She watched the dot symbolizing the police halt. She grabbed her jacket and keys and raced there using a shortcut.

-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Woody burst into the house, gun cocked and in hand. "POLICE!" he yelled, routinely. They rushed around and he darted into the basement. He heard shots fired. As he began to sprint up the stairs, he spotted Jordan. She was unconscious and tied to a pole. He ran over and felt something cold on his nose and mouth. He inhaled and felt his mind go hazy. Then, it all went dark.

He awoke and his mouth felt dry, his tongue numb on one side and sticking to the roof of his mouth. He released it and he blinked a few times. Jordan was awake and glancing at him with worry. "What the hell?" he asked, to no one in particular.

"Wood, my boy," a man's voice answered. "Guess who."

"Oh my God. Joseph? Joseph Daviy?"

"You still recognize me."

"Why are you doing this to me? And to Jordan?"

He began to pace back and forth and that was when Woody's eyes fell upon the .38 in the man's hand. The man realized the attention was being diverted and quickly addressed that. "Simply for security, old fellow. You see, Wood, you took the love of my life away from me. Do you remember Andrea?"

"Andrea? Yeah. I dated her from middle school to sophomore year."

"You broke her heart. And you hurt her. After you left, she committed suicide. She was never emotionally stable, you know."

"Always pick the crazy ones, don't you, Woody?" his mind screamed.

"Anyway, that's why I'm doing this, but Amanda…" he paused to chuckle. "Amanda has a deep spiteful hate for you. You broke up with her after senior year. 'God hath no fury like a woman scorned.' So, we teamed up and decided to get back at you."

"Amanda?"

A figure walked out from the shadows. "It's true, Woody. Why did you break up with me senior year? We could have been so happy, you and I."

"No. God planned that for us."

"Did he?" Amanda's tone was bitter and cruel. "Now, we're going to do what you did to us. We're going to hurt you. I have no idea how this woman and you are romantically, but you're a poor country bumkin like us. The guilt will kill you anyway."

Jordan had stashed a scalpel with her, besides the gun. She was very suspicious of Amanda and while the conversation was going back and forth, she viciously sawed at the ropes keeping her tied. She hated to see Woody in so much pain and his eyes recanted all of it—the angst and melodrama he was facing.

As they reached for her, she kicked up and quickly untangled her arms from the mess of ropes. She reached for her weapon and fired two shots. Joseph and Amanda fell to the ground. Woody cuffed them both and began to mirandaize them. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you at no cost…"

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They apologized to each other later. The situation had made Woody realize how much the more valuable Jordan was to him. He had bought her flowers and asked her out for dinner and dancing. She accepted, although she constantly reminded him that it was not a date. In her mind, she reveled in the thought that he had mustered up the courage to ask her out.

Later that night, he reached into his suit jacket pocket and removed a wrapped gift. He handed it to her, and gently gave her a peck on the lips. "I want you to open it at the stroke of midnight, okay?" And he left.

When her clock ticked midnight, she eagerly, but neatly, began to open it. It was a charm bracelet. There were a few charms. One was a heart. It was black, but the center was outlined in a thick, red line. The other was a skull. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth ones were their initials: JC and WH. The seventh and eighth charm were little gems. The seventh was a ruby and the eighth was an emerald. She glanced at the bottom of the bracelet and found it engraved. "What does it say? 'Darling, only you are the life among the dead.'" She smiled. She fitted it on her wrist and placed the clasp in the little ring and watched it in the light. She smiled. This was a new beginning for them. Their relationship was anything but evanescent. And on their next date, she would let him the pride of calling it a date, she would carpe nocturn. She would seize the night.

Author's Note: How was it? Did you guys like it? Please review or send feedback! Xoxo