My first two fan fiction pieces were so much easier than this one. I have finally overcome my trepidation on several counts: one, given the status of everything, it pulls a bit at the heart-strings, and then, there's the fact I know where I want to take this, and how I want it to end, but hope the journey has credibility. There will be a few chapters. Someone please stop me if I'm making a fool of myself.

Dr. Lucien Blake: Missing

Prologue

The entire city had been under a shadow of fear, and the Ballarat Police Station under fire because of the especially vicious month-old murders of two young children, with no suspects in custody. Lucien told Matthew he thought it might be connected to a string of unsolved murders with eerily similar details that had happened a few years before: two in Sydney, one in Canberra, one in Melbourne, a fifth in Bendigo. Then the killings just stopped. Matthew thought it just a coincidence until it was confirmed that two other murders with the same M.O. had occurred within the last two months in Sydney.

It seemed likely the murderer had been in jail, but recently released. Lucien called every contact he had in Sydney and Melbourne, asking them to check into the recent release of anyone with a background that might support the violence done to the victims. Nothing turned up. It was Jean who suggested: "Maybe he wasn't in jail."

Once again, Jean was right. Information received from a contact in Sydney suggested the killer may have managed to literally walk away from Parramatta Psychiatric Centre about three months before. The individual had been admitted there three years earlier by his elderly parents who had become terrified of their highly intelligent, charming, but disturbed son when they came across the remains of dozens of animals hidden in an old ice box. He was diagnosed as having a psychopathic personality by the staff in Parramatta.

Things were going nowhere fast in Ballarat, and Lucien felt compelled to do something before another innocent life was taken. He set up a meeting with his contact in Sydney. They arranged to meet at a cafe near the south end of the Harbor Bridge to share information. Lucien had managed to obtain files from Bendigo, Canberra and Melbourne. The contact, Declan, was bringing the Sydney and Parramatta files.

Lucien kissed Jean good-by at the train station in Melbourne, then turned back, drew her close and kissed her again, holding her against him, suddenly not wanting to leave the familiar warmth of her arms about him. He told her he loved her, realizing it was the first night they had spent apart since their marriage, and boarded the Southern Aurora for Sydney.

Declan was already seated when Lucien reached the cafe early the next day. As they began to share the information, Lucien came across the face of the patient who had escaped from the Psychiatric Centre. It was a face he had seen before; but where? Then he remembered it had been at the station in Melbourne, and again, fleetingly, when he got off the train in Sydney. He carefully looked around without moving his head. The suspect was there, not 50 feet away: a waiter, serving a couple and their little girl. Declan asked what was wrong. Lucien quietly told him. Just then, as if he had somehow heard the whispered exchange, the suspect bolted and headed for the Bridge. "Declan, get the police. He's headed for the Harbor Bridge." Lucien immediately raced after the killer, hoping to stop him before he disappeared into the crowd, and managed to keep sight of him while dodging other pedestrians. The killer was almost to the south-east pylon when he ran headlong into a large vendor and momentarily went down. Lucien almost reached the desperate man as he fought his way up the crowded staircase and onto the parapet. As Lucien reached the top, the crowd seemed to part as he struggled to get to the suspect, who ran headlong toward the rail. The man glanced back. Lucien nearly had him when someone bumped hard against him. There was a bee-like sting to his neck, and then Lucien felt himself falling. Someone cried out from what sounded far away: "He's gone over the edge." His last conscious memory was the face of Sergeant Robert Hannam amid a sea of frightened, confused tourists.

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