A/N: I have no rights over the characters of General Hospital

The Seventh, Eighth, Ninth and Tenth

Part I

It was what so many people dreamed about, the chance some day to find themselves languidly swimming in a tropical lagoon with a waterfall pouring into it from one end. Then, as everyone in this particular dream does, he would swim to the waterfall, clambering out of the pool and scrambling through the roaring descent of the iridescent veil into the slick and secretive cavern beyond. It looked as though he could scratch this goal, this treasured desire off his to do list because it was happening at this very moment and there was only one tiny irritant to spoil the perfection of the experience. Why on earth was he choosing to stand under the pulsing stream of the falls rather than moving further into the sanctuary of the hidden cave or back out into the welcoming sun and temperate waters of the lagoon?

He inadvertently opened his mouth to speak, to breathe it mattered not for he was instantly choking, his mouth and throat filled to overflowing with cold pulses of chlorinated liquid. His eyes popped open and he struggled and fought the grip on his neck that had forced his head under the tap. As he began to resist it, the hold relaxed and he stumbled backwards yanking his head out from beneath the freezing stream of water. He was coughing so hard as he bent over the sink, attempting to regulate his breathing and make peace with the harsh reality of being in the penthouse kitchen rather than a tropical paradise that he entirely missed the anguished whisper of "Thank God!" floating somewhere above his head.

His legs refused to hold him upright as he started a gradual descent towards the floor, first coming to his knees with his head pushed against the sink cabinets and then using what little remaining strength he possessed he twisted his body around and sank down the rest of the way. He sat there his back to the cabinets, wheezing, while he tried to regain control over his ragged breathing, his confused mind. Water droplets from his soaked hair dripped monotonously downwards skidding off his eyelashes and plopping annoyingly on his nose. He sneezed and a fine shower of mist sprayed out from his head, it was reminiscent of a dog shaking itself after being doused in a bath.

"Here," the word was abrupt, it was all Jason could manage without his voice trembling and revealing how terrified he had been.

Spinelli took the proffered towel that had spontaneously entered his field of vision and nodded his thanks. He couldn't yet speak, the fact that he was breathing more easily would have to suffice as his response. With trembling arms he attempted to reach up and towel dry his hair but his movements were ineffectual and weak and with an exhausted sigh, he gave up and letting his arms fall limply in his lap, simply sat there drained of all energy.

The towel was removed from his unresisting hold on it and surprisingly gentle hands proceeded to complete the task he had aborted. The soothing back and forth motion of the towel as it rubbed over his hair lulled him and he felt his eyelids closing as he drifted ever closer to the delicious escape that was sleep…

Suddenly his eyelids flared open, his pupils wide with shock and remembrance as he realized what he had seen and why it was quite possible that he might never sleep again. "St…one C...old," he stuttered, while once again the appalling vision flashed across his mind. "Did…the J…ackal," he was shivering and choking and his lips, teeth and tongue refused to cooperate in forming the words. With a mighty wrench of willpower, he forced himself to spill the utterance out in one unending litany of misery.

"D…idTheJackalreallyseewhatheperceivedinthelivingroomofourshareddomicile?"

Even Jason, who comprehended Spinelli's unique dialect better than anyone save perhaps Maxie, couldn't interpret what his roommate had just said. Still, he didn't need to know the precise words to understand their sense. He sighed, as he took a final pass through Spinelli's now only damp hair before replying. "Yeah, I'm afraid so, Spinelli. It's bad, the worst tonight." He wanted desperately to say the words, "I wish you had never seen it, that I could have shielded you then and that I could protect you from seeing it now." Yet, he couldn't lie, not to Spinelli, the bond between then was solidly predicated upon trust. The truth was that as soon as he was up to it, Jason would once again need Spinelli's help. Besides, much as it seemed immensely appealing at the moment, the Master and his grasshopper couldn't simply spend the rest of their lives sequestered in the penthouse kitchen trying to ignore the carnage present in the living room.

He was kneeling in front of Spinelli as he worked at drying his hair it was the only action currently available to him through which he could demonstrate his caring and concern without compromising his famed 'stone cold' façade. "Feel up to standing?" He asked, tentatively offering his hand to a weary Jackal.

Spinelli took a deep breath as he looked into Jason's shadowed and tormented eyes. He nodded reluctantly and grabbing his mentor's hand leveraged himself unsteadily to his feet. His shirt was drenched and he was shivering with cold and shock. Jason knew he needed to get him warmed up and into dry clothing and that meant traversing the living room and all it contained.

"Spinelli," he spoke softly but with force and out of habit the young man's eyes raised to Jason's, his head cocked attentively as he awaited his mentor's declaration. "I…that is we…there's no avoiding going back out there." He jerked his head towards the kitchen door and what lay beyond it. "I'm sorry," the regret in his voice was plain to hear. "You should just try and not look, at least for now and we can pass through quickly."

He knew there was no way of entirely keeping Spinelli untouched, he had lost that option at the beginning of the evening when the first corpse had been discovered. Even now, he would need his help, his counsel. Truth be told, Spinelli had seen and contributed valuable observations, ideas, plans of action and just purely brute strength to the mad relay race of dispose of the dead body they had found themselves immersed within. Their night was far from over and after a brief respite, Jason would need him to reenter the fray. He simply couldn't do it without him.

A weary smile of understanding tugged at Spinelli's lips as he did the unbelievable and attempted to console his Master. "The Jackal is as steadfast as ever in intending to be by Stone Cold's side through the duration of this nightmarish time. He will not quit the battlefield until either the matter is fully resolved and we are both once more safe or until the valiant struggle be ended by more dire means. This is my vow." He spoke in a subdued manner but the tenacity in his tone was unmistakable. He was to be Jason's wingman regardless of the outcome.

Jason was unaccountably relieved to be assured of Spinelli's determination. It wasn't that he had doubted him for a minute. Yet, actually hearing him say that he was committed to seeing this through made him feel that perhaps they might yet survive the night. If they could attain that desperately distant goal then together perhaps they would once again see the sun rise and find their lives and home reclaimed from the unknown malevolent forces which had tormented them relentlessly through so many hours.

Still, he was sure of one thing, it wasn't a situation that could be dealt with in any way except in small increments or they would both be risking their sanity. So, the first thing, the most important thing in the moment was for Jason to get Spinelli upstairs causing the least possible amount of trauma to his young roommate within the parameters of these extraordinary and inexplicable circumstances.

Spinelli was consistently shivering now, his teeth were actually chattering and his hands were cold to the touch. "C'mon," Jason said wrapping an arm around his friend's shaking shoulders, "Let's go, just…just don't look…" He knew it was lame advice that it might even precipitate an urge in Spinelli to stare but he didn't know what else to say. Actions were his forte while words were Spinelli's and they were each equally sincere in their performance and speech which created the balance that made theirs such an unexpectedly successful partnership and relationship.

There was no sound except the rattling of Spinelli's teeth as they passed through the tomb that had been their communal living space. Jason stole a quick glance at Spinelli who was on his right side, tucked away best as he could manage from the horror directly to his left. The arrangement was a peculiar parody of a man walking next to a woman and using his physical body to shelter her from the potential dangers of traffic on the road next to them.

He needn't have worried that Spinelli would be tempted to once more glimpse the grisly sight that he had only the briefest glimpse of prior to collapsing. There was a grim cast to the younger man's features as he resolutely stared down at the carpet, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other, narrowing his world view to nothing more than this simple exercise as if somehow a determined mental exclusion could thus produce an alteration in reality.

Jason felt a flash of envy, if only he could take even such a transient break from what he knew was a repulsive scene and one entirely unaffected by their twenty minute sojourn in the kitchen. All the wistful thinking in the world wasn't going to change what had occurred or the fact that it would be up to them to ultimately face it and perform the final disposal. Still, he did allow himself the small latitude of averting his own eyes under the guise of focusing on his companion's needs of the moment.

They made a slow painful progress across the small expanse of carpet which wasn't tinged by violence and then up the stairs and down the hall to the doorway of the regrettably pink room. Spinelli looked up as they arrived at his bedroom door and he stepped back as he stared at Jason out of glazed, panic stricken eyes. "Stone Cold, it isn't possible, the Jackal doesn't desire. Jason, I can't go in there…" His utter desperation had forced him into the unfamiliar cadence of plain speech.

Jason was furious with himself. Here he was attempting to give Spinelli the time and space to recover his confidence, to come to terms as best he might with the evening's madness and here he was suggesting he shower and change in a room and a bathroom where he had discovered two corpses. "Spinelli," he said contritely, "I am so sorry. I didn't think…" He reached out an arm and wrapping it around his roommate's shoulders turned him around the way they had come. Spinelli, exhausted, stumbled but Jason caught him, "You can shower in my room and I'll get you some dry clothes to change into."

Jason managed to maneuver Spinelli into his bathroom where he leaned tiredly against the sink while Jason turned the shower on and adjusted the temperature. He turned back and looked critically at his shivering roommate. "You need some help getting out of those wet clothes?" He asked him straight forwardly.

Spinelli looked at him with over bright eyes that indicated how thinly stretched his endurance was, he was exhausted in both mind and spirit. He gave a brief spastic shake of his head to indicate refusal. "No indeed, Stone Cold," he replied gamely, small shivers still rippling over his body, "The Jackal is capable of disrobing and partaking of a shower without aid but he greatly appreciates the offer of assistance."

The words were slurred and indistinct which wasn't at all like him and Jason was worried but he knew that Spinelli was trying to keep both his pride and his dignity from fracturing. So he just gave a brief nod of understanding and left the steamy room to the young man's sole occupancy.

Jason found himself in the regrettably pink room searching the drawers and the closet to get Spinelli some dry, warm clothing. He wanted to choose appropriately because not only had Spinelli been veering perilously close to going into shock, he was always sensitive to the cold. Jason didn't think there was another person on the planet who possessed so many coats and jackets.

While they had been running around playing throw the dead man into the quarry, the month had shifted from October to November. The change was more than a simple alteration in date. They had gone from pumpkin friendly, costume crazy All Hallows Eve to frost ridden, somber All Soul's Day. Jason wasn't superstitious (though after tonight's events he thought he might switch his stance on that) still this day, he didn't know why, it was beyond his understanding, his ken, but it definitely affected him.

It was an important day on the Catholic calendar and at this time of year he often envisioned all the people who had left him-Emily, Alan, perhaps even AJ-as he considered his possible agency in their various demises. Yet, it was far worse to contemplate those for whom he had absolutely been the direct cause of their exiting this temporal plane and such morose musing did not engender happy thoughts. No, they were a direct reminder that Jason Morgan was on the fast track to hell. He had paved his path with the precise intentions which with inexorable sureness produced a one way ticket to the infernal terminus of eternity. There was no negotiation, no fixing it, just the bleak acceptance of what was going to be his ultimate fate.

Jason knew this, recognized it, accepted it and seldom thought about it except annually on this day. This evening's events-all the death and morbid occurrences intruding on their shared home-brought that sober realization even more forcefully to his attention; like most of the cadavers they had dealt with tonight, Jason was damned. He shook his head sharply, angry at himself for dwelling on such an irrelevant consideration. There was nothing to be done about it. He was firmly convinced such an outcome was his immutable destiny.

Yet, his roommate, the young man showering down the hall, he was entirely innocent, he didn't deserve to spend one minute in the horror that had been engulfing them all evening. Jason was bone and soul weary. If it had just been him, he might have stopped trying to control things at the third or the fourth corpse or definitely when faced with what awaited them downstairs but he couldn't for Spinelli's sake. Whoever was doing this and for whatever reason, Jason would fight until the bitter end to bring Spinelli safely through to the other side. He was damaged goods, virtually unsalvageable but his roommate was a virtuous person, if Jason managed to save him it might count in some small way towards his own redemption.

Shaken free of his impromptu and melancholy reverie, Jason selected the warmest clothing he could find. A pair of thick corduroy pants, a t-shirt to be worn under a warm cable knit sweater, wool socks and boots. Spinelli would be armored against the elements if nothing else. A glance through the doors leading out onto the balcony showed Jason that it had begun to snow. He sighed in frustration. It appeared nothing about this night was going to be easy.

Jason knocked on the bathroom door and hearing a soft 'enter' opened the door and peered into the warm, moist room. Spinelli was out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, he was using another one to dry his hair just as Jason had done for him a half hour earlier. "Clothes for you…it's started to snow."

Spinelli looked at him unhappily, "It is unfortunate that even the forces that control weather seek to conspire against us. It shall make our desolate task that much more demanding." He nodded at the pile of clothing Jason had placed on the counter. "Many thanks for the appropriate apparel. The Jackal will be with you in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

Jason hid the smile that appeared as he heard the outmoded expression that only Spinelli would actually use. It was one of the many reasons that he felt compelled to protect him, as though he were someone existing out of his natural time and place. Jason found his unique traits appealing and endearing but his reaction was the exception. Most people found Spinelli to be peculiar, irritating even. Quirky was usually the least pejorative term used to describe him. Jason hated them, despised all the narrow minded people that never bothered to look beyond the surface mannerisms to the pure heart of gold and chaste soul which lay within the young hacker. He thought it possible that the fact he took so much umbrage at people treating Spinelli poorly was directly due to the guilt provoked by the fact that in the beginning days of their acquaintance he had acted in exactly the same way. He had long since repented of those earlier interactions, his dismissive treatment of this young man who had become so precious to him.

Gruffly, unwilling to reveal his sentimentality to the very subject of his musings, he replied, "Take your time…they're not going anywhere."

He regretted saying it immediately as the shutters decisively fell back over Spinelli's eyes turning them murky and unreadable. He was back in survival mode, coping the only way he knew how-by shutting down. Jason fervently hoped that the defensive mechanism didn't become the new de facto face that Spinelli presented to the world, to him…He truly couldn't bear it if the events of this dreadful evening so scarred him that he never returned to his former state of artlessness. Jason prized that quality in Spinelli since it had so long ago departed his own life that he had no recollection of ever originally possessing it. In truth, as Jason Morgan, he probably hadn't. It was something else he had lost amongst so incalculably much more when he roughly and irrevocably shed the skin of the accommodating and malleable Jason Quartermaine.

Spinelli came out of the bathroom dressed in the clothes Jason had chosen for him, his hair still slightly damp but already resuming its usual shaggy appearance now the pomade from earlier had been washed away. "The Jackal is ready to tackle the unpleasant task that awaits us."

Jason looked up at him speculatively, he was sitting on his bed waiting for Spinelli and pondering a potential alteration in plans. Spinelli looked fractionally better than he had when they had first come upstairs. He was warm and dry, his speech back to normal as he stood in front of Jason, poised to do anything he asked. Sometimes being the recipient of such undiluted and absolute loyalty was a little daunting, it was his responsibility not to abuse Spinelli's faith in him.

Jason believed in acting with immediacy and so with a fortifying deep breath, he began to speak, "Spinelli, I've been thinking and well…I can take it from here. You could go…" He wasn't able to finish, Spinelli wouldn't let him.

"Stone Cold!" his voice was outraged, the tone as harsh as it was as capable of being. Still, what truly disturbed Jason was the underlying pain clearly evident in those two brief words, in his wounded eyes and in his body itself as he seemed to shrink inward under the opening salvo of Jason's interrupted speech. "You said, did you not and I quote-'tonight we are partners in all things…'" He paused to catch his breath, to marshal his thoughts for further arguments that would sway his mentor from attempting to remove the faithful Jackal from his side.

Jason tried to remember, tried to recall if he had indeed said any such so trite seeming thing back when it had been October, back when three bodies had seemed an insurmountable task to deal with and dispose of, back in those halcyon days of yore. "I meant it, Spinelli." He was trying to reason with the young man who was standing in front of Jason flushed and agitated. His chest was heaving with distress and the fulfillment of his worst fear that of being found wanting when the chips were down and quick wits and action were called upon to resolve a precarious situation. "Partners take care of each other and I don't want anything to happen to you," he made sure his roommate was looking at him as he added with a quiet intensity, "I couldn't live with myself if something did happen, if I couldn't manage to protect you."

He had done it, his raw expression of true emotion had reached Spinelli and the change in his demeanor was gratifying to Jason. His face cleared and he stood upright, no longer hunched in his posture and he responded with the Jackal's usual irrefutable logic, "Who will be there to watch Stone Cold's back if I am sidelined because of your fears for my welfare? How do you think the grasshopper would survive were something untoward happen to his master and he were not there to deflect the evildoers?"

Jason smiled slightly at Spinelli's more melodramatic speech that echoed his own concerns for his young roommate. He hadn't thought it would work that he would manage to convince him to stay in some safe haven while Jason tackled the removal of the bodies downstairs. Afterwards, he would then move on to tracking down the perpetrators, adding them to the disposal list once he found them, he promised himself grimly. He tried one last time, "You're sure you wouldn't rather stay with the Colonel and Mimi Hunter? You could get some sleep and I would come get you when it was all over." Jason trusted the Colonel's discretion, his reliability and he knew that Mimi had a warm heart with a special place in it just for Spinelli, he would be safe with them.

Spinelli was indignant, "As though the Jackal could get one iota of sleep while his mentor is out striving unprotected against the heinous mastermind of these perverse and macabre deeds. He, who unfettered and unremarked as it would seem, roams the dark and dreary streets of Port Charles on this endless night of restless spirits."

Jason was interested to note that Spinelli didn't seem to be anymore crazy about the implications of the date than he was but the most resonant part of his reply was his obdurate refusal to comply with Jason's request that he remove himself from harm's way. He sighed heavily in resignation. "Okay, partners it is then. We better get started…"

He reluctantly pushed himself up off the bed, part of him was glad that Spinelli had refused to leave his orbit, would be there as a trusted companion as the rest of the evening unfolded. Yet, the major part of him felt uneasy, felt a leaden weight of dread coursing through his system that some unnamed disaster, worse than anything they had yet faced, was waiting for them around an unseen corner. It was an unknowable danger and as such he couldn't prepare for or defend against it. He only hoped that when it came upon them he would manage to subdue it before it harmed his young charge.

Jason left the bedroom, Spinelli trailing after him, his feet dragging as he attempted to find the inner resolve to do what needed to be done, to face the horror that awaited them below. Jason reached the living room first. He stood surveying the surrealistic scene with the most dispassionate demeanor he was capable of attaining, all the while he struggled internally with a cold flame of fury that threatened to overwhelm him, to prevent him from doing what needed to be done. If he let his temper loose it would accomplish absolutely nothing except take away time that could better be spent appraising the situation and deciding upon a plan of action.

He looked up at the staircase where Spinelli stood huddled against the wall, grasping the handrail as though his life depended on the physical connection with something, even an inanimate object. His eyes were glued to his mentor as he patiently waited for an indication of what he required of him. Spinelli steadfastly declined to let his gaze wander around the living room. He simply refused to look at its gruesome cargo until circumstances dictated he had no choice but to do so.

Jason sighed, he hated what he was going to ask of Spinelli but he had no choice, he needed his insight, his intuition, and his knowledge base. Jason understood knifings, gunshot wounds and strangulation but it had been Spinelli who had recognized the effects of the insulin, who had come up with the narcolepsy story. It had been Spinelli's reactions-not Jason's-that had salvaged the elevator ride from hell. "We'd better look at them and check a few things over before we start…before we clean up." He hated using such an insipid euphemism. Yet, Jason was beginning to appreciate a subtle truth which Spinelli had always understood that correctly chosen words can act as cushioning barriers to unacceptable realities and in so doing salvage one's pride, indeed one's very sanity.

Spinelli swallowed uneasily as he nodded his head and gingerly made his way down the rest of the short flight of stairs still clinging to the railing. "Indeed, Stone Cold," he affirmed shakily as he crossed the carpet to stand next to Jason, looking neither left nor right but only at the encouraging eyes of his roommate, "The Jackal will offer whatever perceptions that might occur to him."

Jason reached out a steadying hand and clasped Spinelli's shoulder firmly. He turned the boy towards him and looking him straight in the eye, said, "You know all of this, tonight?" He let his voice trail off questioningly as he made sure that he was listening, reassured by Spinelli's attention, the strength of their communion, he continued, "I couldn't have done it without you, you know that right?" The slightest dip of a shaggy head was all the response he received. "What I said upstairs, a few minutes ago, it's true I am worried about you but really I am glad you insisted on staying because I don't think…" this was hard for Jason, admitting any kind of inadequacy was nearly impossible for him, "I don't think I could do this without you. You helped physically, your quick thinking saved the day with Mrs. Murphy and the Hunters, you have contributed knowledge and ideas and commonsense. We really are partners, those weren't just words to make you feel better…" Spinelli's eyes were fixed on his, a slightly awe struck expression on his face as he absorbed what Jason was saying, that the Master actually needed his grasshopper. "So, do you think you can manage to bring your best game one more time, to help reclaim our home and find whoever is behind all this?" It was crunch time, Jason really needed Spinelli to be fully present-not just his body but his mind and spirit as well.

Spinelli didn't immediately respond as was his wont, he stood silent relishing the warm feel of Jason's reassuring and trusting hand on his shoulder as he pondered his answer. He knew that he needed to tell the absolute truth that either he could do this, be fully engaged or that he couldn't. If it were to be the latter then he should asked to be excused to slink ignominiously off to the Hunters' apartment, waiting impatiently for Jason's return like a child who couldn't be around grown-up business.

Yet, before he answered Jason he needed to ask a question of his own, "Stone Cold," he began hesitantly and then the words, the deepest fear that had been plaguing him ever since they opened the penthouse door and had seen what lay before them, came spilling out of him. "What if it never ends?" He spoke despairingly, his voice high pitched, with undertones of hysteria. "What if we take care of...these," he flapped his hand disjointedly, not wanting to use the word corpses but still less men, since he couldn't afford to think of them in those terms any longer. Still, they were more than objects, more than game pieces and so, he settled for a gesture in lieu of a word. "Then we come back and there are more, and they pervade our space, our very souls and we are never rid of them. What if they daylight never comes and the nightmare never ends…"

He finished shakily, his voice an exhausted whisper, he felt as though he would never, could never escape the chamber of horrors his once beloved and secure home had become. What was worse, his faith in Jason, in his all seeing, all knowing, all fixing mentor, had been tainted. It wasn't lost, not by a long shot, but it was perceptibly shaken and he was finding it hard to process the realization that there was a set of circumstances that Jason Morgan didn't know how to react to anymore than did Damian Spinelli. It seemed he was just a man after all, an amazing, indomitable man but fallible just the same. The very foundations of Spinelli's world had been shaken this night by external forces just as ruthless and implacable as an earthquake or a tsunami. He simply didn't know if he could cope, if he could keep finding reservoirs of strength to deal with horror perpetrated upon horror.

Jason took his right hand from Spinelli's shoulders and pinched the bridge of his nose and then knuckled at his eye sockets one after the other, Spinelli's eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed with fatigue and he knew his own were mirror images. "I think," he said thoughtfully, "That this is the end of it, the bodies anyway," he modified. "Have you done the count?" He looked at Spinelli curiously, wanting to see that massive brain of his grind back into high gear.

At first Spinelli, looked at Jason puzzled and then with an inhale of breath he took a fast, cursory glance around the living room, numbering off their uninvited guests in his head. It took a moment for the bemused expression to leave his face but when next he looked at Jason his expression was alert and there was a tinge of excitement present in his voice. "The Jackal ascertains Stone Cold's point, the symmetry of it all…" He stopped suddenly, his head cocked to the side as he did some internal calculation. He seemed satisfied with the results of whatever he had been thinking but instead of explaining his concept or idea to Jason he continued on with his previous line of thought. "So, you believe that whoever is behind the evening's activities has drawn this stage of the plan to an end?" There was momentary relief in his voice as he looked at Stone Cold with an edge of hope that their lives might be reclaimable. "Yet, if this is indeed the Grand Guignol of the devious one's plotting, what then will be his next step? Surely, he would not be content to wreak all this havoc and then slip back into the night forever undetected?"

Jason considered the main points of Spinelli's speech, ignoring as always the references he did not understand, he had found it was the best way to interpret what his friend meant and he usually comprehended eighty to ninety percent of what he was saying. "Yeah, I think he is done with the bodies." He made a sweeping motion around the room, "This was his big finale. He can't keep upping the numbers or even realistically finding and killing people in new and different ways. It can't go on indefinitely the more involved his scenarios get the more he risks getting caught and I think this guy (and oh, how he hated to admit it) is too smart to want to get caught."

Spinelli was nodding his head in enthusiastic agreement, at last there seemed to be a light at the end of the interminable tunnel they had been trapped within. "Yet, if he is done tormenting us in this way what is his next move? What would he do if we refused to play his game, if we just," he gulped at the idea of remaining in the penthouse as defiled and over occupied as it currently was but if it would catch the perpetrator he would gladly sleep downstairs in the abattoir that was currently their living room, "stayed put and thereby thwarted his ability to return here while we are out unwillingly removing all traces of his crimes?"

Jason rubbed the back of his neck in a vain attempt to loosen up permanently tightened muscles. "Yeah, I thought of that too but see I think if we take too long to go into action to do what he wants us to do, what he has planned for us to do that he'll take action."

"Action?" Spinelli echoed, wondering what further action could be taken against the two of them. They were both exhausted, physically worn out and really, though he knew Jason would never admit it, they were each equally shaken emotionally, pierced to the core by the reality that they were no longer their own masters in charge of determining their own fate.

"Yes," Jason said simply, a frown creasing his brow, "He could call the cops and it would be all over for us. There's no way we could explain this away," another wave around the room, "They would never believe our story and who could blame them? I don't believe it myself," he muttered that last part under his breath. "Besides by shifting the very first body, we incriminated ourselves, destroyed evidence. Mrs. Murphy and the Hunters could be material witnesses against us." He looked up at Spinelli's expression of dismay, it was clear he had not thought of their culpability as it would appear through the eyes of the law.

"But…but that is patently ridiculous…" He was stammering his rejection, only just now dimly becoming aware of what Jason had seen first, the jaws of a well laid trap closing around them and holding them fast within its unforgiving grip. "Neither Stone Cold nor the Jackal has done one nefarious thing this entire evening. It has all been due to the machinations of the unseen malicious wrongdoer." He stuttered to a close as Jason held his eyes with his own in a level gaze waiting for all the implications of the nights' activities to fully sink into his mind. "He possesses a most diabolical mindset indeed," Spinelli breathed out finally in synchronicity with Jason's beliefs. His tone held bitterness and the smallest hint of awe as he contemplated the way they had been led step by inevitable step to the untenable position they now found themselves mired in by the invisible and pitiless hand of a seemingly omniscient antagonist.

Spinelli couldn't absorb it. He found it impossible to believe that someone could be so wily, so foresighted, so damnably crafty and entirely mentally deranged to have both devised and executed such a thoroughly despicable and complex plan simply for the purpose of entangling him and his mentor in his sticky spider web of depraved and darkly comic homicides.

Then a thought struck him. "Stone Cold, you refer to the culprit as a he and while it is the common default term when speaking of an unknown individual as this cipher indeed is, how is that that you always reference him in the singular?"

Jason had been looking around the room and committing the bizarre scene to memory. He thought that before they began to break the grouping down and get ready to start trekking to and from the SUV for what he fervently hoped was the last time tonight-no, this morning-that he and Spinelli ought to analyze the area and the bodies themselves for clues, for whatever limited forensic evidence that they were capable of gleaning. Jason wanted this guy, he wanted him so badly that he was practically salivating over the prospect of what he would do to him once he was in his clutches and any leads or proof that could help make that dream a reality was important to discover, interpret and preserve.

He looked vaguely over at Spinelli, his mind still dwelling on the tactics of how they should accomplish the clean-up in the most efficient and least traumatic way possible for the young hacker's emotional stability. His brain belatedly intercepted and translated Spinelli's query and it was a moment before he could pull his attention away from his own concerns to answer him. "Why only one?" He spoke distractedly, still considering possible logistics as his brain rapidly analyzed the situation, choosing some options and rejecting others. "Because," now his gaze had focused as he responded to Spinelli's question, finding himself intrigued as he tried to explain why it was that he thought only one man was responsible. "All of this is complicated, sure," he quickly scanned the area around the couch and fireplace before returning his attention to Spinelli, "But it can all be accomplished if someone is confident and methodical and knows what he is doing. The bottom line Spinelli, the reason I think there is only one man behind all this, is simple. He's nuts, crazy, stark raving mad and someone like that isn't going to play well with others unless they match him by being just as bananas and that's a very unlikely alliance. Besides," he gave Spinelli a crooked grin, "By bringing in just one other person he more than doubles the likelihood of getting caught of being betrayed intentionally or by mistake and this guy-he just doesn't make mistakes." Much to Jason's chagrin, he hated having to admit how truly formidable this phantom of an opponent was. If he hadn't created such destruction, hadn't threatened Jason's world and by extension Spinelli's sanity, he might have even enjoyed the contest of wits in which they were currently engaged. Yet, this man, whoever he might be, was depraved beyond redemption and Jason intended to put him down the way he would destroy a mad dog without a moment's thought or a tinge of remorse.

Time was passing, they had done enough talking, enough speculating and they now needed to act. Jason began to speak. "Let's break this down, try to figure out if he left any clues, slipped up in any way. Then we'll start wrapping them up and getting them out of here." He peered anxiously at Spinelli whose face was gray and greasy with a thin translucent sheen of sweat covering his apprehensive features. "Sure you're up to this? It's fine if you want to go to the Hunters…" Jason was offering him a final way out, a last reprieve.

Spinelli shook his head firmly, his flyaway hair now fully dry as it framed his face, his fearful eyes. "The Jackal stands next to Stone Cold, partners in all things." He tried to speak bravely but couldn't quite mask the underlying tremor in his voice. In order to counteract his momentary lapse in courage he turned resolutely to look fully for the first time at the grim tableaux mordent arranged before them.

There were four dead bodies in the penthouse living room. 'At least this time around Stone Cold and I shan't have to gather them up in dribs and drabs like some outré corpse round up.' Spinelli thought to himself with a flash of black humor. His moment of brief levity was followed immediately by a flush of shame which stained his cheeks red.

He knew the quip was nothing more than a coping mechanism, a way for his mind to protectively separate itself and thereby shield Spinelli from the sight in front of him. Still, he consciously attempted to resist the impulse to disassociate himself from what was directly before him. It wasn't right that they were dead, murdered. The very least he and Jason could do was to try and not diminish the humanity of these men. They, who just a short while ago, were every bit as mortal and alive as he and his mentor, prior to dying horribly in their home, perhaps even in their stead. They owed them that entirely minimal observance of respect because it was clear that no matter how savage and immoral their murderer was, they in fact had died because of Jason and Spinelli.

"Ten," Spinelli sighed to himself, unaware that he had spoken aloud and that Jason was looking at him with a concerned frown on his face. It was indeed a significant figure, a number in the double digits and looking around the penthouse it was difficult to conceive of anything further the unknown killer could do to trump himself. He continued on with his musings, "These last four corpses assembled in a single location rather than scattered hither and yon also indicate that he was most likely finished with this part of the evening's iniquities. What else is to come to fruition from such a degenerate mind is impossible to gauge."

Jason nodded, confirming his agreement with Spinelli's thoughts. "Yeah, I'm sure he has something else up his sleeve and as much as I would like to know what that might be, I'm kinda of glad not to…somehow it separates us, you know?" He cocked his head at Spinelli as he searched his face to see if he understood what he meant.

"The Jackal comprehends Stone Cold's point. As useful as it might be to glean what future plans our heinous antagonist has in store for us it is to our souls' advantage that we do not, for then we would be no better than he."

Jason gave a small laugh at Spinelli's earnest speech. "I meant more in the realm of nightmares, having inside our heads what he sees inside his. There's absolutely no way that you could ever be anything like this creep, Spinelli." He was careful not to protest on his own behalf. He knew too well that only the thinnest of ethical lines separated himself and the blank faced killer they were contending against. 'That and the fact that he's batshit crazy,' Jason silently amended to himself.

He had put it off long enough. Spinelli clenched his fists, inhaled a breath of air and focused on the couch and chairs. He slowly scanned the repugnant scene set in the penthouse living room. For a scene it indeed was, it couldn't have been more staged if the perpetrator had been getting ready for an opening night curtain in a theater.

Three of the four men occupied the chairs and couch of the room while the fourth stood in front of the mantelpiece, his arms outstretched along it. He failed to look in the least bit natural despite the glass of whisky wedged into his right hand which was draped along the wooden outcropping. His stance was slumped and Spinelli speculated that it wouldn't take much for the effect of gravity to pull his body down onto the floor. He began to walk toward him, Jason following in his wake.

"Ah," Spinelli said a note of satisfaction clearly evident in his voice as he found his suspicions to be proven right. "I did not think it would be possible for him to stay upright without some external aid."

Jason peered over his roommate's shoulder to see what Spinelli was talking about. There was an ottoman shoved up against the man's legs, holding him in place. It had been hidden by the chair sitting at the far side of the couch which blocked the lower view of the area by the hearth. Slowly, Jason's eyes inspected the rest of the body until his gaze rested upon the juncture of the neck and the head which was encased in a large plastic bag making the corpse appear entirely alien. It was impossible to see the man's face, all that was visible was an inflated plastic sphere that would ordinarily be clear but was currently coated over with the condensation produced from the water vapor contained within the dying man's last breaths. Jason closed his eyes in a futile effort to block out a visualization of the agony of those last hopeless, desperate inhalations, the image of which entirely pierced his hard won armor of stoicism.

"Stone Cold," Spinelli's halting voice, penetrated his consciousness, "We ought to remove the bag both for decency's sake as well as for identification purposes."

Jason looked down at his roommate who was looking up at him anxiously, his brow furrowed with worry. A sudden flood of affection for the boy swept through him, catching him unawares. As always, Spinelli was entirely spot on in his estimation of what action they should take, precisely balanced between practicality and morality.

"Yeah," he swallowed, "That's a good idea,"

Still Jason didn't move, didn't raise his hands to attempt untie the string tied around the corpse's neck as though it were anchoring some sort of ghoulish balloon. He didn't know what it was about this particular body, why it disturbed him so much. Stab wounds, bullets to the head, unmarked and strangled bodies, those he could take in his stride, could maintain an indifferent sort of equanimity as he scrutinized them but this…this was just wrong. Maybe it was the absolute blankness of the perfect sphere in the place of the man's head, the absence of humanity which disturbed him. He didn't know, wasn't good at analyzing things. All he knew was he felt nauseated. Jason didn't think, no matter what, that he could reach up and feel the smooth, slick surface of the plastic bag as his fingertips grazed across it, without spontaneously vomiting.

"Let me," Spinelli spoke quietly but there was a grim tenacity carved into his face as he stepped in front of Jason and stretching up began to fumble with the recalcitrant string which had been tied so tightly it was embedded in the swollen flesh of the dead man's neck.

Relieved to be displaced in such an understated manner, Jason backed away to give Spinelli more maneuvering room. He couldn't bear to watch and his eyes wandered restlessly over the rest of the room, his brain feverishly searching for any clues that their unknown intruder might have left behind. "Here," he said after a moment, belatedly realizing that Spinelli was still grappling with the string but couldn't manage to untie it. "Use this," he handed over the pocketknife he always carried with him, a treasured gift from Emily one long ago birthday. He fumbled it toward Spinelli's general direction, more unwilling than ever to look up and see the faceless corpse.

"Many thanks," Spinelli grunted, receiving the knife with sweat slicked hands. He didn't relish the gruesome task but he recognized the symptoms of an imminent breakdown brewing on Jason's countenance. He knew he had no option but to step into the breach and for once be the one to attempt to shield his mentor from unpleasantness that was more than his psyche could process without potentially fracturing.

"Done!" Spinelli said with satisfaction, almost immediately cringing as he realized the inappropriateness of such a reaction under the circumstances. Reaching up, he pulled the plastic bag free, revealing a man rather than a ghoul meant to inhabit nightmares.

It was as though Jason had been paralyzed, held in place by some evil spell which was broken once the causative bag was removed and discreetly tossed aside by Spinelli. His head snapped up and his eyes narrowed, his stony demeanor was firmly back in place as he took his first look at the newly exposed face.

"I don't believe it!" Shock was evident in his tone as he reached up and distractedly ran his hand through his hair. "That's Felipe Espinosa, he is…was a cop!"

"A law enforcement officer?" Spinelli repeated in a dazed voice, "That is most disturbing news, Stone Cold. This makes the situation even more fraught and the crime exponentially more heinous."

Jason turned to Spinelli, "No…not really," he said dully. "Espinosa was about the most corrupt cop in the Port Charles Police Department and that's saying something."

It was a tacit admission of what they both knew, that Port Charles was a city where it was often difficult to differentiate between the criminals and those sworn to uphold the law. There was honor and depravity represented on both sides. It took a person of a rare ethical stature to resist the free flowing money offered by rival mob concerns to buy insider information, ensure evidence tampering and secure a blind eye when ships full of contraband materials were being unloaded down at the city docks late at night.

"At one time or another, Espinosa provided his services to every organization in town, even the Alcazars back in the day." Jason was staring at the dead police officer, his eyes shadowed, "He killed a cop." He was still incredulous, unwilling to accept the evidence right in front of his eyes.

There appeared to be no boundaries, no restrictions to their unknown tormentor's brazenness and that fact was beginning to seriously perturb Jason. It meant that he was immune to the normal constraints which governed most people's actions-even mobsters observed a certain code of behavior-and such blatant disregard made him an extremely unpredictable and dangerous foe.

Spinelli put his hand gently on Jason's shoulder, trying not to startle him as he was lost in his attempt to make sense of the nonsensical. "It is indeed a perplexing conundrum but there are others we must tend to and further endeavors to pursue this night…morning," he corrected himself wearily.

Jason gazed at Spinelli with incomprehension for a moment, then as the hacker's words were belatedly interpreted by his overwhelmed brain, he suddenly shook his head and rubbed at his eyes as though he was trying to wake himself up. "You're right," he agreed. He reached for Espinosa's corpse and together he and Spinelli lowered him to the ground, arranging his limbs in a more dignified manner. The whisky glass he was clutching was left sitting in forlorn abandonment on the mantelpiece.

As though to make up for his temporary inability to cope with Espinosa's corpse, both before and after the removal of the disguising plastic bag, Jason strode with great resolve toward the three bodies seated around the coffee table. They, like Espinosa, were arrayed in a manner to counterfeit people in a social setting. Jason stopped in front of the man seated in a chair at right angles to the couch. He had an opened bottle of Spinelli's orange soda sitting in front of him on the coffee table, placed primly on a coaster. The other two men sitting on the couch also had drinks in front of them, open bottles of Jason's prized imported Dutch beer. In the center of the coffee table, the finishing hostess touch was provided by a ceramic bowl filled to the brim with barbecued potato chips, next to it was a small pile of paper napkins.

Spinelli gave a heartfelt shudder of revulsion as he said, "He's insane, truly insane! The Jackal will henceforth be unable to consume the nectar of the gods nor any longer delight in the wholesome, salty crunch of the zenith of perfection attained by Idaho's finest potatoes."

Jason knew exactly how the kid felt, he had loved that Dutch beer. It was one of his few hedonistic indulgences but now he knew the whole case was destined to be washed down the drain. He didn't have anything to say to help Spinelli, though a small, smug part of his brain thought, 'Maybe now he'll start eating something green.'

Trying to distract Spinelli and himself as well, Jason turned back to look at the occupant of the armchair. It was obvious what his method of death was, he held the instrument in his left hand and his head was slumped down toward it as if he was contemplating his unanticipated loss of mortality. There was a trickle of dried blood running out of his right ear and trailing down his neck. That was the only sign of the violence visited upon his brain by the sharp silver sliver that was the head of the ice pick.

"This man, Stone Cold," Spinelli was gesturing with agitation at the drooping body, "I know him, his name is Charlie…he was one of the homeless who search through the dumpsters by the tower's garage." He looked up at Jason in mute appeal as though asking him to just this once to somehow manage to erase one deed from the night's morbid roster. To make it so that this sad, derelict specimen of humanity wasn't another victim of the incomprehensible vendetta being pursued against Jason and Spinelli. "I spoke with him, urged him to seek shelter and occasionally gave him money though I fear he simply spent the funds on liquor. This, this is beyond the pale…" Spinelli stopped speaking and just stood there, staring in numb misery at the bedraggled man who had inadvertently been roped into the night's mayhem.

Jason put his hand on Spinelli's shoulder, knowing that there was nothing he could do or say to make anything about the situation better for him. They stood there for a moment, neither speaking, as Jason considered what it might mean that their opponent was reduced to killing a cop and a homeless man to make his murderous quota. Now, more than ever, he was convinced that this group slaughter deposited smack in the middle of the penthouse was end game. No matter what else might face them tonight, he didn't think there would be any more corpses unexpectedly popping up.

Jason turned his attention toward the two men sitting on the sofa, he peered intently at them for a moment, sure he knew both of them from somewhere but unable to quite place them. Then his concentration paid off and he gave a quick, shocked inhalation of breath as he belatedly recognized the duo sitting on his sofa. "The twins," he hissed out between clenched teeth. For the first time throughout the long duration of this never ending night Jason felt a primordial prickle of dread trace its path along his spine. "He took out the twins." His voice was soft, astonished, with an underlying current of undeniable apprehension lacing it.

Spinelli dragged his eyes from their despondent contemplation of Charlie's corpse and looked at his mentor with concern. He had heard irritation, anger, and worry all expressed to varying degrees by Jason tonight but never this chilling sound of barely controlled panic. Spinelli instantly riveted his eyes on the two corpses sitting on the couch as he tried in vain to discern what about them could have evoked such a reaction from a man who up until mere seconds ago he would have thought incapable of such a mundane emotion as plain, garden variety fear.

As he carefully scrutinized them, searching for any sign, any difference in their demeanor or appearance which would explain Jason's troublesome response to his identification of the two men, he failed to find any such illuminating discrepancy. Much as Spinelli hated to admit it, because he was petrified of the idea of becoming inured to death and to dead bodies, to losing his moral self amidst this morass of senseless killing, they simply looked like two more corpses, nothing more and nothing less.

"The twins?" He hazarded the question, hoping Jason would elaborate and maybe give him a clue as to why these men were any more important than the other eight they had encountered.

"Yes," Jason was still distracted, but at least he had heard Spinelli's inquiry and was responding to it. "They're called the twins because they looked alike. They were both Irish and were both named Sean. The one on the left is Sean…Murtaugh, I think, and the one on the right is Sean O'Doherty. There was some song about twins and their mothers and that's where the nickname came from."

"Twin Sons of Different Mothers," Spinelli pulled the reference from his encyclopedic mind, "It was a collaborative album by Dan Fogelberg, hence the title…" He trailed, off giving an apologetic shrug as Jason glared at him in exasperation.

Spinelli gave up on his wasted attempt to enhance Jason's paltry level of cultural knowledge and returned to his inspection of the putative twins. The men were indeed superficially alike, each possessed the classic looks known as black Irish with their blue eyes and black hair. Yet, under closer examination, it was easy to distinguish them from one another. O'Doherty had a broken nose from some long forgotten fight and was bulkier in build than Sean Murtaugh who while trimmer than his companion possessed the beginnings of a receding hairline.

"The Jackal doesn't see anything in the twin's outward appearance to suggest why Stone Cold should have responded to their mere presence with such perturbation." Spinelli was still mystified as to why the dead men had produced such an unexpected alteration in Jason's composure. "Were you personally acquainted with them?" He ventured to ask, at a loss for any other reason that might explain Jason's odd demeanor.

Jason was still staring at the two Seans, his eyes were hooded and the expression on his face was even grimmer than usual. He responded to Spinelli's question with a definitive shake of his head. "No, I never met them but I had heard about them. They always worked together, ever since their early teenage years in the IRA gave them a taste for chaos and explosives. They could never adjust to the rough peace which ruled Ireland and so they hired out to anyone who would pay. They engineered African coups and participated in South American guerilla warfare. They came to the states a couple of years ago, made New York City their home base. I heard some rumors that they drifted up this way. I'm guessing they came to check out the scene in Port Charles. Right now, with the mess everything is in with our organization, the Russians, and the Zaccharas, it's exactly what would appeal to them. They were mercenaries, selling their skills to the highest bidders. They were famous for having no nerves, no matter how hot a situation. It's a required character trait-cool hands and level heads-for anyone who deals with explosives. I'm guessing that Karpov might've hired them; he'd like the idea of outsiders being a better fit with his own men. He'd be stupid to trust 'em though. The two Seans had only one loyalty and it was to each other. Dying together, it's all they would have wanted. They were legendary." Jason abruptly stopped speaking, his impromptu eulogy finished as he stood and stared at the clouded eyes of the Irish soldiers of fortune.

Spinelli was speechless for a moment, he had never heard Jason say such things, share such an intimate view of the inner workings of his world. He stood silently for several moments but when it became clear that Jason wasn't doing anything, was still lost in his solemn reflections, he cleared his throat prior to speaking. "It is obvious, much as in the case of Charlie, how Sean Murtaugh died." He indicated the two small wooden sticks, one clutched in each of the deceased Irishman's hands, as the silver wire which connected them gleamed dully in the room's light. "I believe that is a garrote he is holding and it corresponds with the ligature marks around his neck."

"Yeah," Jason looked where Spinelli pointed, "Whoever did it, used a lot of force, the wire cut deep into his neck." There was a red line running the circumference of Murtaugh's neck, it hadn't become inflamed or bled copiously which two factors meant he had died almost instantaneously.

"I see no obvious markings on Sean O'Doherty or any type of weapon either, which harkens back to the man in the pantry-John Smith." Spinelli was craning his neck toward O'Doherty trying in vain to see any overt sign of violence and he missed the slight stiffening of Jason's body as he mentioned the gray man's corpse.

Jason walked around the chair Charlie was sitting in and skirting the end table with a lamp on it, walked behind the couch to get a better vantage point so he could inspect O'Doherty's corpse more closely for any clue as to what might have killed him. Spinelli also moved toward him but from the front so he might get a different angle from Jason's. He was standing between the coffee table and the couch, bending over and peering fixedly at the second Sean when he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. It was fast and deadly as it coiled and struck only missing Spinelli's hand by scant inches. He tumbled backward falling onto the coffee table which shifted and skidded out from beneath him.

"Spinelli!" Jason yelled his name as he pulled out his gun and fired. The impact of the bullet flung the snake up into the air where it twirled and pirouetted while scarlet gouts of blood cascaded onto the couch, the indifferent dead men and Spinelli's legs, twisted up beneath him as he lay huddled where he landed in-between Sean Doherty's feet and the coffee table. The snake's torn asunder body came to rest draped over the arm of the sofa like some gory avant garde decoration.

As he frantically reached for his gun, Jason knocked against Sean Murtaugh's neck. The resulting force of the impact was enough to sever the few remaining tendons and ligaments connecting the head to the rest of the body. While the already dead snake flew through the air, Murtaugh's head started to roll from where it was so precariously perched. Traveling down his chest, it hit his knees and bounced, springing off into space like some demented version of ski jumping. The head angled directly for Spinelli landing in his lap with a sickening thump.

A/N Reviews are appreciated