I'm so sorry for the delay! I really meant to post a new chapter every week but - truth is, since I didn't manage to finish this story before NaNoWriMo and haven't quite recharged my writing batteries, yet, I'm running out of story to post ... Don't worry, I won't leave it unfinished but it'll take me a while to get the rest written and beta-ed.

They spent the next few hours sitting in the car and staring at the house. The weather didn't improve. It remained grey and cold and drizzly.

"So much for Indian Summer," Beaman murmured when a light rain set in.

Francine glanced at him but didn't say anything.

He got the hint. She didn't want to talk – not even about harmless stuff like the weather. So he remained silent until around noon when he suggested to go and grab some food at a nice little old-fashioned diner two streets around the corner. He knew she wouldn't mind to "grab some food". She might have objected to "have lunch" because, in her book, that might have sounded too much like having a date and of course that was exactly what she didn't want, at least not with him.

Francine considered his suggestion for a moment, then nodded.
"Fine, let's go."

Lunch passed mostly in silence, too. Of course, Beaman could have made an effort to draw her out but he wasn't in the mood.

When they were back in the car, they called Billy. He had an update for them.

"Forensics came up with nothing in Parker's apartment," he said.

Francine was holding the receiver so that Beaman could listen to the conversation, too. She was aware her and Beaman's head were almost touching. Too close. Much too close. Close enough for her to smell his aftershave which was a good indicator of how close he was to her. He never put on much.

She realized she was missing what Billy was telling them.

"… amount of blood. They waited until he had bled out before they moved him."

"Did they take a closer look at the claw marks on the wall?" Beaman asked.

"Yes. You might be right. They might have been left by a human."
Billy hesitated.
"They're similar to the marks on Parker's body."

Francine glanced at her partner.

When they first had started working together she had given him six months. He hadn't seemed the type who could manage to take what he was feeling and lock it up until the job was done, as sometimes needed. He was learning fast though.

"That would explain why the bite and claw marks combined aren't matching any known animal," he said.

His voice sounded cold and matter-of-factly. It matched the expression on his face.

"What kind of person would do such a thing?" Francine asked. "Claw and bite someone to death?"

"That's what we have to find out," Beaman said.

"I want you to be very careful," Billy told them. "Whoever did it is a real psycho. Don't take any unnecessary risks."

Francine suppressed a sigh.
"You know us, Billy."

"Yeah, that's why I'm telling you."

He hung up.

Francine hung up too and withdrew a little so she could turn to her partner without bumping her head against his. His expression was still the same – cold and distant. She didn't like to see him like that. It was a sign that he was starting to adapt to field work, which wasn't a bad thing as long as you didn't adapt too well. Kept too tight a grip on yourself until you didn't allow yourself to feel anything at all anymore.

She had been able to avoid making that mistake but then, her upbringing had been vastly different from his. She was used to pretending to be someone she was not. When to keep a grip on herself and when to let go. How to keep things from affecting her too much. Beaman still had to learn that.

I'm sorry but I can't help you there. You've got to figure that one out all by yourself.

Everyone was different. Everyone had to find their own way of coping with what they had to do on the job.

"I don't think anything's going to happen here anytime soon."

Francine stretched her arms.

They had been sitting in the car watching the creepy old house for hours. All day long in fact, and now it was starting to get dark out.

When Beaman didn't answer she gave him a light poke in the side.

"Hey. Did you hear what I said?"

He glanced at her.
"Yes, but I don't know if I agree."

Francine gave him an incredulous look.
"What, you want to stay here all night?"

He didn't say anything but his look told her yes, indeed he did want to stay all night. And probably all of the next day if he considered it necessary.

She checked her watch and sighed.
"Alright. It's half an hour till our next call to Billy. We'll just let him decide."

Beaman opened his mouth, probably to protest.

Francine raised her hand to stop him.
"No, let me finish. Knowing you, you'll insist on us coming here again tomorrow. If we're going to, we need to get some rest. Now, I already said that I don't think Moran or anyone else will show up here. But if you think it's absolutely necessary I'll try to convince Billy to send another team to take over for us."

Beaman sighed.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm reading too much into Parker writing down this address. Maybe I'm trying too hard to find his killer. Or killers."

Francine shook her head.
"No, there's definitely something odd about the house. I can't put my finger on it, though. And I don't think that, whatever it is, we'll find out about it tonight."
She smiled.
"And of course I'm right. I always am."

"Always?"
Beaman returned the smile.
"May I remind you of that incident at the Smithsonian six months ago?"

"No, you may not. And it's hardly my fault I can't tell a Tyrannosaurus Rex from an Allosaurus. Normal people over the age of five usually can't, you know?"
Francine faked an indignant sniff.

"Oh, so I'm not normal?" Beaman asked in a mock offended tone.

Francine laughed.
"No, thank god you aren't. Normal is boring."

"I'm not boring, then?"

"You're …"
Francine stopped and straightened.

Beaman frowned.
"What?"

He turned to face the direction she was looking.

"I think I saw something – there!"

There definitely was something moving in the bushes to the left of the house.

"Who …"

Before Beaman could finish his question, something came out of the bushes and moved over to the house. A man in torn, worn-out clothes. He moved slowly in an odd, shuffling way. Francine would have thought he was one of the homeless in and around DC but something about him struck her as odd. After a moment she realized it was his unusual paleness. He was so pale his face almost seemed to glow.

"Nosferatu," Beaman whispered.

She glanced at him.
"I hope that doesn't make me Ellen Hutter …"

That got her a surprised look and a pleased smile from Beaman for catching his movie reference.

They both returned their attention to the man – at least, the person seemed to be male – approaching the house. He stepped on the porch and rapped on the front door. It swung open - as Francine imagined, with a soft creaking sound. There always was a soft creaking sound with doors like that.

"That's odd," Beaman said. "When I tried the door, it was locked."

"Maybe it was only stuck," Francine suggested.

"Maybe there was someone in the house all along."

They watched the man enter the house. The door closed behind him.

Francine didn't like it. The feeling of unease, of being watched from the house, was back full force.

Beaman nudged her in the side.
"There's another one."

He pointed to the right of the house and sure enough another man, dressed and moving much like the first one, came struggling through the overgrown garden. He disappeared into the house, too. A third and fourth one followed him within the next ten minutes.

Then, for half an hour, nothing happened. No more people approached the house. No lights went on inside – not even the tiny flicker of a candle's flame. It looked as abandoned as ever.

"I don't think there's any more coming," Francine said checking her watch.

"Not unless they're fashionably late," Beaman pointed out.

"They didn't strike me as the kind of people who would know how to be fashionably anything …"

She picked up the phone and dialed Billy's number.

He answered on the third ring.

"Melrose."

"Billy, it's me. We saw four men enter the house half an hour ago. I thought we should let you know."
She hesitated for a moment.
"I can't put my finger on it but there was something strange about them."

"Strange?" Billy asked. "What do you mean?"

"It's not much, really. They were very pale and they moved in a funny way."

There were muffled sounds at the other end of the line. Then Billy again.

"Hang on a second, I'm putting you on speaker. Lee just got here."

Francine listened while he was giving Lee a quick rundown of what had happened since she and Beaman had left the Agency. Beaman raised his eyebrows at her.

"Lee's there."
She gestured at him to get closer so he could listen to the conversation, too.

"You think those four you saw are associates of that Moran guy?" Lee asked.

"Maybe, maybe not," Francine said. "We don't even know if he's still alive. For all we know, those four could be a bunch of Satanists on their way to hold a black mass down in the basement."

Lee chuckled.
"You better be careful then. They might choose you as their next virgin sacrifice. You sure do look the part."

Francine glanced at Beaman and rolled her eyes.
"If they do, they're in for a major disappointment. It's been quite some time since I last qualified for that position."

Beaman smiled at her.
"Four black books," he mouthed at her.

She almost laughed.

"So, how do you want to proceed?" Billy asked. "Keep watching the house and see when they come out again?"

"They already might have left again," Beaman pointed out. "There's no lights on in the house, at least none that we can see from here. And if they're still in there, well then I'd like to know where they are and what they're doing."

"You think they might be planning another hit?" Lee asked.

"I think that if Moran's still alive and hiding in that house we don't know who else might have stumbled over him."
Beaman, Francine noticed, suddenly looked worried.
"There's a lot of kids in this neighborhood. A house like that – it's like a magnet for them. Especially with Halloween just around the corner."

Francine hadn't considered this. He would know about such things, of course, since he was from the area.

"So you're suggesting searching the house," Billy said.

"Yes."

"No."
Francine shook her head.
"Too dangerous while those four weirdos are still in there."

"Of course I'm not going in there as long as they're still around."

"Right, because you're not going in there at all."

"And who else is going to search the house?" Beaman asked. "You?"

"Yes."

As much as she wanted to stay away from that house, she wanted Beaman to go in there even less. Especially not all on his own. The problem was – he probably felt the same about her.

"Just a moment, Billy."
She covered the receiver's mouthpiece with her hand.
"Please do me a favor and don't give me that 'I don't want you to put yourself in danger'-thing again. We've been through that a dozen times."

"What if they're still in there?" Beaman asked softly.

"I'll go around the house and check. If they're still there, I'll come straight back to the car."

"I still think you shouldn't go in there on your own."

If she was honest, Francine didn't want to go in there all on her own, either. She was going to keep her partner away from the house, though, no matter what. She didn't know why. It was completely irrational. It wasn't as if the house could hurt him.

Just go with it. Go with what your instinct tells you. It's usually right.

Billy cleared his throat.
"Are you two finished?" he asked.

Francine detected a hint of amusement in his voice. She was sure Lee was wearing his broadest grin. She uncovered the mouthpiece again.

"I'll go check out the house and search it if there's no one there. Beaman's going to watch my back."

"Fine. Call me again as soon as you're done."

"And don't let those Satan worshippers catch you," Lee added.

Francine wished he were right here with them so she could have kicked him in the shin.

The streetlights came on just as Francine was slowly making her way towards the house. The sun hadn't sunk below the horizon yet but it would do so very soon. Probably while she was still inside the house. She was almost hoping to find a light on at the back of the house.

She followed the trail of trampled grass and weeds Beaman had left earlier. Most of the windows at the back of the house were boarded up. No light there – Francine didn't find even the slightest hint of anyone being inside.

It's what you thought – they must have gone out the back.

She checked the rest of the house, then turned back and tried the backdoor. The knob turned without offering any resistance. Odd. She had expected it to be rusted. The door swung open without a sound which was even creepier than the loud creak it should have made. It made her pause for a moment. Why would anyone go to the trouble of greasing the backdoor's lock and hinges but leave the rest of the house in disrepair?

Easy. Repairing the house would be an obvious sight that someone's living here.

This house only seemed to be abandoned – she would have bet her career on it.

The only question is: Is it Moran who's hiding here or those four guys?

Francine nudged the door further open. It was dark inside – she could barely make out the interior. She would have to proceed with extreme caution. At least she didn't have to rely on her skills with a gun alone. It wouldn't do her a lot of good here in the dark. Having to go hand-to-hand was much more likely.

She slid through the door, closed it again behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did after a few moments she saw an old, cast-iron oven to her right, the kitchen sink next to the backdoor on her left, a three-legged table with several broken chairs in the middle of the room and cupboards with broken glass-panes lining the walls. All covered with a thick layer of dust and decorated with cobwebs that hung from the ceiling. Francine looked down and scanned the floor for footprints.

She didn't find any.

Not good.

It meant no one had exited through the backdoor. So the four men still had to be somewhere in the house.

Let's see …

She set her foot down on the dusty floor and lifted it up again. It left a clearly visible imprint in the dust. So indeed no one had come through the kitchen.

It might have been smarter to return to the car. They all had agreed, after all, that those four might be dangerous, maybe even responsible for killing Parker. But now, her curiosity was piqued: Where were they? What were they doing here in the dark? And who were they? Just four guys who lived on the street and had found shelter from the night here?

Unlikely.

At least, the dust made it a lot easier for Francine to find them. All she had to do was to look for footprints and follow them.

Finding traces of the four men proved to be easier than she had thought. She silently proceeded from the kitchen to the dining room and from there to the hall, ignoring the cobwebs' feathery touch as best as she could. She wasn't exactly scared of spiders but she didn't mind at all for them and her to go separate ways. When she entered the hall, a floorboard creaked under her weight. Francine froze; held her breath, listened for sounds that might indicate someone had heard her and was coming for her.

Nothing.

Well, it was an old house, full of odd sounds and smells. If they had heard her, they might put the sound down to that.

She continued towards the front door and that was when she saw it: A broad trace in the dust that lead from the house's entrance to a door under the stairs to the second floor. It was impossible to tell how many people had walked here – or how often.

They must have gone down to the basement.

That's why I didn't see any lights.

Francine frowned.

"What are they doing down there?" she murmured.

She remembered Lee's joke about the Satan worshippers. Suddenly it didn't seem quite so unlikely anymore.

Francine took in a deep breath.

Never mind, she told herself. Even if those four are Satan worshippers, they probably won't be armed except with knives … maybe. Just remember: You're the most dangerous thing in this house.

Most likely. If Moran wasn't here and those four in the basement – for where else could they be? – weren't Parker's murderers.

She took a step towards the basement door and stopped again. Checking out the basement all on her own wasn't a smart thing to do. She really ought to get back to the car and tell Beaman what she had found out. And then, maybe, return here with him as backup.

Backup? a tiny voice whispered in her mind. Since when does Francine Desmond need backup? And besides – didn't you want to keep him away from the house?

Well, then she simply would have to return to the car, call Billy, tell him what she had found out and let him decide how to proceed, right? Because that was what she was supposed to do.

And that's how you're going to prove you're just as good an agent as Scarecrow?

She was as good an agent as Lee. She knew that. Others did, too – Billy, Amanda, Beaman … But for everyone to see it, she would have to be at least twice as good as him. Maybe also take some risks he wouldn't take. Of course, that also meant things could go horribly wrong. If those four were Parker's killers and if they caught her she would end up just like him.

Then don't get caught. Simple.

She did have a good chance of going unnoticed. It would be even darker down in the basement. Of course, that also meant she would be able to see even less, and be all the more likely to be taken by surprise.

Ok, don't go down there then. But you can open the door and see if you hear anything. If they're really down there, they might be making some kind of noise. It's perfectly possible, after all, that they left again through the front door while you were back in the kitchen.

Well, she could do that. No harm in listening, right?

Francine crossed the rest of the hall and opened the basement door. Like the backdoor, it wasn't locked and the hinges had been greased. It opened without a sound.

All she could see were the top three steep stairs leading downward. The rest of them disappeared into pitch-black darkness. Damp, cold air hit her, carrying the unmistakable smell of mold. Francine stood at the top of the stairs, one hand on the doorframe, the other one on the doorknob and listened into the darkness. Nothing. Only the sounds of an old house. A soft creak. A low, scuttling noise that immediately made her think of rats. Dripping water, probably from a broken pipe. Soft footsteps approaching the house.

She straightened at that.

Footsteps?

She checked her watch. There were still almost twenty minutes left until the half hour she and Beaman had agreed on was up. It couldn't be him. Which meant that whoever it was, she didn't want to be seen by him. The tracks she had left would tell him she had been here – but not when exactly.

The footsteps were on the porch now, getting closer to the front door. They stopped. The doorknob started to turn.

Francine did the only thing she could do to get out of sight quickly: She stepped forward, down into the darkness, and closed the door behind her.