Jane's breathing is even and her arms hang loosely around me. My eyes are closed but I haven't slept. Even with her strong heart drumming below me I am still too afraid of what my subconscious may conjure up.

I begin to rise from her embrace, but she tightens around me.

"Not yet," she says sleepily.

I smile sadly and brush my nose over the small cleft of her chin before placing a chaste kiss there.

"I need to."

She huffs and raises her arms. I sit up and look at her. She squints at me with her hand covering her face in a failing attempt to block out the sun.

"Are you okay?"

I shake my head. "No, but I will be."

She sits up beside me and rubs small circles on my back; concern etches itself across her face. "Is there anything I can do?"

I shake my head again and give her a small smile. "I just need some time to myself."

She nods and I know she understands when I feel her lips press against my cheek. I lean into her and turning my head, I capture her lips lightly with my own.

"Thank you." I lean back slightly and brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Admiring her comes easy.

She takes my hand in hers and places a small kiss the back of my knuckles; "For what?"

"For this morning. For protecting me."

She smiles and cups my cheek; "Always."

And I believe her.

Even at home I can feel the earth shift and move under me. I feel unstable. This morning with Jane has thrown me off my axis. No routine is satiating. I have fed Bass, showered and changed. I had attempted to mediate but instead of silence was left with the screams from my nightmare echoing in my head.

I twirl the ring on my finger absently as I pace the kitchen. I sit at the island and open up my laptop and search the public land records in New Hampshire. I scroll until I find the listing for Darren Crowe and see he bought 4 acres in Grafton County in 2010.

I retrieve my tote from the hall closet and grab my keys and as well as few extra items for tonight. I need control.

The leaves are beautiful this time of year. Even as they wither and fall, their colors spread like a fire.

I've parked off a side road and to anyone passing by it would look as though there is just another hunter claiming a space. The roads were lined with cars on my drive.

I watch him for some time from my place on the hillside. He has brought back an impressive stag. A bright yellow arrow protrudes from below the shoulder. A well placed kill shot.

He guts and cleans the carcass at a work bench outside of the garage. His skinning technique is crude as is his removal of flesh. He doesn't cut to the bone, leaving a great deal of meat at the back as he removes the loins; or attempts to rather.

He saws the stag's antlers. A trophy to his accomplishments. One of many I am sure he has collected. His avidity is astounding. I've noticed for some time his tailored suits and expensive watches. A man living above his means in some ill-fated attempt to garner prestige among those around him. His ego is insatiable. His shoes have always been cheap, though.

I stay in my place behind the trees and watch him until he retreats inside. The sun is low in the sky and the fall chill settles in for the night. I begin down the slope careful to stay against the tree line that surrounds the cabin.

I watch him through large bay windows. He drinks in the glow of the television. He throws back shot after shot and gets himself off. I watch him stumble and brace himself against the wall as he makes his way to the bedroom. When the lights go off I make my way around the cabin and smile at my discovery. He never closed the garage door. Leaning against the wall just outside of it is an upright dolly that he used to move and unload his kill earlier in the day.

Inside the garage are a multitude of hunting tools. A recurve crossbow as well as a quiver of bright yellow arrows hang from the wall. I pull my hair back and remove a pair of examination gloves from my tote. I set aside the crossbow and arrows. I take a small hunting ax and slide it into my tote. I sling it over my shoulder as I roll the dolly in from outside and push it along in front of me. I remove my knife from my pocket and flip it open and drag it along side the 76' Camaro parked inside. Pity

I make my way back through the garage to a door. I turn the knob tentatively. It is unlocked. I lift the dolly and enter through a modest kitchen. The noise from the TV is still low in the background. To my left is a small hallway that leads to a parlor. Deer heads line the wall as well as antlers. Seems Detective Crowe has an affinity for killing as well. Also hanging on the wall is a black truncheon. One I assume he received after graduating from the academy. I take it and pull the small sling over my wrist as I make my way up the stairs, leaving the dolly at the bottom. I twirl it and I suppress the want to whistle.

I can see the light from the bathroom down the hall. I flank myself against the wall until I am a few feet from the open door. Crowe stumbles and catches himself against its frame. Gripping the truncheon's handle. I swing and connect it to the space below his ear, near the base of the skull. He slumps to the floor and is immediately unconscious. I flip him over and check his pulse. It is faint, but there. I pick up his ankles and drag him back down the hall and stairs. His head bouncing along each step until I reach the bottom. I pull his shirt up and over his head and turn on the hall light. I remove my scalpel and make a waning crescent incision above his groin. I cut deep through his external oblique and aponeurosis. I spread the incision with my fingers and reach into his abdomen. I run my fingers along a smooth kidney and dipping my scalpel in cut through the renal artery. With the organ freed, I drop the scalpel back into my bag and pinch the artery. The blood pooling in his abdominal cavity is almost black. I remove my hand and retrieve a ziplock. Placing the organ in and then securing it into the insulated bag inside my tote.

I lean back on my knees and look down at the man. The thick blood will clot his artery, but he will still bleed out within the hour. I want Detective Crowe alive. I remove a small bag with surgical sutures and neatly close the incision in minutes and end with a baseball stitch. Laying down the dolly, I drag his legs onto it and push his feet firmly against its base. It takes a bit more effort to move his upper body. Once he is fully on I remove a roll of duct tape from my tote. I bind him to the dolly mid leg, hip, and chest, then hoist and roll him back out through the garage.

I silently thank Darren Crowe for keeping the supplies in his garage so well stocked. I cut him free from the dolly and bind his wrist and ankles and hoist him up slightly from the ground with a twenty foot extension cord. It wraps around his torso and under his arms. I've rigged it up and over a tree branch of a sturdy oak near the house and tied it to the grill of his truck to keep him loosely suspended. Around his neck I've tied a hangman's noose from nylon rope I found in the bed of his truck. Its length is twenty-two feet.

I retrieve an ammonia cap from my bag and break it under his nose. He rouses, snapping his head up. He is still drunk when he looks at me; his head swaying back and forth. We study each other for a moment while his whiskey soaked brain trying to process me.

I walk over to his truck and get in. Starting it, I back up and lift him until he is suspended a good deal above the ground. I turn on the headlights and press on the horn. He is fully awake now. He kicks and struggles in the air. He spins and sways around and side to side. Getting out, I reach into the bed of the truck and remove the crossbow, quiver and the small hunting ax. I hoist myself onto the hood of the truck and chastely cross my legs as I set the items beside me.

"You're going to lose more blood if you keep struggling, Detective Crowe." I can see it seeping through his incision.

"Maura?" He sounds unsure, and I'm almost certain I must look like an outline of a shadow lurking behind the trucks lights.

I pick up the crossbow and place my foot into the cocking stirrup, pulling back on string until I hear the latch fall into place, securing it there. I remove an arrow and slide it up the flight groove and bring the stock to my shoulder. I look through the sight.

"Yes?"

He is silent for a moment.

"You were extremely discourteous to Jane the other day. And have been for sometime if I'm not mistaken."

'Thock!'

I send an arrow through his left shoulder and he sways from the momentum and screams. It echos and bounces off the hills and trees. I grit my teeth and pinch my brow as I lower the bow. I should have taped his mouth shut. Not for anyone around us. There isn't another house for miles, but for my own sanity.

"Fuck you and that guido dyke," he chokes out.

I let out a sigh and reload the bow.

'Thock!'

I send another arrow into his thigh. This time he cries

"I really don't think you are in the position to be saying anything like that, Detective Crowe."

He is breathing heavily and I set down the crossbow beside me. I cross my legs again and clasp my hands over my knee.

"Do you know what you look like to me with your nice suits and cheap shoes out here in the wilds? A well-scrubbed, hustling rube, with a little taste. Good nutrition give you the length of bone, Detective Crowe, but you're not more than one generation from poor, Southie street trash, are you?"

"Fuck you." Falls out of his mouth, limply

"No, Darren. You won't. I prefer blue-collar Italian Detectives. Or, that guido dyke, as you so eloquently put it." I pick up the ax and bring it down swiftly into the electrical cord, severing it.

He drops. The slack from the rope around his neck becomes taut. His bound hands grip at his throat and I watch until his struggling frame becomes limp. His face shades of purple and blue.

I lower myself from the hood and walk around the truck. I toss the crossbow into the passenger's seat and drive forward; lowering him to the ground. I retrieve my tote from the bed of the truck and flipping the man over, I properly remove the loins.

Getting back into the truck, I reverse and hoist him back into the air.

I begin the walk back to my car and I can hear the distinct calls of large black birds nearby cheer him to the gallows.