I do not own any parts of Rookie Blue. Sadly. But if I did, Sam would have stopped acting like a dick from the beginning of season three!

I sincerely apologize for the delay...this has been mostly written for months now, but since the birth of my son, I haven't actually had any motivation to write. Now that season 3 is done, the words have come back to me (probably due to my dissatisfaction with the way the season turned out) Hope everyone's still with us!

Remember, this is a work of fiction; I am not a police officer. I am basing my knowledge of this line of work on television and movies. Oh, and in the case of this chapter, I'm also not a mechanic. If I were, I'd be driving a wayyyyy better car...


[Chapter 6]

Stalking had become second nature to Aaron; creeping unseen by his victims was something of an art form to him. He had found the perfect way to always blend into his surroundings, never drawing unnecessary attention to himself while watching his next subject. Tonight was no different. He used his refined skill of lurking unnoticed in order to catch her unaware and do what he had designed himself to do with her.

Every weeknight for the last two weeks, she waited at the bus stop on Symington Avenue for the 10:23 bus, always toting only a small purse with a shiny silver buckle on the front, and one of those reusable red and black shopping bags from Lulu Lemon. She was slightly more petite than he was used to targeting, but her hair and facial features were close enough to those he liked. She would do.

He hadn't killed in some time, and he was itching for a fix. Killing had slowly become his drug, and with every slice of his blade across a woman's jugular, he'd fallen deeper and deeper into the addiction. There was no turning back even if he wanted to. The thrill was not only in finding his victim, but also in carrying out the kill itself. There was something about watching the light fade from someone's eyes, or feeling their struggling hands lose all fight in them as they fell to the ground that satisfied him beyond words. It made him feel powerful, like a God of sorts.

Through his surveillance of this girl, he'd learned her name was Cristina Oliveira, and she worked at a shoe store in the Dufferin Mall as an assistant manager. Her hair was always neatly tied into a ponytail, always presentable, and clean. The brown hair that drew him to her was probably the only similarity he found to his mother, but it was enough. Her skin tone was too Mediterranean, her cheeks too round and girlish, but it was all he needed to latch onto her and learn her schedule.

She was a creature of habit, as all his past victims had seemed to be. That was something he understood completely. He himself hated changing his routine unless absolutely necessary. His victims all had adhered to their routines religiously, which had made stalking them a breeze for someone like him. Cristina Oliveira was no exception. The only difficulty was that she did not live alone like the others had. He had learned early in his surveillance of her that she lived with her parents, a circumstance that had presented somewhat of a problem to him in terms of where her eventual murder would be carried out. Her place of work was too public, and her work schedule always had her finishing well before it was dark out.

Luckily for him, his prey was about to have the house all to herself for a month. She confirmed this that evening while talking on her cell phone, awaiting the bus. They were flying to Portugal a few days later, and would be gone for a month. It was the perfect opportunity to take what was his and add another lock of hair to his box.


Andy paced the hallway of the emergency room waiting area of St. Mike's hospital frantically, awaiting news on her father. She had received the call from the attending nurse a few hours earlier, as she was changing from another shift at 15. She practically flew over with only the knowledge that Tommy's car had t-boned another car and that he had been rushed to emergency surgery to stop some internal bleeding. She had no idea of the severity of his condition, or whether they expected him to even live at all.

She finally took a seat after her half an hour of pacing had worn down the strength in her legs, and the potential gravity of the situation hit her. She rested her elbows on her knees and brought her hands together, almost in prayer. She couldn't stop her left leg from shaking in nervousness.

Every moment that passed was a moment closer to knowing whether her father had yet again fallen off the wagon and had endangered himself and those around him with his recklessness. It had been her first thought when the hospital had called her to advise her of the accident, sad as it may be. Her father had slipped in his recovery before—many times, in fact. Something had been different when he told her that this time would be the time it would actually work and he'd really stop drinking for good. She prayed that her first instinct to doubt his recovery was wrong.

"Ms. McNally?"

Andy must have fallen asleep in the waiting room because she was suddenly awoken by a nurse calling her name and gently patting her shoulder.

"Mmm," she mumbled as she stretched. "Sorry, yes, that's me."

"Your father is out of surgery."

Andy blew out a breath of relief and closed her eyes briefly before replying, "When can I see him?"

"He's being taken to recovery, and then to a room. It shouldn't be long now. I would recommend that you go home, get some rest, and return in the morning. He'll be awake then."

Andy immediately shook her head. "No, I'd rather be here when he wakes up." So that he doesn't have time to make up some bullshit story about what really happened, the cynical part of her thought. The nurse placed a hand on Andy's shoulder kindly with a knowing look in her eye.

"At least get something to eat downstairs at the Tim Horton's. He'll be in room 502 in about an hour or so."


Tommy McNally awoke groggily to the face of his daughter, a broken leg, four cracked ribs, and a broken wrist.

He cleared his throat a few times before saying, "Hi, Andy," quietly. He couldn't distinguish between the relief and the anger in her eyes; there were equal amounts of each emotion there.

"Dad." She didn't know whether to start her interrogation of her father or try to worried daughter route, so she chose neither and remained silent. As if on cue, Tommy McNally began speaking.

"How long have I been out? You look like you've been here a while," he commented, trying to make Andy crack a smile and break the tension that was weighing thick in the air by subtly making a comment on her ragged appearance. There was no smile to be seen from Andy, though.

"That's because I have been. You've been out at least 5 hours."

"Wow," was all Tommy could say.

After a moment, Andy shook her head at his response. "Really? Wow? That's all you have to say for yourself?"

Tommy's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What do you mean? My breaks gave out." A moment passed before the realization dawned on him that his daughter was accusing him of drinking and driving without actually saying the words. A look of shock appeared on his face, followed by one of hurt. "You really think I fell off the wagon, don't you?" he asked quietly, saddened by his daughter's lack of faith in him.

"Your accident is all over the news!" Andy replied, hands waving above her head in frustration.

"Hmm, slow newsday? Guess no one caught the mayor texting and driving today, huh?" Tommy joked, which finally got a brief smile out of Andy. Poking fun at Toronto's mayor had become a favourite pastime of most Canadians of late. It had just become too easy.

Tommy read his daughter's face; the brief smile was gone.

"Andy, I have not had a drink in 83 days, since the day I told you I'd quit. For you," he defended. "I swear to you, kid."

When his daughter still wore the look of skepticism, Tommy tried another route. "Check my bloodwork," he said simply. There was no underlying emotion in his voice, no hurt or frustration; he felt that he deserved to be questioned by his daughter, at least a little. After all, he had slipped before. He had let her down too many times before. Earning her trust back would take a lot more than going to a few AA meetings and passing on meeting friends at the Black Penny now and then. He understood her suspicion.

Andy thought about it ever so briefly before rising from her seat and saying, "Good idea, Dad. Be right back."

When she returned about ten minutes later, Andy looked rightfully remorseful.

Tommy looked up and saw Andy frown.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I...I shouldn't have doubted you. I mean, it was obvious you hadn't...ugh. I'm really sorry." She looked down at her hands, her eyes glistening with tears of shame for doubting Tommy at all. He put his good hand up to stop her from over-thinking as she normally did.

"I deserved your suspicion, but since I wasn't hammered, can you just drop it now?" Tommy asked with a hopeful smirk. Andy blew out a breath and smiled.

"Yeah," she said, grabbing her father's good hand. "Of course."

"Good. Now how about my car?"

"Write-off, Dad. Sorry."

Tommy shook his head dramatically. "I was pretty fond of that thing. And the car that I hit? Was anyone injured?"

"Thankfully, the woman only had some bruises. She was very lucky. You both were."

Tommy nodded. "Thank God. But what the hell was wrong with my brakes? I had them checked out when I had my snow tires put on, what, a month ago? My guy told me everything was perfect. I had another year in them at least."

A red flag went up in Andy's mind. "You think someone could have messed with them, Dad?"

"I don't know. I don't have any enemies...that are out of jail yet..."

"Hmm," Andy murmured.

Her father had always been an excellent driver, fortunately (or unfortunately) even when drunk. He always kept his car in perfect running order, and never had caused an accident or received a speeding ticket - a fact that probably saved his life and that of the woman he had hit since he wasn't going over the speed limit when the cars collided. Andy had already learned her lesson about trusting her father and his gut instincts. She knew that she had to check this one out.

She rose from her seat once more. "I'll be right back, Dad," she said as she pulled out her cell from her jeans pocket and rushed out of his room. She dialled Sam's number and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hey, Sam."

"Hey, McNally. I just heard about your dad. Is he alright?"

"Yeah, a few broken bones and some cracked ribs, but he's going to be fine."

"What happened, Andy? Was he..."

"No, I checked his bloodwork. Not a drop in his system."

"Thank God. But then what the hell happened?"

"That's what I need you to find out, Sam. Can you get a copy of the collision report from the accident and tell me if the brakes were tampered with?"

"You think someone's out to get your dad?"

"I dunno, but we need to rule out the possibility."

"You're right. Gimme a few minutes. I'll have them send me the report and call you back."

"Ok, thanks, Sam. I love you."

"Me, too, babe."

When she disconnected the line, she felt a sense of dread reach the pit of her stomach. What if someone was trying to kill her father? How could she protect him from a danger they didn't know? If his brakes had been tampered with, there would be little to no way of knowing who was behind it. She just hoped that his apartment building had some good surveilance cameras operating. Maybe they had caught the person or persons responsible for the accident.

Andy paced outside of her father's room for a few minutes until her phone rang again. It was Sam.

"You were right. Despite the mangled mess Tommy's car is now, they were able to determine that the brake line appeared to be cut."

"Shit," Andy cursed. "Thanks, Sam."

"You're welcome, babe. You want me to come meet you at the hospital?"

"No, Dad's going to be released into my care in a few hours, so we're just going to go straight home. You can come by after your shift. I already called Best, and he's given me tomorrow...well, today, off, so I can situate my dad."

"Alright then, see you later. Take care of yourself, Andy."

"You, too, Sam."

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Sam."


Aaron sat on the park bench that gave him the best view of his latest victim's backyard, including a large bay window. He had already inspected this window, and knew that it would be the best way with which to gain entry into the house when the time was right. Tonight was not that time, but that didn't mean he wouldn't watch her. He had to ensure she maintained her routine. There could be no failures.

His attention was drawn to a window on the second floor when the light within turned on, muted by the dainty white curtains still drawn. He had seen this light turn on every night after she returned home from work, so he knew it was her bedroom.

As he watched the windows and the slight movement behind the curtain every few minutes, he began fantasizing about what the final night of her life would be like; would she struggle much? Would she simply wilt under the force of his attack? He had a feeling that her personality would render her immobile when faced with certain death. She wouldn't try to escape or scream. She definitely wouldn't fight him.

Suddenly, he wished that the fateful night when he would finally kill again was sooner than a few days away. Once his prey was alone in her home, he'd finally remember what it felt like to run a blade against a slender neck; to see a trickle of blood running down, turn into a river and then a spurt as the heart ran out of blood to pump through the body. He couldn't wait until that night came.

Soon.


A few nights later, Cristina Oliveira jumped off the TTC and began her ten minute walk to her house, pulling her toque down over her ears to shield them from the bitter winter cold. She brought her bright pink scarf up around her neck and lifted the collar of her jacket higher to block the wind. She also had a pair of matching gloves in her pocket, but she forgot they were even there; her mind was on the chores she needed to do and the bills she had to pay for her parents while they were away. She tended to remember things easier when she listed them off aloud, so she did just that.

"Toronto Hydro is due on the fifteenth, Dad's pension cheque needs to go to the bank tomorrow, and the house plants need watering," she said quietly to herself as she reached the corner of her street. With her mind being on other things, she didn't notice the figure lurking in the shadows across the street from her house, awaiting her arrival.

She took her house keys out of her purse and slid the right one into the front door's lock. It opened effortlessly. She stepped in and secured it behind her immediately, as she always did. Her parents had always taught her that you could never be too careful, even in your own home.

Dropping her lunch bag and purse by the door, she toed off her shoes and walked over to the kitchen to check the house line for voicemail. There was only one from her parents.

"Ola, Cristina! It's Mommy!" Cristina rolled her eyes at her mother's continual use of mommy, but smiled anyway. She missed her parents terribly. "We went to the Algarve today. Daddy got you a present already. I told him we'd get something later, but he thought you'd really like it, so I couldn't stop him! Anyway, sorry we missed you! Hope work was good today. We'll call tomorrow morning to catch you. Love you! Bye!"

She chuckled to herself as she hit the delete button on the phone.

Cristina turned to leave the kitchen and go upstairs to change. She had television shows to catch up on and she needed to be comfortable when she did it.

Putting on a pair of black yoga pants and a pink tank top, she walked over to the bathroom and rid herself of the makeup she wore on her face. The water ran ice cold as she brought her cupped hands under the stream and splashed her face with it. She dried her face with the towel on the counter.

When her face was dried, she brought the towel down, but was shocked to see the reflection of a man standing behind her. Before she could even gasp, he had a gloved hand over her mouth. Wide eyed, she watched his reflection in the mirror as he smirked menacingly. He brought his mouth to her ear and hummed in anticipation. Cristina frantically looked around the bathroom for something with which to defend herself. Her hands found a pair of pointy tweezers and stabbed them right into the hand that covered her mouth. Her assailant yelped in pain as the tweezers made contact. They stayed planted in his hand. It was enough pain to temporarily throw him off-guard and release her. Wasting no time, she ran out of the bathroom and headed down the stairs as quickly as she could go. Behind her, she could hear him cursing at her.

"You fucking bitch! Don't leave me!" he cried as he pulled the tweezers out of his hand. They fell to the tiled floor of the bathroom with a clank as he chased after Cristina.

By the time she reached the main floor of her house, her whole body was shaking with fear and adrenaline. This made it difficult for her hands to function the way she wanted them to, but luckily, she still had her wits about her, and decided against trying to call for help using the house phone*-it would take far too long. Instead, she grabbed her purse, which still contained her cell, and ran to the front door to run to safety, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the man trying to kill her. She attempted unlocking the door, but her shaking hands made it a difficult task.

When he came up behind her, she heard him say, "Don't fight it. Your hair will be part of my collection soon." He was about to strike when she took her purse and swung the side with the decorative belt buckle at his face. He instantly retreated from her, clutching his face and moaning. She unlocked the door and ran, looking back briefly, but with enough time to see blood dripping from between her attacker's fingers.


A/N: * when calling 911, they say to use the land line so that dispatchers can trace where the call is coming from. They can't do this just yet with cells. I'd think with gps, they would have figured out a way, but apparently not...

Hope this was worth the wait! Please review!