The girl had been quite beautiful once, with flowing red hair, full red lips and stunning blue eyes. Olivia remembered her well, as she had seen her on numerous occasions. Maybe that was the reason why she was so much more shocked by the sight of the body than she would have been normally after joining the Fringe division. Even though Emily had been fished out of the Charles River more than an hour ago, she was still drenched and a thin layer of ice had begun to grow on her hair and her naked skin. Her eyes were broken and stared up at the winter sky in silent accusal as if blaming God himself for her cruel fate. The detail that hurt Olivia the most was the wide, red gap under her chin, almost like a caricature of a smile. The water had washed away the blood and the cold had contracted the flesh to open up for the mortal wound even more. It was a stomach-churning sight.

"Yes, it's her", she said tonelessly to no one in particular. "That's Emily Roberts."

"She was found an hour ago", the police officer next to her explained, officer Hanley, if she remembered correctly. "But the coroner thinks she's been in the water for at least a day and a half." Hanley looked at Olivia with a combination of interest and scepsis in his eyes, but she didn't answer his unspoken question just yet. Inside, she was still trying to calm herself. Her intuition had told her what had happened before she had known anything about Emily's murder, but she had tried to ignore that annoying little voice at the back of her head. But what could she have done beside flagging women between the age of 30-35 with red hair, blue eyes and a small tattoo of a dragon on their back? And now, only hours after her talk to Rachel, she had been called to a crime scene where the victim matched her description. She hadn't even had the time to investigate Emily's disappearance. No time to check out that club. No time to ask around. How could she tell Rachel after all the promises she'd made?

Hanley didn't give up that easily. "Agent, not to sound rude or anything, but as far as I see it, this isn't a federal matter, or do I miss some information here?"

Olivia really wasn't in the mood of discussing technicalities right now, so she just gave him as arrogant a look as she could muster and replied: "Why don't you let me worry about that?"

Hanley stared at her for about half a minute before he turned away with a shrug and barfed some commands at the other officers at the scene. Good. She needed to be alone right now.

She only got a few seconds with her thoughts, then a hand was placed on her shoulder and when she looked up, her gaze met Peter's warm, concerned eyes.

"He is kinda right, you know?", her partner remarked. It was impossible not to hear the sorrow that resonated in his voice; after all, he had met Emily on several occasions too, and he had been as shocked as Olivia by recent events. "I am sorry, but there is nothing... well, fringy, about this. And I am sure officer Hanley is fully able to take matters from here."

For a second, Olivia had to fight back a single tear that tried to struggle its way out. He was right, of course, but that didn't mean it was fair. None of this was fair. Emily didn't deserve this, and neither did anyone else – so yes, maybe there was nothing "fringy" about this case, but there was still a killer on the loose and she was already too deeply involved in this emotionally to just let it go. With a last decisive look at the mistreated body, Olivia got to her feet and turned towards the coroner. As she handed him her card, she said: Please call me with the results of the autopsy." In the background, she noticed Hanley's disapproving look, but fortunately he didn't interfere with her demands. She knew Broyles would never condone her unauthorized action, and Hanley had, theoretically, the right to call her superior to confirm the FBI's involvement in this case. Peter had to know that too, because he sent her a significant look, which she ignored deliberately.

XXXX

Another one. It still doesn't make any sense. She is surprised to feel another tear on her cheek as the pretty guy lets out a gasp. He is an actor, she knows, and a pretty good one at that. His make-up artist is doing a great job too, as the wounds look quite realistic and hurtful. But when she looks at him, the music loses its importance and she grows tired, her body feels tired. As if looking at him somehow is too exhausting. She wants to turn her back on him and dance, dance, dance, follow the rhythm of oomph, oomph, wshhhhh-snap, but...