So I've had a couple of not-so-nice anonymous reviews basically abusing me because I haven't updated in a while (I have deleted them now). To those anonymous reviewers: please remember I do not do this for money, nor do I do it because I need to... not to mention the fact that I do have a fulltime job plus other responsibilities to take up my time, so do me a favour and try to not be such fucking assholes next time, okay? While I enjoy writing, sharing my work is still incredibly scary sometimes, and people like you do not make it easier. Thanks.

Okay, about this chapter... I'm gonna put a trigger warning here, because I briefly touch upon child abuse and murder of a child. So... just so you know.

Oh! And just so you guys know, I deleted my 'note' chapter, so for anyone having trouble accessing chapter 24 (which is accidentally labelled 25 on ff... whoops),

Chapter 25

The most surprising thing, Jane mused as she coasted the car to a stop on the side of the street and pulled the handbrake on, was how plainly ordinary the house was. She supposed that it wouldn't exactly be prudent for houses inhabited by evil people to have large skulls and crossbones painted on them... or a faint green mist hanging around (green always seeming to be associated with evil... an unfair association, Jane always thought, as she quite liked the colour), or a sign hanging out the front proclaiming its occupants malicious intents. No, that would not be advisable at all. Before she joined the force... while she was still in school, in fact... she had actually gone out and bought a police officer's autobiography, and one line in it had caught her attention: 'serial killers hide in plain sight'. It had simultaneously intrigued, confused and repulsed her. After all, surely there was some sign? There had to be. People who committed atrocious acts simply couldn't be normal to the outside world.

But – she took a breath, tightening the straps on her bullet proof vest as she did so, and opened the car door – there really was absolutely nothing abnormal about this house in front of her. The lawn was well-kept, the garden beds had perfectly trimmed rows of flowering bushes... and even the house itself was unremarkable. Except for, perhaps, the fact that everything had ever so slightly tipped over the line into too perfect... this house was one you would pass on the street without a second glance.

And, Jane admitted reluctantly to herself as she shut and locked the car door behind her, the fact that she found the house a little too perfect was more likely to be her own determination to find something wrong with it.

Because there had to be. This place was home to a monster.

Surveying the windows carefully for movement for what seemed like the hundredth time, Jane stepped forward towards the house, concentrating utterly on what she was doing. The guy... Hoyt... he was not aware that she was coming. He would have had no warning signals to tell him to be on guard... but still. Jane was alone in this. And she was determined to be careful, because what this man was capable of...

She shuddered, feeling goosebumps breaking out across her skin despite the hot sun beaming directly down on her.

She hadn't told Korsak everything. She hadn't even told Maura everything – though she was sure Maura had skimmed several files and could, at the very least, guess at Charles Hoyt's secrets.

Because the truth was, Charles Hoyt was, for lack of a better word, a monster. A monster in every sense of the word. Even if he was innocent – again, for lack of a better word – in this case, he was certainly not a good man by any stretch of the imagination. Jane couldn't help but shudder again as she remembered the contents of the file she had perused. Of course, it had all been phrased rather delicately... the paragraphs short and succinct, yet missing many specifics... but Jane was not the youngest person to make it into the homicide unit for nothing. She was intelligent, and could read between the lines – the reason he had been kicked out of medical school was simple... Charles Hoyt had been discovered in the classroom late at night, had broken into the refrigeration drawers where cadavers were kept, and had brought one out for his own twisted pleasure. Jane's gut turned at the thought... he had found the body of a young woman... mid 20s, and had been in the process of cutting off one of her breasts when he was found, his erection prominent through his thin scrubs. What was somehow even more sickening, she thought, was how he had managed to encourage people to come watch him... some of which did not have their arousal contained in such a fashion, but had whipped it out... their combined perversity a giant fuck you to the respect the dead deserved.

Yes, Hoyt was a monster, and worse yet, he was a monster who enjoyed an audience to his twisted affairs, which was a contributing factor to Jane's certainty of his guilt.

Still... it was rather disconcerting that Korsak had neglected to come with her... that his continued stubborn refusal to accept her because of... what? Her gender? Her age?... meant that she was facing this alone... Jane lifted her chin slightly as she continued on the path to the house ahead. Never mind. She would show him. He would be able to trust her, he would... she just needed to prove herself.

Jane could do that.

R&IR&IR&I

It deserves repeating again: on earth, not much is truly known about the soul. Much is theorised on, much is debated about, but not much is truly known. True legends have filtered down through the years and altered slightly, whether by accident or design, and, while some of the original facts remain, many more are fabricated. Much of the stories in the world today are simply fanciful tales of romanticised notions.

The truth is that it's not as magical as one might think. And yet, at the same time, it is a million times more so.

Perhaps the explanation for this is not clear... if that is the case, I do beg your pardon. The soul separated from the body has a far clearer understanding than the soul that is weighted down by a mortal's worries and fears. Simply put: when a soul is in Heaven, they have no mind, therefore there is nothing prohibiting them from thinking. Perhaps that is confusing... but when you think about it, it really isn't all that confusing at all.

Perhaps a simple explanation is best... a soul has the chance to return to earth seven times in human form. They are also able to appear in other forms... but I digress. A soul is able to return to earth seven times precisely in a human vessel, and, as you can probably easily imagine, the chances for these souls to find their true mate even once in seven lifetimes is truly astronomical and beyond belief.

And yet... and yet. There is Maura and Jane. Maura and Jane, who have been on earth three times before, and have managed to find each other each time. There is no doubt that the first time was pure luck, but the second time, the third... this time?

What can I say? There is a reason I remember them.

They are truly special.

R&IR&IR&I

Jane circled around the house carefully, sticking to the shadows and moving as quietly and agilely as possible. She could not see movement in the house, but that didn't necessarily mean anything... she was going in without backup, and she was determined to take every precaution possible, despite every bone in her body seeming to scream at her to hurry, that Catherine Cordell's life was at stake.

The yard was perfectly trimmed, she noted almost absently as she laid her back flat against the side of the house, to the point where even the grass that laid smack up against the house was trimmed. It was odd, she mused, but then, that was beating a dead horse. She had already deduced the house was too perfect. If this guy was a killer, he wouldn't want to draw attention to himself by having a badly painted house or an overgrown lawn... shaking her head as though trying to shake away the distracting thoughts, Jane turned slowly, watching for movement on all sides as best she could, and peeked into the window carefully.

It was just like any other house inside, but Jane's heart didn't slow down its staccato beat. She was looking into the kitchen, and through the open doorway she could see what looked like part of a bedroom and... she twisted slightly... through the other door, she could see what looked like a lounge room. It all looked clear... no person, killer or not, in sight. Taking a deep breath, Jane stood up straight and headed for the front door, knocking sharply on the wood when she got there. The knock echoed hollowly, making Jane frown. "Charles Hoyt? Boston PD, my name is Detective Jane Rizzoli." Jane waited for a response, but none came. "Mr Hoyt? This is Boston PD." Jane swiftly pulled her gun back out of its holster and reached for the door handle, a part of her not at all surprised when it turned easily in her hand. She pushed the door open slowly as far as it would go, and swept the room quickly and carefully with both eye and gun. All remained still and silent.

Jane stepped inside.

R&IR&IR&I

"What would you do if you could be a police officer?"

"Grace..." Beatie's voice was soft but impatient, but the latter emotion faded quickly when she looked up at her partner. She shook her head. "I don't know. I'd do what all the other police officers do, I suppose."

"But what would you like to do?"

Beatie was silent for long moments, looking at her plate, the meal that Grace had so carefully prepared already beginning to get cold. She poked at it with her fork absently.

"Beatie?"

Beatie sighed. "I'd like to help people. Like..." she glanced up quickly, trying to assess the emotions of Grace's face, "like... you know how... how little Billy..." Grace's face immediately shut down, and she looked down at her hands. Beatie reached out to take her hand quickly, understanding all too well the pain that Grace was feeling... little Billy was all of 3 years old when he was found floating face down in the pond on their property, and Grace had been called for to try to save the child's life. It had been far too late, of course... Grace estimated he'd been there for at least 2 hours before anyone had noticed him missing... but, even despite the bloating that occurred naturally in drowning deaths, she couldn't help but notice the bruises that ringed his throat, the hand shaped marks on his arms and back, and she wondered.

It seemed like the whole town had wondered, in fact, because it hadn't been the first time little Billy had been spotted with bruises. "Perhaps," Grace had even offered tentatively that night in bed, with the lights out and her bravery risen to the surface, "he [little Billy's father, Captain Gary Conners] got sick of merely beating the boy... and decided to get rid of him entirely." Beatie had reassured her that if that was the case, as the evidence seemed to suggest, then Captain Conners would go to jail.

He never had. Captain Conners was good friends with the chief of police... and, as Grace had told Beatie with barely suppressed anger, a formal investigation was never even undertaken. Little Billy had died, and no one had cared.

Beatie squeezed Grace's hand reassuringly, waiting until Grace gained enough control over herself to look back up before continuing. "...like how little Billy died," she continued slowly, silently ruminating on the fact that little Billy would never grow out of his nickname... he would truly be 'little' forever, "I... I'd like to help bring justice to him, you know? To his memory. He... he deserves that."

Grace looked at her silently for a few seconds. "And if you were friends with little Billy's father?"

Beatie's lips narrowed. "I'd still take him down."

Grace smiled widely, her eyes watering. "And that's precisely why I love you Elizabeth 'Beatie' Mills."

R&IR&IR&I

Jane couldn't put her finger on it, but the house was... odd. Having already swept it entirely, checking every cupboard and under the bed, and ascertaining that Charles Hoyt was not at home, Jane was now quietly exploring. Not entirely legal, she knew, but she didn't feel guilty... thinking of Catherine Cordell's picture, her blood splattered home and her dead husband shattered any possible guilt entirely.

It was hard to figure out what exactly got her hackles up about the house, just like it was hard to pinpoint precisely what was different about it from the outside. It was just... odd. Going into the living room, Jane stared at the couch. Brown and serviceable... and they looked brand new. Nothing too unusual about that... records had shown Jane that this was a fairly recently purchased property. Perhaps Hoyt had sprung for new furniture. But... Jane moved over to the couch, pulling on a glove as she did so, and pressed experimentally at the cushion. Even through the glove, she could feel the material was rough to the touch, and the cushion was not very soft. It was a cheap couch, for sure. Jane glanced over to the TV cabinet. A modest little TV sat on top of the display case, but Jane ignored that for now, opening up the cupboards instead.

Old movies. There because that was what Hoyt enjoyed... or there because they were a cheap way to fill the cupboard?

Jane moved to the kitchen. Nothing was out of place... which wasn't surprising, considering the impeccable state of his garden... but still, Jane felt that odd sense of wrongness. She opened up several drawers, but, seeing them filled with standard cutlery and utensils, slammed them shut again and stalked into the bedroom. It was darker in there, the one small window covered by an exterior black out blind. Jane tried turning the lever to bring the blind up but gave up when it turned freely in her hand with no feeling of weight behind it. Obviously, she thought absently, it was broken. She looked at the bed and frowned. Surely someone like Hoyt, with a perfect lawn and a perfectly kept house, would ensure to fix something that was broken as quickly as possible? Unless... he didn't actually use the blind, and therefore didn't know it was broken... perhaps because he didn't use this house at all.

Jane moved to the closet and flung the doors open. Three or four suits were hung up... but there was nothing else. Moving more quickly now, Jane crossed the room and opened the chest of drawers, pushing aside clothing impatiently. There was underwear, T-shirts and shorts there... but it wasn't right. It was too neat, too perfect... glancing up, Jane spied the light switch on the wall and impulsively flicked it to the 'on' position. The light didn't come on. She swore quietly under her breath, slamming the drawers shut again and moving to the kitchen, trying the lights in there. Nothing. So, even though it seemed to be a moot point at that stage, she moved to the living room and tried to turn the TV on.

It wasn't plugged in.

"Fuck!" Jane ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation. "Charles Hoyt... Catherine... where the hell are you?"

R&IR&IR&I

Her phone was blinking furiously at her with notifications of missed calls and missed messages when she returned to the car but Jane ignored them, heading straight to the documents she had saved onto her phone. Typing in her password quickly, she opened the report she was looking for and scanned it quickly, finding the information after only seconds.

Charles Hoyt's original home address... the place he had lived as a child... was on sprawling acreage in the middle of nowhere. His parents were dead, so what better place to take his victims?

Jane turned the car on with a flick of the keys and revved the engine, flicking on her lights with only a moment's hesitation but deciding to forego the sirens for now.

"Hold on, Catherine. I'm coming," she whispered.

"I'm coming."

END CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Okay, so this chapter terrifies me, as do the ones following so I'd love some feedback. But as always, thanks just for reading.

Oh, and I did have a request that I try to cover all this Hoyt stuff in one chapter... I didn't feel right doing that. This needs to be drawn out, so as much as you guys will hate me for the cliffhangers, hang tight with me on this, okay? I promise I'll get us all through it.

And I'll try to not leave it as long between updates this time too. :-) Lots of love, Katie xoxo

Oh, I don't know if voting is open for the Rizzles fan award thingies but if it is... maybe you could vote? Please? Don't feel like you have to though. I still love you. :-P