Duncan Harris wasn't exactly the most motivated person in the world, but the next morning, he was a man on a mission, and nothing was going to dissuade him. Not even getting hit by a car.

It was ten after seven and he was running late because his mom didn't wake him up like she was supposed to. He was running along the sidewalk, back bent and arms flailing, and made the mistake of dashing across the street without looking both ways. The front end of a station wagon clipped him hard, and he flew into a bush, the branches scraping his face and ripping his hair. He crawled out, got shakily to his feet, and swayed like he was going to fall down. He was dazed, weak, and bloody, but he had to get to school, so he kept on running. "Hey, kid!" the driver called. "You okay?"

No, but he'd worry about that later.

At school, he staggered down the hall, collapsing once or twice, and made it to the cafeteria with five minutes to spare. Leaning against the soda machine because he felt like he was going to fall over, he looked around for Mia. He spotted her sitting alone at a table with Zeke and his eyes narrowed. He pushed away from the soda machine and walked over macholy, chest out, back bent, legs flopping with every step. His knees gave out just as he got there but he caught himself on the edge of the table. Mia looked up at him and the smile on her face died.

"Hey, guys," Duncan said, voice breaking, "how's it going?"

"Uh...Duncan, are you okay?"

His jeans and hoodie were both ripped in places, scratches crisscrossed his face, and twigs and leaves stuck in his hair, lending him a resemblance to that brown girl from Amphibia. He swayed lightly like a wind tossed tree and his eyes were just hazy enough to suggest a concussion - even though he hadn't hit his head. "I'm great," Duncan said, "I just got hit a car, that's all."

Mia gasped. "Hit by a car?" she asked in disbelief.

Sitting next to her, Duncan nodded. "Yeah, it's no big deal. Only the side of it hit me." He looked across the table at Zeke. He wanted to openly insult and clown on the hippie, but that wouldn't look good. He might seem insecure or something. "'Sup, Zeke?"

"Just chillin'," Zeke said. "You're not tryna go to the hospital?"

Duncan waved his hand. "I don't support the medical-pharmaceutical industrial complex. Unless I absolutely have to."

"Speaking of," Mia said, "Zeke and I are going to a protest after school. Wanna come?"

Boom, invited.

There was just one thing.

"Sure, but what are we protesting."

"The fact that the girls of Oakdale are being picked off one by one," Mia said.

At his look of confusion, she explained that another girl had been murdered last night in the rich part of town. A jogger found her body lying in her front yard that morning. "Was it the same guy?" Duncan asked, confused.

"Probably," Mia said. "Some white cis-male terrorist I bet." She looked from Duncan to Zeke. "No offense."

Okay, Duncan understood being upset over a literal serial killer taking people out, but, like, what good is protesting him? He's a serial killer, he doesn't care. You might as well go protest a hurricane.

The bell rang, and Mia and Zeke both got up. "See you later,": Mia said.

"Alright, later."

Duncan watched her go, her tight little ass looking dummy good under her even tighter jeans. When she was gone, he sighed. He didn't really put the moves on her, did he? How could he do better next time? This was a delicate operation and if he made one wrong move, he could wreck his chances with Mia.

He'd have to give it a little more thought. Until then, he'd insert himself into Mia and Zeke's day like a fan artist inserting himself into his favorite TV show (my OC has the biggest the dick, the hardest muscles, and the fattest wallet).

But first, breakfast.

He stood up and the bell rang.

Duncan hung his head.

Alright. Nevermind.

Stomach rumbling, Duncan went to class.

Detective Ryerson knelt over the mangled body of Kelsey Andros and stroked his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. Sgt. Potter, a fat man, stood off to one side, his arms crossed and his lips pressed tightly together. He looked annoyed.

"Yeah," Ryerson finally, "she was definitely murdered."

"You don't say," Potter replied.

They were in the grassy front yard of a big two story house on the ritzy side of town. Ivy grew along the house's brick facade and European windows provided a glimpse inside, where uniforms searched for clues. The girl was lying on her back, her face a seeping mess of bone and blood, and a second story window was broken, curtains fluttering like ghosts in the gentle breeze. When he arrived on the scene, Ryerson told Potter, "She probably slipped and fell," and Potter just rolled his eyes.

Hey, it had happened before.

Given the state of the body, however, there was no way he could deny the obvious. This girl had been jacked the fuck up. Getting to his feet, Ryerson dusted off the knees of his tan slacks and straightened his yellow tie. It had purple polka dots. "I want her bedroom searched for physical evidence and -"

"OH MY GOD!"

Ryerson turned.

The meter maid, Mrs. Harris, pressed her hand to her mouth and stared at the body with wide, horrified eyes. Ryerson threw his head back and let out a deep, frustrated sigh. He thought he got rid of her.

Annie gaped at the poor girl for almost a minute before forcing her eyes away. This vic was far, far worse off than the last one. Yesterday, she was so high on the prospect of solving a murder that the human aspect of it never occured to her. Walking up, she glimpsed the girl's shirt - white with glittery gold colored writing - and recognize it.

Kimberly had one just like it.

For a split second, it was her daughter lying there and not some random vic, and a fist of dread smashed into her stomach, doubling her over. Right now, somewhere in the general vicinity, there was a parent learning that their child had been murdered and feeling that same exact sensation, only worse.

Inexplicable tears flooded her eyes and she turned around so that Potter and Ryerson wouldn't see them. A chill went through her and she suppressed a shiver.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped. Ryerson favored her with a tight-lipped expression. "I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?"

For a moment, Annie didn't know how to answer that question. She didn't know if she was cut out to deal with dead children every day.

On the flip side, she wanted this bastard apprehended now more than ever.

"No," she said, "you're not."

Ryerson nodded. "Alright, I guess I better catch you up."

Leading her away from the body, which was now being photographed, Ryerson told her everything he'd done in Leah's case. Her friends said that she and her boyfriend were at a party and got into an argument right before she died. She stormed off, but the boyfriend stayed, which eliminated him as a suspect. Her friends, family, and teachers all painted her as a nice girl with no enemies but Ryerson wasn't buying that. "I'm not saying she was a bad person," he explained, "but she's a cheerleader, and popular kids tend to...you know...tease other kids."

"You're speaking from experience?' Annie asked.

Ryerson hesitated. "A little. But, I mean, it's like a well-known thing. I have a hunch that she teased the wrong kid and he wigged out on her.

"Who's this vic?" Annie asked.

"Kelsey Andros," he said, "another cheerleader."

Hmmm. "So there's a connection. They went to the same school, traveled in the same circles, and knew the same people."

"Right," Ryerson said. "That's why I'm certain the killer is known to both of them."

The detective had a point. In a criminal investigation, like in science, you have to piece together a line of reasoning using what facts and data you have, and right now the facts and data pointed to the killer being an acquaintance of both girls. Ryerson's theory that the killer was someone they had picked on made sense given the stark brutality of the attacks, but Annie had a hard time believing that a teenager - any teenager - could do this.

She told Ryerson that, and he nodded. "It could be a teacher...or it could be a football player. Whoever did this is very strong."

Inside the house, Ryerson led Annie to Kelsey's bedroom, which had been trashed. Blood stained the walls and broken furniture littered the floor. Annie looked around...and right there, lying on the desk, was a long, white feather. She grabbed Ryerson's arm and pointed. "Look."

He followed her line of sight. He went over and picked it up, holding it by the feathery end with his thumb and forefinger. "It's the same kind from Leah's murder."

The Swan mask.

"He's taunting us," Annie said. For some reason that she couldn't explain, that made her mad. It wasn't enough for him to brutally murder two beautiful young women, he had to toy with the cops too.

She stroked her chin.

"What?" Ryerson asked.

"What if he's not an acquaintance?" she asked. "What if he's a serial killer?"

Ryerson paled and shook his head. "Oh, no, don't say that."

"But what it he is?" Annie asked. "He's acting like one."

"Or maybe he's trying to throw us off," Ryerson pointed out.

True, that was a possibility. They wouldn't know until they dug a little deeper. Annie's foot kicked something and she looked down.

A cellphone.

She bent over, picked it up, and swiped her thumb across the screen.

Thankfully, the phone wasn't password protected.

"What are you doing?" Ryerson asked worriedly.

"Reading her text messages," Annie replied.

The detective paled. "You can't do that. We don't have a warrant."

Annie blew a raspberry. "I'm Parking Enforcement. I don't need a warrant."

She accessed Kelsey's text messages and scrolled through them. The eleventh one down contained a picture dated three months ago. Annie opened it…

...and her jaw dropped.

Half an hour later, Annie and Detective Ryerson sat in the office of Keith Mitchell, AKA Mr. Mitch, a tall, athletic black man with glasses and clad in a blue Addadis tracksuit. He wore his long hair in a ponytail and affected a calm air, as though he had absolutely nothing to hide. Annie scrolled through Kelsey's phone, opened hers and Mitchell's chat history, and showed him the phone. "Care to explain this, Mr. Mitchell?"

Mitchell's eyes went to the screen and his placid demeanor changed in an instant. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat and sweat started to ooze from his forehead. On the screen was a picture of him with his hands on his hips and a big, smug smile.

He was totally naked.

"Sexting with a sixteen year old girl," Annie said disgustedly. "That's really nasty. What else did you do with her?"

Mitchell recovered. "Nothing," he said. "Look, I promise, we never did anything else. She got with some boy and I left her alone."

"You didn't get jealous?" Ryerson asked.

Annie shot him a dirty look. "I'm the lead investigator," she said. "Let me ask the questions."

Ryerson sagged.

Turning back to Mitchell, Annie asked, "You didn't get jealous?"

"No," Mitchell said. "It's not like that."

"What is it like?" Annie asked.

The teacher was quiet for a minute. "Like I said, we just texted. I text -" he cut himself off as though realizing he was about to incriminate himself.

"You text what?" Annie pressed. "You text lots of teenage girls?"

Somewhere, Mitchell found a reserve of courage. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I wanna talk to my lawyer."

"Listen, bub," Annie said, "I got two dead girls out there and you're my prime suspect. In another one of these texts, Kelsey mentions that you texted Leah too, so right now it's looking really bad for you."

Mitchell's newfound confidence faltered. "Yes," he admitted, "I text with a lot of girls. You don't know what it's like to be young, cool, and black around here. The girls throw themselves at me. I tried to fight it but I got caught up."

There was a note of honesty in his voice that told Annie he was telling the truth. "I wasn't upset when they got boyfriends. I'm not even like that. It is what it is. I'm a grown-ass man and I know high school shit don't last forever,"

"Do you know anyone who might have a grudge against either Leah or Kelsey?"

Mitchell shook his head. "Nah, they were regular girls. I mean, no one hated them or anything."

"What were they like? Did they bully and pick on other kids?"

"Not that I know of," Mitchell said after a moment. "I think y'all are off base. You shouldn't be looking at other kids. This isn't some Slenderman shit, this is Jefferey Dahmer shit."

After their meeting with Mr. Mitch, Annie and Ryerson set up shop in a conference room near the office and interviewed all of Leah and Kelsey's closest friends. None of them knew anything and Annie suspected none of them. Ryerson called into headquarters and learned that there was no physical evidence left at either crime scene. "The killer's clean," Annie said, "that's not good."

They were barely twenty-four hours into their investigation. It was crazy to expect a wealth of evidence, a solid prime suspect, and an arrest warrant. Some high profile murder investigations took months, even years. In 1984 and 1985, Richard Ramiez, the Night Stalker, killed over a dozen people in L.A., breaking into homes at will and raping and murdering whoever he found inside. Even doing all that, he was free for months while the police gathered clues that went nowhere. David Berkowtiz, the Son of Sam, shot random people on the streets of New York City in 1977. He was done in by a parking ticket.

It's usually a lucky break rather than expert detective work.

At least in cases of serial killers.

Part of Annie liked the idea of working a serial murder case, but another part - a bigger part - wanted it to not be a serial murder case. She thought of her own children falling victim to the rampaging madman and her stomach twisted in knots.

It was far, far easier to track killers when they were known to the victim. When they were complete randos, it was almost impossible without strong evidence, and strong evidence didn't often materialize in the first twenty-four hours.

Though barely a day had passed since Leah was found dead in the park, Annie was frustrated. She felt hopeless and important, as though she could do nothing to stop the killer tearing through her community.

All she could do was hope that he wasn't a serial killer.

When they were done at the school, Annie and Ryerson drove over to Faye's, a cafe on Main Street, for lunch. It was just past one in the afternoon and the dining room was packed with hungry diners. They sat at a table along the far wall and ordered drinks - tea for Annie and chocolate milk for Ryerson. Annie thought back to the feather they found in Kelsey Andros's bedroom. It was identical to the one they had found next to Leah. At first, Annie assumed that the swan mask that had been stolen from the high school theater department had feathers but it did not: It was a simple latex mask with a jutting bill. Picture any swan you've ever seen and that's the mask. The feathers had come from the bodysuit that went along with it. The killer must have grabbed a handful of them when he stole the mask.

Why was he leaving them at the scene of the crimes?

It had to mean something, but what?

She mentioned this to Ryerson and he mulled it over with a sip of chocolate milk. A brown, foamy mustache coated his upper lip and it took everything Annie had to keep from pointing it out. "I don't know," Ryerson said. "It could be a distraction."

Maybe, but she didn't think so. She thought it had some deeper, personal meaning to the killer. When he left those feathers, he was sending a message of some kind.

Their food came a little while later and they ate in silence. Annie was zoned out and thinking when a voice found her ears. "..bunch of swans, all of 'em dead. Damnedest thing."

She blinked and looked around.

Who said that?

Her searching eyes landed on an old man sitting at the counter. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot and his jowls were covered in several days worth of stubble. He wore a blue denim work shirt and cowboy boots. Annie was sure that she had seen him somewhere before but she couldn't place him. Maybe she gave him a ticket before.

What was he saying about swans?

Getting up from the table, she walked over and sat next to him. Ryerson gave her a funny look then followed. "What's that about dead swans?" she asked the man.

Twisting around, he looked her up and down, clearly noticing her uniform. Maybe he thought she was a real cop or maybe he didn't care either way. "Someone killed a bunch of swans at Miller Pond last night. I found 'em all scattered all over the place. Looked like their necks were broken." He shook his head and took a drink from his glass. "What's the world coming to these days?"

Annie looked up at Ryerson. His face was blank, as though he didn't understand the significance of this. "Let's roll," she said and got up.

Miller's Pond was north of town, a wide, muddy body of water surrounded by tall grass. The swans were on the north bank, a dozen of them spread across the sloping yard of an abandoned house with boarded up windows covered in graffiti. Annie knet next to one of the swans and lifted its head. Its long, slender neck had been snapped and blood dripped from its beak. Ryerson looked nervously around, afraid of being caught, but Annie ignored his anxiety. "I'd bet my bottom dollar that our perp did this."

"But why?" Ryerson asked. "It doesn't make any sense."

"No, it doesn't, but that's because we're tracking a madman. I'm sure of it now."

Ryerson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just what I needed."

Annie looked up at the house, considered her next move, then started walking up the embankment. Ryerson ran after her. "I suppose we're going to break in."

"It's abandoned," Annie said, "so no, it's not a b & e."

"Well, no dip. I doubt there're eggs and frilly pillows in there."

Annie stopped and looked at him. "B & e, not b & b. Jeez, you really aren't cut out for this line of work, are you?"

Ryerson pursed his lips. "No," he admitted, "I don't think I am,"

The steps leading up to the sagging porch creaked under their feet, and the front door stood open. Annie pulled out a penlight, turned it on, and shone the beam around the entry way. Dust motes danced in the beam like falls of snow and the smell of earthy decomposition washed over them. Ryerson looked nervous. "Look, we really shouldn't be doing this."

"Yes we should," Annie said and went in.

Ryerson grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around to face him. "Look, Mrs. Harris, this is real life, not one of those cop shows you watch in your PJs."

Annie stiffened. "Fu -"

"If you want to be a part of this investigation, fine. If you want to lead it and get all the glory when we finally catch this guy, great. I already told you you're a better detective than I am and I meant it. I'm a bumblefuck and always have been. But if you want to do this, we have to do it the right way. I have to talk to my captain and -"

Spinning around, Annie marched into the house.

Ryerson stomped his foot like a petulant child and followed her.

Inside, strips of grayish paper peeled from the walls and trash and broken furniture littered the floor. A thick layer of dust coated everything and shafts of sunlight fell through holes in the walls and ceiling. Annie's heartbeat sped up and she suddenly wished she had something stronger than pepper spray. She pulled the canister out and put her thumb on the trigger. She glanced at Ryerson. "Get your gun out."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because the killer might still be here," she replied.

"Good point," he said and pulled his gun out.

They started on the top floor and worked their way down, looking for anything that could help their investigation. Aside from empty beer cans, used condoms, and other evidence of a teenager infestation, they found nothing.

Last, they checked the basement. The walls there were rough stone and the floor dirt. Annie swept the penlight back and forth, chasing shadows back to their holes. She walked a rough parameter of the space and was just about to give up when her beam revealed something written on the wall.

She took a step back and held up the light.

A giant drawing of a swan adorned the stone, its bill open and dripping blood. At its feet was a pile of girls with Xs for eyes. The craftsmanship was crude, child-like even, but the message was clear. Annie's foot nudged something and she looked down. A towel had been spread out in the dirt like a red carpet. On it were several items, including a book.

Annie swallowed hard.

Bending, she picked the book up. It was bound in leather with gold writing across the front. Stay True to Your School 2021.

She recognized this book.

Duncan had one just like it.

Last year's Oakdale High yearbook.

"You shouldn't touch that," Ryerson said. "You might be contaminating evidence."

Ignoring him, Annie opened the cover.

More blocky text was scrawled across the inside cover. Annie read.

"I will have them and possess them. Their blood will make me beautiful. They grow ugly and cold, I grow more pretty. When they are dead, I will be a swan." The rest was illegible and nonsensical. The killer believed that by killing ten pretty girls, he would become beautiful himself. Or, as he put it, he would become a swan. Annie flipped through the pages and found a section near the back headed PRETTIEST GIRLS IN SCHOOL. Below were fourteen pictures.

The first two had been X'ed out.

They were Leah and Kelsey, both of whom had been murdered.

Annie's heart pounded.

This was it, her first big break, and big breaks didn't come much more gift wrapped than this. She turned to Ryerson, whose face was white. "Were you reading over my shoulder?"

He nodded.

"So you know what we're dealing with here?"

Ryerson let out a deep breath and raked his fingers through his hair. For a second, he looked like he was about to break down crying, but then he got ahold of himself. "Yeah. Serial killer."

"I want this place under round the clock surveillance," Annie said. "When he comes back, we're gonna grab his ass."

By the time Annie started home, it was almost 7pm. She crackled with nervous energy and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She mentally organized all the clues she and Ryerson had collected over the past two days. She was certain that the killer was involved with the school somehow. Earlier, she rejected the possibility of a student being the murderer but now, knowing that she was dealing with a certified nutcase, all bets were off. A teenage boy jealous over his girlfriend looking at other guys wouldn't beat her, stab her, and throw her out a window, but if he was a psychopath…

Given the severity of the attacks on both Leah and Kelsey, she believed that the killer would be someone strong and outwardly powerful. A bodybuilder, a farm boy, a defensive lineman - someone who was far stronger than your average high schooler.

The day had been bright and warm up until now; dark clouds filled the sky and the wind began to pick up, blowing the treetops back and forth. Droplets of rain pelted the windshield and Annie turned on the wipers. They streaked across the glass with a steady, rhythmic chunk-chunk-chunk.

She was three blocks from home when she spotted Duncan's friend Bex storming down the sidewalk, her hands curled into fists. Annie pulled alongside her and rolled down the passenger side window. "Hey!" she called. Bex whipped her head around, and for a brief second, Annie saw the most abject mixture of hate and suffering on her face, then it was gone so quickly that she wasn't entirely sure that it had ever been there at all. "You need a ride?"

Bex considered the offer and seemed to be just about to reject it, but the rain picked up, and she came over, getting silently in. She pulled the door closed behind her and put her seatbelt on. "Where do you live?" Annie asked.

"On State Street," Bex mumbled.

Annie set a course for State Street. She watched the girl from the corner of her eye; jaw clenched, eyes hard, she looked like something was wrong. "I know it's not my place," Annie said, "but is something bothering you?" She spared Bex a quick glance to demonstrate a respectful amount of concern.

"No," Bex said.

"Are you sure?" Annie asked. "You just seem like there's something on your mind and if you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."

Bex took a deep breath and stared out the rain-sluiced window. Annie didn't think she was going to open up, but then she started to talk, her words coming in a rush. "Everything keeps saying I look like a boy and making jokes about it. I didn't care at first but now it's pissing me off and I wish I didn't look like a boy. Like am I that ugly that you literally can't tell I'm a female?"

While Annie would never think of any child as ugly, she also couldn't deny that Bex did kind of look like a boy. She was short, stocky, and had muscular forearms that any football player would be proud of. She had noticeable breasts, but so did a lot of boys of similar build. She wore shorts most of the year and though Annie had never had the chance - or the desire - to study her legs, they were thick and solid like logs. Annie did not know what Bex's sexuality was (perhaps Bex was too young to know herself) but Annie had always assumed she was a lesbian. To be honest, there was nothing outwardly feminine about Bex whatsoever, including her clothing. She wore plain shirts and shorts and tennis shoes. Annie had never seen her in make up or anything girly and her hair was always a mess. She figured that Bex - gay or not - simply didn't care about being conventionally girlish. A lot of girls don't.

"Of course you look like a girl," Annie said. "People can be total assholes sometimes. Now...you really dress like a girl or anything. You strike me as a tomboy. Do you want to look more like a girl?"

Bex opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. "Not really," she said. It came out more as a question than a statement. "It's not like I wanna wear pink and stuff, but...look at me. I'm built like a construction worker and it...it hurts my feelings when people say stuff about me." Her eyes darted to her lap and Annie's heart went out to her.

"Oh, honey," Annie said, "not every girl looks like a supermodel and that's perfectly okay. We come in all shapes and sizes and that doesn't make us any less of a woman."

Bex sighed. "I know," he said, "I just...I don't know, it gets to me. Sometimes I kind of do wish I was a little more obvious."

"You're an attractive girl," Annie said. And though Bex was on the stocky side, she wasn't ugly. "All you need to do is put on some make-up, do your hair, and wear form flattering clothes. You don't have to do that stuff all time if you don't want to, but if you sometimes want to remind everyone that you're a girl, that would help."

Bex was quiet until Annie pulled into her driveway a few minutes. "I guess you're right," she said.

"You'd be surprised how far a little makeover can take you. Look at those celebrities. You think JLO is always that hot? No, she wears makeup, styles her hair, and really goes out of her way. Some girls are naturally pretty, but the rest of us have to work for it."

"Yeah, you're right," Bex said. She didn't sound convinced. "Thanks for the ride." Looking almost ashamed, she added, "And for the advice."

Annie smiled. "Any time.'

When Bex was gone, Annie drove home, thoughts of the killer returning. She remembered the gut-wrenching horror she felt when she imagined Kelsey as Kimberly, and she sighed deeply. She really hoped the stakeout caught the bastard going into his sick little lair.

She really wanted to see him caught.

Putting her fears aside, she went home to her family.

At 7pm, Duncan met Zeke, Mia, and a few of her friends at town square. A few of them held signs reading ACAB, BLM, and WORKERS OF THE WORLD UNITE! Two girls, one with pink hair and the other sporting glasses and a nose ring, held a banner between them with the hammer and sickle logo of Comminist Germany or something, Duncan didn't know. How all of this related to protesting the guy who killed those girls, Duncan didn't know, but he was trying to impress Mia, so he fronted like he did. Mia hopped up onto an overturned milk crate and shout into a bullhorn, her fist raised into the air. "We refuse to kowtow to a white maile fascist who seeks to impose his whiteness on all of us! We refuse to allow our sisters to be cut down in the street! No patriarchal male will force us into hiding! Together, we are strong!"

Everyone cheered, and looking around to properly gauge their reactions, Duncan clapped. "Yeah! Right on!"

"We gather here tonight to say NO! NO we won't be silenced! NO, we won't give up our agency! NO, we will not be intimidated!"

A group of uniformed police officers gathered off to one side, watching with their arms crossed, and people passing on the sidewalk stopped to gawk, some taking pictures and others pointing and laughing. Mia, in a tight pair of jeans and an olive drab coat over a white tank top that bared her midriff, was on fire, and sexy as hell while doing it. Duncan was mesmerized by the sway of her bare hips, and the way her belly button glinted in the police-erected floodlights dazzled his vision. He felt himself beginning to stir, and quickly tucked his boner between his stomach and the waistband of his pants. If he lifted his shirt, you'd see his head just chilling, so he was really careful with how he moved.

Zeke stood beside him and nodded along to Mia's message. When Mia said something really explosive, Duncan threw out his arms like he was super excited and hit Zeke right in the face. The hippie's head rocked back and he stumbled a little but didn't go down. "Dude, I'm so sorry," Duncan said, pretending to be remorseful.

"Nah, man, it's cool," Zeke said in that slow, sleepy stoner draw of his, "you're feelin' the moment/ That's what's up."

Oh.

Duncan expected him to be mad, or offended, or at least a little, you know, miffed or something. He expected Zeke to say watch where you're throwing your hands. That he didn't made Duncan feel kind of bad.

"Yeah, Mia has that effect on me," he said.

"She does everyone, man, she does everyone."

Duncan went for it. "So...you like her?"

"Yeah, man, she's great," he said.

Duncan couldn't tell if he meant that he liked her as a friend or as something more, and didn't want to ask because that might come across as kind of weird. "Yeah, she is great," Duncan said in an exaggeratedly dreamy tone. He watched Zeke from the corner of his eye to see how he responded, and when he didn't, Duncan frowned. He wanted to know his intentions with Mia, damn it. Was he really just a friend, or would Duncan have to fight him to get to Mia? He would totally fight him if he had to.

"I really like her," Duncan added.

"Yeah, man, so do I."

"Like...I wanna date her."

Zeke nodded. "Yeah, so do I."

Duncan's heart dropped.

And there it was.

He and Zeke were both after Mia.

This meant Duncan had to step up his game.

Just then, a cop came over the loudspeaker and ordered the crowd to disperse. "There is a curfew in effect from dusk to dawn until further notice. Please return to your homes and lock your doors."

The crowd booed and jeered. "We're not gonna let this serial killer make us do shit," Mia called.

"Yeah!" Duncan cheered. "Fuck the police!"

"Then you'll wind up being his next victim," the cop called back. "All women are advised -"

"WHY ALL WOMEN?" Mia screamed. "WHY ALL WOMEN? THAT IS SEXIST!"

The cop glanced at one of his comrades and snorted. Turning back to Mia, he said, "That's who he's killing! Seriously, this is for your own safety! Go home!"

"FUCK YOU!" Mia screamed.

"Yeah, fuck off, pigs!" Duncan yelled. He spotted a discarded glass bottle on the ground, picked it up, and launched it at the police. It landed in front of one of the cops and exploded into a million pieces.

The cops exchanged glance, then whipped out helmets, batons, and plastic shields. Duncan's smile fell and Zeke looked at him. "I don't think you should have done that, man."

As one, the cops formed a line and started to move in, their shields up in front of them and their batons clutched in their hands. Duncan looked around for some means of escape,and stumbled when a fat purple-headed dyke bumped into it. Mia jumped down from her milk crate and thrust her finger at the approaching police. "CHARGE!" she screamed.

Letting out a thunderous battle cry, the protesters surged forward, pushing Zeke and Duncan both along. Duncan would never know if they did it because he and Zeke happened to be in their way, or if they were using the men as human shields (what was that in South Park? Operation Get Behind Blackie?), but it didn't really matter in the moment. Zeke's normally placid features screwed up in terror and Duncan shrieked and cringed.

The armies crashed into one another, and Duncan caught a baton to the skull. Stars burst across his vision and his knees gave out, spilling him to the ground. Zeke held up his hands to ward off the blow, "I didn't do it, man!" he yelled.

A dyke super-kicked a cop, knocking him back, and Mia put one in a headlock, teeth bared. A pasty white guy with a neckbeard and a black bandanna over his face caught a jackboot to the gut and flew back, and a bald woman with a Che T-shirt gushed blood from her nose. Boots kicked and trampled Duncan's body and he screamed in fear. Getting to his hands and knees, he started to crawl away. A low, broken moan found his ears and he looked around to see Zeke dazed and bloodied on the ground.

If he was lucky, Zeke would be trampled together and he, Duncan, could get close to Mia as she grieved.

With that in mind, Duncan turned around and started crawling again, but his conscience got the better of him and he went back. Grabbing Zeke by the hoodie, he dragged him away from the battle. A cop ran up and kicked Mia in the ass, and then she chased him, screaming about police reform.

About that time, an armored Humvee with a water cannon mounted on the roof showed up and began spraying the crowed. Duncan helped Zeke to his feet, slipped his arm around the hippie's waist, and guided him away. They met up with Mia a block away. She was winded and her jacket was torn, but otherwise she looked okay. They carried Zeke between them and took him to a small ranch house three blocks away. By the time they got there, Zeke had revived enough to walk on his own. He rubbed his head and winced at the pain in his skull and back.

When they reached his house, he turned to Duncan. "Thanks for saving me back there. You're a chill dude." He led Duncan through some complicated handshake and nodded at Mia. "Later."

"Later," she said.

After leaving Zeke's, Mia and Duncan walked in the general direction of Mia's house. "That was awesome," Mia raved. "The way you started that riot and stood up to the pigs. Then how you saved Zeke. That was really cool of you."

"I'm just sick of the man telling us what to do," Duncan said.

"Right?" Mia agreed. "No one's gonna make me cower in my house. No cop, no serial killer, nobody."

Behind them, a bloodstained orange beak poked out of a bush as if to sniff the night air and one white gloved hand curled in a fist of rage.

At Mia's house, she turned to Duncan. "That was really great of you," she said. "I had an amazing time tonight."

Were they about to kiss?

Holy shit, they were about to kiss.

"So did I," Duncan said, speaking loudly to be heard over the sound of his own pounding heart.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yeah,"

She turned away just as Duncan puckered his lips and leaned in. He stumbled forward and almost fell off the porch. Mia looked at him funny and he uttered a nervous laugh. "I'm still a little woozy from the tear gas."

Mia grinned. "It'll pass. It always does."

She went inside and Duncan was alone.

Okay, so they didn't kiss, but Duncan had made some major headway, which was just as good. There was still Zeke to worry about but Duncan knew that Mia liked him so it shouldn't be too difficult to get past the hippie.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, Duncan walked the eight blocks home. The streets were empty and eerily silent, the houses along the way all lit up and buttoned down against the ominous night. The wind blew through the trees and Duncan heard the occasional sound behind him, but thought nothing of it. He knew that there was a maniac loose in Oakdale but it was as unimportant to him as international politics. That serial killer didn't have anything to do with him so why should he worry about it? On the other hand, Mia was the sexiest girl in the whole town so she was instantly in danger.

A shiver went down his spine.

It was best not to think about things like that.

Ten minutes later, Duncan let himself in through the front door. Dad was parked on the couch watching reruns of Boy Meets World on Nick at Nite and Jing was bouncing off the walls on a sugar high from hell. "Hey, Dunker," Dad said. "Wanna bond over one of my favorite sitcoms growing up?"

Cringe.

"Not really," he said.

Dad looked hurt. "W-Why?" he asked, bottom lip quivering, "is it me?"

"Not particularly. That show's old and lame."

For a second, Dad just looked at him, then he laughed. "It's not - wait a minute." He counted on his fingers and gasped. "Almost thirty years. It is old."

Wow, so he is capable of self reflection.

Before Duncan could congratulate the old man, Mom flew in from the kitchen like a banshee, teeth clenched. For a second, Duncan thought she was going to rip his head off and shit down his neck, but instead she stopped short, put her hands on her hips, and glared up at him. "Where have you been?" she demanded. "Don't you know there's a crazy person chopping people up?"

"I was at a protest with Mia," he said defensively. "We were fine, there were cops everywhere."

Mom's jaw dropped. "At protest? While someone is killing people? What's wrong with you? What were you even protesting?"

"The killer," Duncan said, "duh."

"You were protesting the killer," Mom said in a wow, you're dumb tone. "What good do you think that's going to do?"

Honestly, none. Duncan wasn't as dumb as people might think. He understood full well that if someone's a psycho, holding signs isn't going to stop them. This wasn't a government or a system they were protesting, it was a wild animal. He wasn't going to say that, though. Doing so would be an admission that Mia was wrong, and Mia was never wrong.

"We just wanna do something to stop this guy, Mom," he said, "instead of sitting around like you and Dad."

Mom exploded. "I've been chasing this guy for two days, Duncan, two days. I've seen what he does to people and I am not okay with my son putting himself in danger over some retarded and pointless protest."

"It's not retarded, it's -"

"GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

She jabbed her finger at the stairs.

Flushing with anger, Duncan stormed up the stairs, went to his room, and slammed the door behind him. He threw himself onto the bed and let out a frustrated sigh. Sometimes his mom really got on his nerves with her constant overreacting. It really wasn't a big deal. The killer only went after girls and he wasn't a girl. He was as safe from him as Bex was.

A few minutes later, a knock came at the door. "Yeah?" he called.

The knob turned and Dad poked his head in. "Hey, Dunker," he said, "uh...can I come in?"

Duncan sighed. "Yeah."

Dad slipped in and sat on the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping and creaking beneath his weight. He rubbed the back of his neck and struggled to come up with something to say. "Don't blame your mom for being a hardass right now. It's not her fault."

"She's always a hardass," Duncan vented, even though she really wasn't. "I'm not a baby, I can take care of myself."

"Maybe," Dad said, "but this killer has her on edge. She's been working the case and…" he trailed off. "It's messing with her. She's worried about you and your sisters and sometimes worry makes people act like jerks."

"I'll say," Duncan said.

"Just try to bear with her, okay? I know it's not easy. She snapped my head off for leaving the door unlocked and said I was trying to kill us all." He let out a humorless laugh. "She doesn't mean it."

Well...Duncan guessed he was right. Parents tend to freak out over nothing at all, and this killer wasn't nothing. Duncan was sure that he was safe but you know how moms are. "Okay," Duncan said, "I get it. I won't get mad at her. I just don't like being yelled at like I'm a baby. That's all."

Dad grinned. "You and me both. Like I said, just grit your teeth and roll with the punches."

"Okay," Duncan said.

Leaning over, Dad ruffled his hair. "Atta boy."

Downstairs, Annie paced around the kitchen, pausing every so often to look out the window over the sink. The backyard was dark and empty, but she could feel the killer out there, stalking the night. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he killing another innocent child? Was he even now sneaking up behind an unsuspecting girl? She flashed back to the state of Kelsey Andros's body and her stomach turned. She had been beaten to savagely that she was barely recognizable as human. Leah wasn't much better off. The idea of him doing something like that to another kid filled Annie with nervous dread.

She checked the locks on the back door and all the windows then went into the living room. She was almost to the front door when someone - or some thing - pounded against it;. She jumped and a startled cry knocked from her throat. She slapped her hand to her mouth and unconsciously held her breath. Her heart slammed against her breast and her wide, terrified eyes strained from their sockets. A minute passed, then two.

Nothing.

When she trusted herself not to fall apart, she returned to the kitchen, fetched a wickedly sharp knife from the butcher block beside the coffee maker, and went back to the door. She pressed her ear lightly to the wood and listened.

She heard nothing.

Gathering her courage, she undid the dead bolt with one shaky hand and disengaged the thumb lock. Bracing herself, she ripped the door open and shoved the knife in front of her like a cross in an old vampire movie.

There was no one there.

She went out onto the step and looked around, the knife shaking in her hand. Aside from the crickets, she was alone.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Annie turned around.

And screamed.

A severed swan head, its stump mangled and dripping blood, had been nailed to the door along with a sheet of paper. Annie's heart blasted and she looked around again, holding the knife to her chest as if to draw comfort from it.

When she was sure she was not in danger of being bum rushed, she ripped the letter from the ice pick holding it in place while leaving the swan head where it was. She scanned the paper three or four times, her brain too worked up to process the simple message.

Written in blocky red Crayon was this: Your daughter will be next if you don't stop looking for me.

Somewhere, a dog howled, and Annie started.

"What's that?" Jack asked and came out. He saw the swan head and blinked. "Whoa, what is that?"

She handed him the letter and he read it. When he was done, he looked up at her, and from nowhere, she broke down crying. She went to him and he took her in his big, strong arms. She buried her face in his chest and her tears soaked into the fabric of his work shirt.

At that moment, Annie realized something.

She didn't want to be a detective anymore.