A/N: Sorry, had an error in uploading the document and FFN broke on me. Thanks to Sakura Kinomoto for letting me know, you're a life saver!

After work, Bishop would usually be found in one of two places. First, of course, was a local bar—there were several along the street, none of which were open yet at this hour of the day. The second was the diner about a block away from the station, which was about a five-minute walk, give or take, well known for its coffee, apple cobbler, and warm company.

"Mostly the apple cobbler," Bishop concluded to Gilliam as they sat down in the corner booth, and a waitress came up to them with an award-winning smile and two menus. The detective returned the smile and thanked her, before turning back to her partner with a frown and a sigh. "So, we're back to square one. We have zero leads, zero suspects, and nine bodies in our hands."

"No, we do know a few things," Gilliam said, glancing up briefly, then turned back to the menu. "Our killer is a local. The killings never crossed town borders. They were all in the suburbs, which is likely the killer's hunting ground." He set the menu flat on the table and pursed his lips. "Whoever did this also knows Woods, Nichols and Ouelette enough to replicate their M.O.s and signatures—"

"But not enough to replicate the exact details," the detective finished with a tight-lipped smile, also setting her menu down. "I thought their files were classified."

"It's hard to keep civilian serial killings classified," Gilliam replied, and Bishop silently conceded with a firm upper lip. "We do our best to keep the mass media out of it, but the Internet exists. People talk. These killers—they became rumors. Urban legends. Spooky stories shared in forums and blog posts instead of campfires." He leaned back, clicked his tongue, and glanced out the window beside them. "Most people call them 'creepypasta', sort of like horror-themed Internet copypasta. We have a team back at the Foundation who monitors these discussion boards, making sure these stories are nothing more than that—stories and urban legends."

"So, it's possible that our killer knows about Eyeless Jack, Jeff the Killer and Clockwork—"

"—but doesn't know they actually exist, no." He looked back toward her for another two seconds, then peered back down at the menu. "It would explain the inconsistencies with the methods. Some of it is tied to the urban legends, but we keep the minute details under wraps. I know what you said about the apple cobbler, but is there something that's more appropriate for lunch, preferably a proper meal?"

"The Breakfast Burger's a good start," the detective replied, and a more natural smile appeared across her face as she raised her hand to call the waitress back. "Those inconsistencies could be part of our killer's own signature."

Gilliam nodded. "It's possible."

"Okay." Bishop closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and gently clapped her hands together. "Let's take a step back, review the evidence with fresh eyes. We know most about Jack's M.O. That's the one we can compare the most to."

"Based on the most recent one," her partner began, setting the menu aside, "Organ harvesting, usually kidneys. He has surgical expertise: he uses a scalpel, makes precise cuts, clean sutures, but no anesthetics."

He immediately paused when the waitress, a forty-something-year-old lady with curly brown hair, approached their table and took their orders. To Bishop's surprise, Gilliam ordered both the burger and the cobbler. The detective decided on a club sandwich. Both asked for coffee.

"But our killer thought he did use one," the detective added after the waitress had left earshot. "Our first three victims died from the chloroform before they were even cut open."

"And based on the severity of the wounds, they would have surely died either way," Gilliam agreed with another nod. "Poor overall execution, which means our killer is sloppy, much more so than Nichols is. They also do not have the same medical expertise that he does." He paused and exhaled slowly. "Nichols almost never targeted entire families or large groups of people—that was more of Woods' style. His more recent victims were almost always single, isolated targets. He knows better than to take that risk."

"And it's a pretty big risk to target two families in one night," Bishop noted with raised eyebrows. She, too, immediately stopped when the waitress came back with two steaming cups of coffee, making sure to thank the latter even when the older lady gave the two investigators a side-eyed glance and a shaky, breathy laugh before departing again, announcing she'd come back later with their long-awaited meals.

"Woods and Nichols have worked together before," Gilliam started again, speaking with a slightly lower volume and glancing quickly at their surroundings. "It wasn't rare to see them pop up in the same area at around the same time. Our killer must have known that much, too." Satisfied for now, he picked up his coffee and took a slow sip of the steaming dark liquid. "They're not stupid, though. They took out the Smiths first with the chloroform. That kept them from alerting the neighbors."

"But then they went after the Walkers anyway." Bishop furrowed her eyebrows and frowned. "Was there ever a connection between Jack's victims? Or Jeff's?"

The agent frowned, then slowly tilted his head a little. "Not really. Woods tended to lean towards families, which is not surprising considering his background history. Nichols' victims have varied greatly over the years. The last time he was active, he was targeting high-risk victims."

"But they were both opportunistic killers, right?" Bishop scoffed, leaning forward. "An opportunity killer wouldn't bother going after the second family. It would increase their risk of getting caught."

Contrasting his partner, Gilliam leaned back, slowly nodding back at her. "The killer was targeting both families from the very beginning," he concluded, and Bishop felt herself smile a little. "They were neighbors, though. There would be too much overlap between the two families to narrow down the suspect pool."

Bishop leaned back against her seat, eyes staring down into her own cup of coffee. "Okay, then let's move on to the other two. Jeff and Clockwork."

"They're both messier than Nichols," Gilliam immediately sighed, with a light, exasperated scoff. "Ouellette has much overlap with Woods, though she usually targets boys and men."

"Only one of the victims in the second murder was male."

"The killer has killed entire families before, and there were only two of them this time." Gilliam paused, moved to take another sip of his coffee, then momentarily sat in silence, deep in thought. "They also chose the Hoffmans instead of someone living on the same street as the others."

Bishop shrugged. "They could've known we would be monitoring the first crime scene."

"But they specifically targeted the first two. The Hoffmans must have been chosen for a similar reason," the man continued, and took another sip of his coffee. "And it was only one household this time. That is a significant change in victimology."

"Well, the first two families were nuclear families." Bishop tilted her head briefly. "Carrie Hoffman was a single mother, with only one son. The Smiths only had one daughter, but the Walkers had two children."

Gilliam leaned back a little as his shoulders fell. "But all three families had teenage children."

Bishop froze. Something sank in the pit of her stomach, and she felt her head start to spin a little. A faint ringing echoed from the back of her head. Her fingers slowly raked through the strands by her hairline.

"I'll have someone pull up their records," Gilliam spoke, but his voice sounded somewhat distant in her ears. "See where the three of them crossed paths."

She didn't even realize her vision had blurred until a figure appeared beside her: the waitress who had returned with a tray holding two large plates almost completely piled with food at first glance, enough so that Bishop couldn't help but smile faintly at the sight of Gilliam's wide eyes as the waitress set his burger plate in front of him. He thanked the older woman, inspected his plateful, then exhaled a slow, long sigh.

"Clockwork said the murder that was mimicking hers needed a 'feminine touch'," the detective added, pausing briefly to thank and smile at the waitress. "If what she said was true, we could narrow it down to look for a male suspect."

"I would take that with a grain of salt," Gilliam quickly replied, but when Bishop turned her head up to glare at him, he cleared his throat before immediately adding, "But considering our body count, it is likely our killer is male, most likely young and physically fit. This burger looks like something my nana would have me eat for lunch whenever I went over to her place as a kid."

"Fond memories?"

"She told me I was skinny," he grumbled under his breath, surveying his plate. "Too skinny for the team, she said."

"The team?"

"College football." Gilliam briefly scrunched his face, lifting the top bun and started picking off the pickles. "There is also one more thing we need to consider: our first lead, the first murder weapon."

"The scalpel from the clinic." Bishop picked up the first half of her sandwich and took a modest bite, making sure to chew and swallow before speaking again. "The manager said Skye stole the supplies. Obviously, we can't ask her anything more about it. Not right now."

Gilliam nodded solemnly. "We haven't even confirmed she was the one who did it, though." He reached for the ketchup bottle at the edge of the table, adding a dash of sauce before replacing the bun. "At this point, it's the man's words against hers. He never showed us evidence that she did do it."

"Receptionist said the security cameras were a bust." Bishop took another bite of her sandwich and sniffled. "Just there to scare people from doing anything stupid. I mean, not surprising considering the state of the manager's office."

"What about traffic cameras?" Gilliam suddenly asked, lifting his head to look toward his partner. "We may be able to see who was around the clinic during the time of the robbery."

"We don't have a lot of those here," Bishop admitted, stretching the corner of her lip, "but there is an intersection just down the street from the clinic. I can have someone pull up the footage, see if it goes back that far."

She could've sworn Gilliam had a hint of a smile on his lips before he took his first bite into his burger and finally started eating. "See? We're not completely empty-handed." He paused to swallow, then pressed his lips together. "And you were right. We shouldn't have gone into this thinking it was those two right off the bat—Woods and Nichols."

Bishop quirked an eyebrow and glared at him. "We?"

"Me," the agent corrected before turning his head down. "I should not have done that." To her surprise, he placed the burger back onto its plate, staring at it instead of taking another bite, despite being the one who suggested lunch in the first place. "I have been on this case—the overall one, with those two and the others—for a long time, for both the Bureau and the Foundation." He leaned back a little and sighed, once again turning to stare out the window beside them. "I have talked to victims' families, possible witnesses and people they may have been close with before they became… this. I mean, I've worked on other cases in the meantime, but…"

"You want closure," Bishop stated, drawing his attention back to her. She mimicked his movements, setting her sandwich down, but stared across the table at the man in the suit instead with a slow nod. "Isn't that what we do? The ones who have suffered loss—we try our best to give them closure."

Gilliam blew a breath through his nose and looked down at his burger. "You're wiser than your years, detective." Pause. "May I ask you a personal question?"

Bishop raised her eyebrows. "The FBI agent, asking about my personal life?"

"Not in that capacity," he replied with a slight chuckle, then went quiet. "Why this job?"

She drew herself slightly away from the table, almost stiffening her posture. "Why not?" she asked with a feeble shrug and went to pick up her sandwich again. "Why did anybody choose this job?"

"Your sister was a schoolteacher." His reply made her stop again, and she froze still. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's—it's fine," she quickly interrupted, slowly exhaling her breath through her lips. An image briefly flashed in her mind, and the corner of her lip twitched. "We both wanted to help people. We just did it in different ways." She cleared her throat, then looked down at her idle finger picking at the top layer of bread of her sandwich. "My father was a police lieutenant. He served the force for a little over three decades, long before he met my mom, before they had Daisy and I."

"Walking in your father's footsteps."

She closed her eyes and smiled. "Daisy never liked the violence," she said with a brief shake of her head. "She was kind and gentle, a very caring person. Always loved children, loved working with children. I had other plans." She stopped when her voice cracked and forced herself to take a deeper breath. When she opened her eyes, she glanced down briefly at the half-eaten sandwich, then turned back to the man on the other side of the table, stretching the corner of her lips. "What about you, hm? What got you into wrangling semi-supernatural serial killers?"

Despite the earlier atmosphere, Gilliam couldn't resist breaking into a faint smile of his own, and she couldn't help but mirror him as she went to pick up her coffee to take a long, well-deserved sip. "It's a long story," he said quietly, looking toward her with a glint of something in his eyes, something she couldn't quite pinpoint. "And most of it is technically classified." She scoffed and pretended to roll her eyes at him, until his smile started to fade. "But the reasoning behind it is not too different from yours."

"Personal?"

He nodded. "I joined the Bureau to help people. I was good at my job, good enough that it caught the Foundation's attention."

"Guess you can't just stroll in and hand them your resume?"

"Well, that's assuming you knew they even existed in the first place."

She smiled, blowing air through her nose while the man stretched his own smile even further. He wasn't that bad of a man, she thought, definitely nowhere as horrible as she first thought he was. A fed in a suit, strolling in and demanding jurisdiction over the case that could've been her big break—it clearly wasn't the best first impression he could've made, but she could understand where he was coming from now. It could still be her big break, depending on how it would end.

"That reminds me." Bishop glanced down at her sandwich. Maybe she should take it to go. "What happens when all this is over?"

"Pardon?"

Her smile disappeared. "When the case is over." She glanced over towards the counter. The servers were all busy tending to other customers. The lunch rush had already begun. They should leave soon. "This was supposed to be top secret, wasn't it?"

He didn't respond at first, not immediately. She looked toward him and saw him staring at her almost distantly, almost in realization in fact, before his expression turned blank and he closed his eyes with a sigh.

"You have been through a lot," he finally said, turning his gaze down. "More than the average person would ever have to go through in their entire lifetime."

"You're being empathetic." She shook her head. "You're almost never empathetic."

"I am a human, detective." He tried to pass another smile, but both of them knew better. "And we still have a long way to go before we get there."

Bishop scoffed lightly. "That's not very comforting, Joel."

"No, it's not." He shifted his weight in his seat. He hadn't touched his food again either. "I'll be honest with you, I don't know. I don't know what will happen tomorrow, I don't know what will happen when this is over, if it will ever be. I'm still a pawn, Bishop. Despite what I do, I'm no different than you. I have my superiors. I have my orders. I'm only doing what I'm told to do, no questions asked." Then he took a long, deep breath. "But I will say, I haven't had the chance to report back yet. The last time I did, I told them I was pursuing this case, that there was a high likelihood Woods and Nichols were involved."

"Wouldn't you have said something about the, uh, No-End House, was it?"

After a brief pause, Gilliam shook his head. "No, not really. I called in a favor from a friend in another department. He was supposed to report 630-S—the House—to his superiors once he confirmed the House would not relocate again for the time being."

"That doesn't sound like something people like you would do," Bishop scoffed, and Gilliam nodded.

"Not typically," he admitted. "But they know I know what I'm doing, and they can't help but allow some leniency. I was supposed to still be undercover, after all." Then his gaze went back up to her, and he gave her a slight affirming nod. "But for what it's worth, Detective Bishop, it has truly been a real pleasure working with you. I could not have asked for a better partner even if I could."

She closed her eyes and scoffed with a smile. "Likewise," she said, sincerely and truthfully.

He returned her smile briefly, then leaned back, eyes glancing up to scan the rest of the room behind her. "We should start at the high school," he said and cleared his throat. For a short moment there, as strange as it was to state it aloud in her mind, she almost thought they had almost become allies—friends. "Ask around. They must have crossed paths somewhere there, at least."

She turned her head down and nodded. "We can head over there now, after we're done here."

Gilliam nodded, and without further question, raised a hand above his head and called the waitress over.

Best leave their futures for tomorrow, because someone might not have one.

Long, near-empty corridors first greeted the pair upon their arrival at the high school, before a hall monitor marched up to them and begrudgingly led them to the principal's office. Bishop stood off to the side, one hand wrapped around her elbow, not even casting a glance at her partner while the hall monitor peeked into the office and appeared back shortly after to inform them they could head on inside.

"Principal Baker." A large, broad-shouldered man stood in between a wooden desk and bookcase, extending a hand out towards his guests the moment the pair entered his domain. "To whom do I owe this pleasure?"

"Detective Abigail Bishop, I'm with the NHPD." She shook his hand, then nodded to her partner behind her. "This is FBI Special Agent Joel Gilliam. We're investigating a case and would like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

As the man shook Gilliam's hand, his eyes flickered back and forth between the pair as the lines on his forehead furrowed. "Uh, um, sure. The FBI? Wait, is this about those murders on the news? The one about the serial killer?"

Bishop couldn't resist exchanging a glance with Gilliam as the three took their respective seats. "We just wanted to ask about some kids who went here." She took out her phone and pulled up the photographs before handing the device over to the man. "Do you recognize them by any chance?"

The principal took the phone from her, studied the pictures for a few seconds and slowly began to nod. "Yeah, I know them." He looked up, stretching the corner of his lips. "Jordan Smith, Lisa Walker. Standard delinquents. Regulars in my office and at detention. Smith just earned his second suspension last month for beating up a freshman."

Bishop heard a small noise from Gilliam's direction before she took the phone back and pulled up another picture. "What about this one?"

Baker gave the third picture a good look before giving the investigators a more confident nod. "Yeah, yeah, I know him. Hoffman, right? Good kid, straight A's, student council. Helped organize our food drive last month. Has—had—a bright future ahead of him." He set the phone down, closed his eyes and shook his head. "He was a victim in the second one, wasn't he? Poor kid. He'll be missed, that's for damn sure."

"Were those three in the same classes, same grade at all?" Gilliam asked.

"Hoffman's a senior," the principal said, shaking his head. "The other two were juniors."

"Any chance the three of them might have crossed paths?"

"Aside from rubbing shoulders in the hallways, unlikely," Baker added, glancing between the two before him. "Hell, I don't even see Smith or Walker or any of their little posse in the hallways sometimes. They probably spend more time in the back lot smoking a joint or something." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Still, they're just kids. Never thought they would end up the way they did."

"Any idea who might want to hurt them?" Bishop asked, retrieving her phone. "Anybody the three of them might have crossed paths with, instead of each other? Or their families, maybe?"

Baker shook his head again with a sigh. "Can't say much about the kids, no. Their teachers and classmates might have a better idea, but again, they're not even in the same grade." Then he looked towards Bishop and tensed his jaw. "As for the Hoffmans in general, I doubt anybody would have any grievances towards them. Carrie was a wonderful mother, outstanding as her son. The other two might not have been the best of the bunch, but their parents are good people. Struggling, but they're good people." A hand flew to his forehead and he blew another sigh. "Are the kids in danger, detective? Should we issue the PSA to the families?"

Bishop looked toward Gilliam who offered her but a mere glance before leaning forward against his chair towards the principal. "We can't say anything for sure yet, but it doesn't hurt to remind people to stay indoors and keep the doors locked after hours," he said cautiously. "We are doing our best to find whoever did this."

Baker nodded, almost leaning his entire body forward in his affirmation. "Thank you. And please, whatever you need, just let us know. We want to do whatever we can to help."

"Their school records might be useful," Gilliam said, nodding, glancing at Bishop for a brief second before turning back to the principal. "Anything you have on the three of them, and their parents, if possible."

"Of course, of course." Baker pulled his chair close to the table with a series of nods of his own. "Anything to help. I'll have my assistant send you everything we have."

"And we will contact you if we have any more questions, or if anything comes up." When Gilliam stood up, Bishop followed automatically and offered Baker a sincere smile for the both of them. "Thank you."

The detective waited until they were both back inside the car, doors closed, before she released her breath, heaving out a long, despondent sigh.

"Besides the fact that they all go to the same school," she said, gazing out the windshield at the static five-story building, "It doesn't look like they would have interacted much at school."

"Different crowds." Gilliam drew in a breath through his teeth as he started the engine. "Worlds apart."

"It couldn't have been random, right?" She frowned and turned toward her partner. "Wrong place, wrong time?"

"It could be our killer is targeting people from opposite ends of the spectrum," Gilliam said, leaning back against his seat, eyes staring straight ahead. "It could be the start of a pattern. Almost like killers who switch between high-risk and low-risk victims."

"That doesn't explain the families, though. It also wouldn't explain why the killer went after both Smith and Walker first, then just the Hoffmans in the second incident."

His hands tightened around the steering wheel, and he finally turned to face her. "If this does turn out to be a serial, and not just a spree killing—"

"The killer might strike again tonight," Bishop concluded with a nod and another sigh. She closed her eyes. "I really would rather not have another body turn up just to test our theories."

"Neither do I, but we don't have a choice." The car lurched forward slightly when Gilliam finally began to pull out from their parking spot. "We don't have much else information to narrow down our suspects."

"Aside from the fact that he knows about your subjects of interest."

Gilliam hummed, agreeing but displeased. "Male, between his late teens to early thirties, knows about unique serial killings in the media…"

"Maybe it is someone in the middle crowd." Bishop tilted her head, casting one last glance at the high school building before he turned the car around. "The principal said Chris organized events, right?"

"Food drive. He was also in the student council."

"Which means he must have interacted with kids even outside his own social circle. It might have been how he crossed paths with the killer."

"It is possible." The car made a right turn, returning them onto the main road and en route towards the police station. "We should still look into their backgrounds, see if anything else overlaps."