I take it C, that you either share a telepathic link with Kurt, or you two are on the 'Lindsey and Petra Cat Fight' bandwagon together and are out to raise support. And gore withdrawal? Nah, I still have the swing of things. I am allowed to have a little fun time without chainsaws and springy heads. (No, Kurt.) Thanks to all my lovely reviewers, I do so apologize for my lethargic writing skills on this one. Perhaps I need another vacation, it worked to jumpstart 'Bella Donna'. Anyhoo, enough pratter, back to the chapter.

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Night had placed its grip over the city, swiftly cooling as a cold front surged over the Rocky Mountains and dropped temperatures across the state. Sean Goshen was slowly making headway up the hilly path on his mountain bike, the thin Spandex shorts and shirt he wore offering little resistance to the night's chill. He had his eyes focused on the top of the hill and was reminded for a moment of reading a book to his niece the other night. The Little Engine That Could, with the repetitive strain of 'I think I can, I think I can.' He felt himself mouth the words as he steadily pumped upwards. Slowly, the parking lot beyond came into view along with the passing cars on Vindicator. The beam form the helmet mounted lamp did little to illuminate his surroundings, barely providing him with enough light to make out the trail. As he surmounted the hill there was an odd shadow to his left. He glanced that way, and nearly fell from his bike when he made out the shape of a man laying just off the path. Sean was off his bike in a moment, dropping it heedlessly to the dirt.

Trying to remember what he could from his high school first aide classes Sean knelt next to the man. He looked okay in the light of the headlamp, no obvious bumps, bruises, cuts, or scrapes. Sean stripped the riding gloves from his hands, tucking them into the waistband of his shorts, and reaching to check the pulse along the carotid artery. It was there and he was relieved, okay, one down two to go. He belated remembered that he was doing it in the wrong order, not following his ABCs 'Airway, Breathing, Circulation.' He shook the man's shoulder, calling out to him.

"Sir? Can you hear me, sir? Are you okay?" he always though asking an injured person 'Are you okay?' was extremely dumb, but that was what he had been taught to ask. No reaction from the man. Gently and carefully, Sean tipped the man's head back, preparing to check his airway. He didn't see the man's eyes snap open as his ear came down to the slightly parted lips. Sean had just felt the warm brush of exhaled air against his face when an iron grip came up and around his throat. There was a quiet and coarse laugh in his ear as the thumb pressed down on his windpipe, crushing it slowly. Sean fought back, trying to pull away and slap and claw at the man who held him. His struggles slowly weakened and soon came to a stop. The man on the ground shoved the body off of himself and stood up, pale light from the headlamp playing on his legs. That was soon gone though, as he drifted into the darkness.

*****

The police found Sean the next morning, after an early morning hiker had reported finding his body in the little valley between the hills. The entire area was cordoned off, much to the dismay of habitual users of this popular trail. Police vehicles filled the little parking lot, with a few more lined up on the side of the road. The other side of the road had people looking out on the commotion from their back decks, along with the news crews lined up on the sidewalk, each reporter postulating on the facts they had and driving home the fear that Hannibal Lecter had attacked again.

Hannibal Lecter my ass. Thought Lin as she sipped at a cup of hot, bitter coffee from a distance at the top of the hill. She looked down at the bike that still lay in the dirt at her feet. One pedal twirled in the breeze forlornly.

She had come to the decision two nights ago that the suspect was probably not Hannibal Lecter. Really, would a fugitive with the intelligence of the doctor run out and commit murders with a nationwide manhunt still ongoing for him? The answer was a resounding 'No!' but she dared not mention this to anyone, since everyone, including Clarice, seemed convinced that Lecter was their man. She sighed and sipped the coffee again, cringing at both the taste and the thought of convincing that they had an UNSUB, and not a known sociopath on their hands. That was a task she did not wish to undertake, especially since it would probably end in her dismissal from the case.

Goodbye serial killer, hello desk job.

Clarice was trudging up the hill from where she had been with forensics investigators looking at the body. She looked none too happy about what she had seen this morning, having been roused from a nice, comfortable sleep. Lindsey had no such problems, as he night had been spent in a vortex of almost nightmares. She offered the other cup of coffee to the older FBI agent and stepped back a bit, looking down at the body below. The metal rod that stuck straight out from his chest winked in the sunlight as they began to lift the body into a body bag. Clarice made a face at the coffee before she spoke.

"He has a crushed trachea and it looks as if the rod pierced his heart. There's blood, so he bled out, but they won't know whether he died from the stab wound or asphyxiation until the coroner has a look at him." her voice was slightly strained and Lin could hear the weariness in her voice.

Lin nodded and sipped at the coffee again. Better to stay silent then open her mouth and say something stupid again. Mornings were especially good times for her to do the 'open mouth, insert foot' routine. Clarice took her silence as approval to continue on with her observation and did so between tiny sips of coffee.

"Just like Raspail. He told me about him later on, since all of the records are sealed. Stabbed him while he was laying on the couch in his office, and then served him for dinner." Clarice was shaking her head, "When you don't have time to shop you just make do with what you have at home." Lindsey was trying to hide the bemused smile that was trying to worm its way onto her face. Seems the coffee's bitterness was rapidly working its way into her partner's system. Lindsey looked at the body again, right before they zippered him up. The good doctor's other remark came to mind as she looked at the winking rod.

"Looks like a straw down a doodlebug hole, doesn't it?"

She had pored over the files even before she was shuffled out here from Washington. Something to help her occupy her time when she was at a dead end. She had toyed with the idea of trying to visit him after he was imprisoned, but had always decided against it. The knowledge she had gleaned from everything was useful, and interesting to say the least. She could remember the first time she stepped foot inside Hannibal's House, after it was no longer Starling's personal office. Hours had been spent down there, and at times, she felt she knew him better than she knew herself. Something about these murders wasn't ringing true to him. She was so sure that if she felt this way that Clarice did too, but the woman gave no outward appearance that she felt the same way. Lin assured herself that it wasn't his style, to go and reproduce murders he had committed more than twenty five years ago. It didn't make sense. Somewhere in this city, there was a man obsessed with Hannibal Lecter, and she had to stop him.

*****