Heels click monotonously on the coolly tiled hallway, their reverberations bouncing off the similarly tiled walls. The light down here is slightly blue fluorescent tubing, suspended from the ceiling above. She's been working here for seven months now, transferred from Grand Junction, and the hallway still creeps her out. Everyday she feels as if she's just set foot into some horror movie. The double doors at the end have wire-meshed windows set in them, long and skinny, looking in on the airlock to the second set of doors. There is a large push button against the wall to open the doors if ones hands are occupied. She bumps her hip against it as she nears the doors, watching them swing open with a hiss. They close behind her a few seconds later as she pushes her way through the second set of doors. The morgue is well lit and the floor is in the same cool tile that the hallway has been done in. She drops a thin stack of papers on the desk to the right before heading further into the white dungeon. Coming around a corner to the doors of the autopsy suite she sees Pete and a poor resident making their way through an autopsy. Before she makes three steps she immediately turns and backs out. She hears Pete laugh at her retreating back. Surely, she should have become accustomed to that stench by now.

The resident has secured the thankless job of running the gut, and he is practically holding back retches as he stands over the sink. She contains a laugh at the sight of his face. Obviously the first time he has had to do this. Pete barely casts a glance at the man before shaking his head and returning his attention to the body before him. Seeking fresher air, Candice heads back to the desk, looking over the evening's schedule. Another dull and boring night, although with Pete around, it would prove to be anything but.

Pete was a little odd, he knew everything about anything, which was good and bad. You learned a lot from working a shift with this pathologist, but some of the things you really didn't want to know. She looked toward the small radio that sat on the corner of his desk, and she could barely make out music coming from it. She moved to that side of the desk, and leaned close to hear what it was. Classical, something classical. She didn't really know, since that style of music was not her forte. That made her think of the other disturbing thing about Pete. She bumped the mouse on the desk top to bring the monitor to life. Staring back at here was an eerie photo of a man with deep red eyes. Pete had a bit of an obsession with the psychiatrist Hannibal Lecter, having purchased many objects said to belong to the man over E-bay, and even having written to the man while he was imprisoned.

Pete didn't seem to mind that the man was supposedly running about Colorado Springs committing murders. Nor did he seem to mind that he fell into that age group that was becoming the victims of the brutal attacks. He seemed excited by it all, not frightened in the least. He did express the fact that he didn't think, in fact he knew, that Dr. Lecter was not committing the murders. No, not committing them, but that he would be drawn out here by them, and Pete would finally get a chance to meet the man he admired so much. Candice shook it off as just another weird trait of his, since pathologist tended to be a little odd, at least the ones she'd known. Ah well, it was a job that paid well enough, and she could deal with a little harmless fantasy from her boss, as long as he didn't think HE was Hannibal Lecter.

*****

Lindsey sat in the middle of the bed flipping through the stack of mail Taisa had so kindly driven down to deliver to her. She found herself preferring the mattress to the hard chair that sat in front of the window. The air conditioner was running and she was appreciative of the white noise to obscure the sounds of freeway construction happening outside her window. She was sorting the mail into categories, and was dropping another envelope into the bills pile when she stopped dead. The block printing of her name and address was a dead giveaway as to who it was from. The rest of the mail stack was set aside and she held the letter to the light, peering at it. She highly doubted there was anything but a letter contained within the white envelope, but she could never bring herself to trust the man again. Heaving a sigh, Lin rose from the bed and headed for the small table, plopping into the chair with less than grace. She ran her fingers over the envelope, feeling for anything hard within it. Nothing. Carefully with the edge of her room's key card, she peeled back the flap, holding her breath, the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her lips.

She carefully drew the contents out, two sheets of plain computer paper, nothing else. She tilted them, but nothing slid from between the folded pages. Slowly, summoning her courage, she flipped on the desk lamp and unfolded the sheets. The same block printing filled the paper; neat, even, precise rows. Damn, and she had been so hoping that he had finally given up on trying to contact her. Her eyes dart quickly over the sentences, looking for anything that would set off warning bells. Nothing. Just a letter from an old friend telling of events in their life, making normal inquiries into her own. On the surface, the letter was no more than that. On the surface, Lindsey looked unaffected, her face retaining the glacial calm that had earned her her nickname in the academy. Inwardly, she felt as if a healing scab had just been torn anew.

The letter is reread, again, this time with her lips forming the words that he had written. There was no apology in this letter, no remorse for what he had done. No, it wasn't his fault you see, society had forced him into doing this, it wasn't his fault. He didn't want to kill those women, no more than he had wanted to hurt Lindsey. She had to understand that, she had to. Lindsey felt disgust rise in her belly as she refolded the letter and shove it back into the envelope. Of all the times that he could have chosen to write her. God must be having one hell of a time torturing me. he has to really enjoy His work. she thought sourly as she rose from the chair, headed to the bed and gathering the remaining mail and depositing it on the table separate from his letter.

After proceeding with the normalities of her nightly routine, which had done little to soothe her, Lindsey crawled into bed, tugging the comforter up under her chin. She hoped the nightmares would stay away, practically came to the point of begging them to, but she knew they would. Finally falling into an uneasy sleep, the first wave hot her, and a sob broke from her parted lips as she thrashed in her sleep.

She was so frustrated, the case was getting nowhere. They had a profile of their UNSUB, which fit way too many people in the area. God it was so irritating. She paced the room, intermittently muttering curses at the ceiling. She didn't hear the door unlock or swing open, as she was too consumed with her own screaming thoughts. It was too late when she felt the knife come around the front of her throat and the hand clamp against her mouth. She drew breath to scream but the knife pressed harder against her throat, and the thick voice warned her not to.

IN her frustration she had forgotten one of the reasons she was here on this case was because she fit the victim's profile. So now, due to her own stupidity, she was about to become the seventh woman to die at the killer's hands. She fervently wished she had some protection, someone to defend her, but Jacob was out of town on a business trip. She whimpered, as she felt the hand leave her mouth and run through her hair. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she began to pray as she never had before. The thick voice was whispering in her ear, and she could feel the knit of a skimask brush against her cheek.

"You know who I am, don't you?"

She nodded, but was inclined to voice her answer after a slight press on the knife. "Yes."

"You know what I'm going to do to you then?"

Oh god did she know. The previous victims faces flashed through her mind as she replied again. "Yes."

"Good. I'll give you a choice, bedroom or living room."

How nice, I get to decide where I'll die. She knew though that her body would end up in the bedroom anyway. "Bedroom." she whispered. A passing thought wondered if he knew that she was an investigator on this case. Probability said no, but something was nagging at her. He shoved her towards the staircase, gripping her arm with his free hand. It was hard to walk up the stairs with a razor sharp blade hovering at her throat. It was eerie, the familiarity with which he steered her towards the proper door. Had he been inside her house before while she was gone? There was a good possibility. Something in her said this was a very interesting way to learn about how he did things. Too bad she wouldn't be able to share that information with anyone.

He instructed her to lay on the bed, and he pulled four lengths of yellow nylon rope from within his black jacket. She desperately fought the fight or flight response and tried not to squirm too much on the bed. She flinched away as he reached for her hand, wondering where all her training had gone. Out the window obviously. And her instructors had assured her that she would respond immediately in a situation. Wrong-o, she thought. She was reprimanded for her flinch with a slap across the face.

"Don't move, or I'll make this all that much worse for you."

Carefully, she was secured to the bed, and once he was satisfied with her inability to move, that's when the torture began. She watched him as he stripped her and proceeded to rape her. Any whimpers or cries had earned her slaps at first, then blows with his fist. It was amazing she still retained consciousness as he finally finished with his degradation. She was surprised now, as she felt his weight leave her body, and then the slack as the ropes were untied. A wave of nausea washed over her as she was hauled to her feet moments later, looking into the eyes of her assailant. A tiny piece of knowledge detached itself and presented itself to her. She had seen those eyes before, she knew them.. Along with the mouth, nose, and chin that were beneath the ski mask. She would place it soon enough, but not as quickly as she would have liked.

He had the knife in his hand again, carefully zippering up his fly with the other hand. There was a cruel humor in his voice as he stepped towards her. Fear briefly rooted her to the spot.

"Run, bitch. I want to see you run you fucking whore."

Almost non-existent indecision flashed through her before she did exactly what he had instructed her to do. She ran, slamming into a door opposite her own in the hallway, rocketing for the stairs. God it hurt to run, between her head and her desecrated body, but if she could make it to the door, she could live. She would have a chance, and they would catch this guy, and put him behind bars. Heavy footsteps and laughter sounded behind her as she nearly tripped down the first six steps to the landing.

"Faster bitch, faster." he was no more than a few steps behind her when she gripped the top of the banister. The couch sat below and she calculated the distance. She had done these things as a kid and had gotten in major trouble for them. Guess mom would approve if I were trying to save my life. She felt him snatch at her as she pushed herself over the banister and fell to the couch. There was an audible crack and the groan of springs as she came down hard. A glance up told her that he was surprised. He was pounding down the stairs as she ran to the kitchen.

The locks on the door stalled her, and gave him enough time to catch up to her. She felt him grab for her and pull her away from the sliding door.

"Didn't run fast enough, bitch." the knife flashed out towards her and she ducked, throwing an arm up, connecting with the knife arm and knocking it away. She straightened and lashed out with a solid kick at his stomach, which sent him backward towards the edge of the counter. She pushed past him and grabbed at the skimask as she dove for the now unlocked door. If she could get a glimpse at the face, perhaps she could identify him later. The mask came off as she tugged simultaneously at the door, she stared as she fell out onto the deck, unable to believe what she was seeing.

"Jacob?!"

It halted him, and the motion activated light came on, blinding her briefly. The fucking UNSUB was her fiancé?! Stunned she didn't move, which turned out to be the wrong decision. Obviously, he had no qualms about what he was doing and he lashed out at her with the knife. It hurt bad, like someone was stabbing a red hot poker into her as he slashed a deep line across her abdomen. Dear god in heaven it hurt! She was quickly on the ground, curling into the fetal position as he advanced on her. She heard yelling over his heavy breathing as she lay there, trying to call for help. She could only sob, but by then lights were coming on on porches all around the neighborhood.

She didn't see the officer that took Jacob down, didn't really hear the shot that ripped through his leg and dropped him on the ground next to her. She did remember the hazel eyes staring at hers as he was cuffed and restrained there in the deck. The whisper that came from his mouth, one she didn't answer.

"Why, Lin? I loved you."

*****

"I loved you…" Lindsey bolted upright in bed, the sweat soaked sheets clinging to her body, the comforter was laying half off the bed. Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. She touched the scar that lay light against her tanned belly, feeling it under the thin cotton of her tee shirt. Would she never be free of his memory?

*****