Darkness. It wraps around him like rich velvet, soft and comforting against the cool night air. His wife shifts next to him, rolling to face him and breathing softly. He can feel her breath against his face as he lays there, eyes open, staring into the dark. He didn't tell her that evening over dinner about the woman he encountered on the ferry. No need to worry her any more than necessary. Sleep slowly comes back to him, and he feels his wife curl against him as he slips back into his dreams.

*****

There is a slight drizzle hanging over the water, late into the night. The tall cranes of the ship building yards loom in the distance, lit brightly and reminiscent of tremendous dinosaur skeletons. Breath erupts from the woman's lips as her feet pound against the concrete of the sidewalk. Lit on the north side with a series of lampposts is the Berkley Pier, stretching far out into the Bay. She turns from the sidewalk and begins the trek out onto the pier. A buoy sounds in the water to her right, and the light from Alcatraz Island flashes in her vision every four seconds. She begins to count the seconds off under her breath as she jogs, cautious steps on the storm damaged surface. The numbers become her mantra as she passes the halfway point, waves glinting under the lamps' orange light. She passes one of the many enclosed benches that line either side of the pier. She doesn't see the shadow that slips out and falls into place behind her.

She reaches the end of the pier, pausing to look through the wooden slats out to the Golden Gate and the city beyond. Alcatraz is a tiny point of light, opposite the bay from the ship building dinosaurs. She checks her watch, smiles at the time and turns to head back towards the shore. A breeze comes up, driving the drizzle into her face. She feels the drops become fatter as the light precipitation tries to become a full fledged rain. She briefly wonders of tonight would have been better spent in the library, discussing biology with Chris. Chris brings a smile to her lips as the shadow reaches out and clamps a strong hand against the smile. She struggles, held by wiry strength as the ether soaked sponge presses against her face. Quickly, her struggles subdue and she is dropped to the pier in front of the shadow. Chris will be her final living thought as a knife glints in the rain.

*****

"Berkley police found the body of a young woman in her early twenties this morning on the Berkley Pier. She is believed to be a student at UC Berkley. The woman appears to have been murdered late last night, but authorities have yet to release details or a name, pending notice of the next of kin. Stay turned to News Four for the latest developments in this grisly attack."

Emily shook her head as she muted the sound on the television. She looked from the kitchen to where her husband sat feeding their daughter breakfast. Michelle seemed to be taking this meal better than the last one. She sipped her tea and watched the news from the corner of her eye. Murders were not all that unusual in this city, but something about this one was making her the slightest bit uneasy. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she felt wrong. Wrong. That narrowed it down a whole lot. Emily looked up to see her husband looking at her, head characteristically cocked to one side as he did so. His daughter sat with Cheerios stuck on her forehead, imitating the posture.

"Are you okay, my dear?" asks Dr. Rinaldi, tiny spoon of Cheerios in his half raised hand. He sees her nod and turns back to Mischa, feeding her the last bite of cereal. He carefully removes the pieces stuck to her forehead and drops them into the empty bowl. Something is bothering her, but he knows not to push for the answer to 'What?'. She is not a woman to be pushed. He lifts Mischa from her high chair and carries her and the cereal bowl into the kitchen. His wife smiles, as she takes the little girl from his arms. She ignores the slight pain as Mischa pulls at her hair, which is loose about her shoulders. He waits, rinsing the cereal bowl and placing it in the dishwasher. Sure enough, she speaks.

"There was a murder this morning, Hannibal." her mouth will forever sound strange around that name. Not as strange as it does with his assumed name, but still strange.

"Where?"

"In Berkley, down on the Pier. Some college student." she takes Michelle's hand from her lips as the little girl tries to stick little fingers in her mouth.

Something is bothering her, strange for it to be a murder. "Sad. Did they release her name?"

"No."

"Its bothering you, Emily. Do you want to talk? I have an hour before I have to catch the ferry."

He receives a nod and follows her into the living room, taking a seat in one of the Queen Anne chairs by the window. She joins him, looking across the small occasional table at him. Her hands are still in her lap, but her eyes are not. They roam the room, looking from the windows to the playpen where her daughter sits, to him finally. Silence barely has a chance to weight itself upon them when she suddenly breaks it.

"Something's wrong." she can't elaborate, still, and the psychiatrist sitting opposite her raises his eyebrows.

"Wrong, Emily?"

Her head tilts back for a moment as she leans forward in her chair, then it drops forward as she leans back against the chair. "This murder. Its wrong, I can't explain how, but it just is." she pauses then hurries to justify herself. "Not in the sense of good and evil wrong, just something else."

He considers for a moment, looking into the indigo eyes set into her pale face. He promised her that he would ask the question again, and now it seems is the time. "Emily, if I may," her face lifts slightly as she acknowledges him and gives him silent permission to ask. "Do you regret what you did? Back in Vermont?"

A violent shake of her head before she replies. "No. Never. If you think I'm feeling remorse for my own choice to commit murder, it's not that." he nods, and she continues. "I don't regret killing Vergne, it was just something that had to be done. That is what's bothering me, I think. I murdered with a purpose, that night it was one of survival. You have killed for the purpose of bettering the world, to a degree. Not everyone sees it that way. I think this murder wasn't committed for any such purpose."

"Killing for the sake of killing. Those are the truly dangerous ones, you and I know that." he can see the reflection in her eyes, the sunlight makes them appear depthless. He is as much drawn in by them as she is by his. She has dignified him with an answer as Clarice never had. He feels a twinge of sadness in his heart as he remembers Clarice. She never did tell him if the lambs had stopped screaming, and he suspected they never had. Sweet, sweet Emily was so different from his little Starling. But, then again, they had both completed him in very different ways. Now as he watches her scoop their daughter into the air, smiling at her and holding her high, eliciting a burst of giggles from the child, he lets the twinge go. Sadness cannot be dwelled on in this world, it is a danger to do so. His daughter babbles at him, smiling and waving a star shaped hand in the air. It occurs to him, as he watches mother and daughter, that Emily may be right.

*****

She sits on the edge of the bed, looking out across the bay from the hotel room window. She was surprised at the feeling that had rushed through her last night. Surprising, it wasn't as horrible as she had expected. In fact, she had actually enjoyed the woman's struggles in her arms, the feel of the blood on her fingers. Exhilarating. That was an apt description. A smile crossed her lips as she thought about the act. It was overwhelming, but, thankfully, this wouldn't be her last victim.

*****