Twiddler of minds. I am deeply honored, dear chameleon. LOL Shout-outs to a few people, whom I'm too lazy to e-mail and tell them how much I love their work. Okey dokey, here we go. Shout-outs to: Luna, with her wonderful cliffies; Christopher Morgan, with his wonderful depiction of the GD; Green Jewel, your writing is truly marvelous; fireandice, you are wonderful so you'd better hurry and rid yourself of your writer's block. Does anyone have a clue as to who Dr. Alexandra Fell is yet? Quid pro quo, you tell me and I'll tell you, yes or no. Tralala, dear ones, and here we go. I believe that is all because Mree is telling me to get in with the story.

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Emily lowers her sunglasses as she walks to the end of the pier. It is the first time she will see one on the bodies in person. She is only here because she was talking with the Berkley investigators when the body was found. The sunlight illuminates the body, causing it to stand out against the blackened wood slats. Even before she is directly in front of it, Emily knows what she will find. She has her little voice recorder in her hand, speaking into it as she looks at the very dead woman. Her breath catches as she hits on the placing of the wounds.

"Wound man." she tells the officers who have walked out with her.

"What's that?" one of them asks, looking from the body to Emily.

She shakes her head, "It was an illustration used in Medieval texts illustrating many types of battle injuries all on one body. Your killer is either a historian or in the medical profession." she steps closer, peering at the body. "Can you take her down?"

A nod from the officer, "Yeah. Pictures and the crime scene boys are done with her already." he waves at another young officer to cut the ropes that are holding the woman up. The arms are outstretched, a little more than a right angle form the weight of the limp body. Her feet are bound with another length of rope. Like a crucifixion, she muses. The woman is lowered and lain on the pier. Emily leans forward, hovering over the body. No, this one wasn't butchered for meat. She can feel it in the officer's reaction, they see it to. Doubts begin to form in their brains, and one voices his concern.

"Is it the same guy, Doctor?"

She is hunkering down, getting a closer look at the victim as she answers. "Yes." something bugs her though, the height of the hanging body wasn't right for a male killer, unless he was on the short side. A female serial killer, very rare, even more so than cannibals, and this killer was both from the evidence presented so far. A prickle of fear starts to form in her brain. No one knows about her family's past, right? She covered her tracks well, even her husband had a hard time finding her. He had more experience with disappearing into the world with a new identity, so his tracks were probably even harder to find. But someone had. Someone wanted his attention, and was bound to get it. She struggled to her feet and began to walk down the pier, ignoring the startled glances from the Berkley police.

"Hey! Dr. Rinaldi! Where are you going?" she hears a voice call behind her, the same one who voiced his doubts.

"I'll call you, I need to go somewhere. I'll have your profile tomorrow morning." she responds, not bothering to turn around. Her keys have found their way into her palm and she makes her way to the Lincoln. Her cell phone lays on the seat and she can see the LCD screen lit green as it rings. She flings the passenger door open and grabs it, flipping it open and answering breathlessly.

"Hello?"

A crackle of static before the voice comes to her. A light female voice drifts over the connection. "Hello, Amelia. Or should I address you as Emily Christophersen." a laugh, humorless and dry. "Did you like this morning's victim?"

Emily's mind is racing and she glances back to the police milling about the pier. She should run to them, tell them she has the killer on the line. Her thoughts are squelched instantly, as if the caller was a mind reader.

"No, don't run to the cops, Emily. That would make it all that much worse."

Her eyes flick around the parking lot, through the trees surrounding the park. "Where are you?"

A sigh from the caller, "Tut, tut, Dotorre. That would not be fair. Are you going to answer my question or are you going to be rude?" she draws the last word out and Emily slams the car door. A few stray glances in her direction from the cops, but nothing more. She walks around the front of the car, reaches for the door handle. There is silence from the other end as she starts the car. She doesn't speak until she has pulled out from the parking lot.

"Fine. I'll answer your question. I did not like finding this morning's victim. Why wound man?"

A sigh, as if the answer was obvious. "Because I knew he would recognize it." If she strains, Emily can hear the sound of an engine over the phone. The phone is carefully placed into the adapter, connecting it to the hands free mike that is mounted at the edge of the windshield. She slips her sunglasses on and discreetly glances around the passing cars. No way to tell at the moment if someone was following her. She pulls onto 680 and heads towards the Bay Bridge. Ask the next question, she urges herself as she merges into traffic.

"What do you want with my husband?"

That dry laughter again, cut by the static. "I want him to know pain. Do you know pain, Emily?"

The dream from last night flashes momentarily in her thoughts, and bile rises in her throat. "Yes." There, the blue Mercury three cars back, in the left lane. A woman on a cell phone, smiling. She puts on her blinker and eases over the two lanes. Now, three cars ahead of her in the same lane she can see her tormentor. The caller sees her move and floors the Mercury. The three cars between them shift into the other lanes, and soon the Mercury is nosing up on the Lincoln's rear end.

"Well done, Emily. You found me. But remember, you're next." Emily sees the hand leave the wheel and wave to her before the Mercury swerves into the middle lane, passing her with a burst of speed. Emily now recognizes the woman, puts the voice with her. Fell. The fucking killer is Dr. Alexandra Fell. She draws a sharp breath and slams the heel of her hand against the wheel, hearing the last words before the connection is broken.

. "Bye bye, Emily. I'll be seeing you soon for dinner."

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