Thursday, March 18

She wakes up on a hard, wooden floor. Her body aches, and she can't remember why. She brushes her hair away from her face, combing her fingers through the knots. There is no one else in the room. She gets to her feet slowly and looks around. The moon is full tonight, casting its light through the open windows. She sees a figure in white. Startled, she steps back, her hand flying to her mouth, a scream dying in her throat. The figure steps back too, mimicking her actions exactly and she realizes it's her reflection. She approaches the mirror slowly. The nightgown is thin and sticks to her skin, moist with perspiration. She hears the waves crash against the shore, smells the salt air, the humid air thick on and around her. And then she hears him.

"Mary . . ."

The voice is strangely familiar, though not the one she expected to hear. It is not the smooth, honeyed voice of her dreams but right now, it is all she knows.

Confused (she knows she's not Mary) but not frightened, she heads for the staircase. It spirals upwards and she's overcome by a sudden dread: do not go up there!

There's a hand on her arm. It's Monica. Her dark eyes are wide and afraid. Her mouth moves but there is no sound. She shakes her head: do not go up there!

"Mary, please," he says, and she knows she can't leave without knowing that he's okay. She begins to climb.

. . . and the stench is overwhelming and she tries not to breathe in but the air rushes into her lungs, burning, burning, burning . . .

Behind her: "Mary!"

She turns around slowly because now she is afraid and . . . oh God! He's standing there smiling at her and at his feet are Judy and Benita and they're dead!

"Mary," he says, stepping closer. There's something in his hands, something dripping onto the floor. The coppery scent fills her nose and she gags.

"Look, Mary. For you." He extends his hands and she sees the head, its eyes looking at her, pleading with her, condemning her.

Friday, March 19

Monica had a feeling there would be another body today and she was not happy to be proven right. The CSIs were already on the scene when she arrived at the beach. Calleigh was on her haunches a few feet away from the body, taking photographs of something. She was unusually pale. When Monica got closer, she saw that the object on the ground was an ear.

"Simon Peter cut off the ear of a soldier."

Calleigh didn't smile when she looked up. "Couldn't this guy have read, I don't know, happier Bible stories?"

Horatio walked over to greet Monica. "Any thoughts?"

"They've all happened on Fridays, right?"

"Yes."

"Mmm. The first was the Friday after Ash Wednesday and every Friday since. Maybe he's Catholic."

Calleigh stood. "How do you figure that?"

"You're not Catholic, are you?"

"Nope, Baptist."

Monica smiled. "Right. To Catholics, Fridays in Lent are special days of penance. If I'm right, this won't stop until Lent ends."

"How much longer is that?"

"Three weeks." Monica turned to look at the body and froze. It turned to ashes as she watched. She blinked, and it was normal again. Calleigh touched her arm.

"Mon, you okay?"

Monica nodded. "Yeah, fine."

But she couldn't get the image out of her mind and thought of another time that she had seen a body turn to ashes. She had the sudden urge to call John.

Calleigh set Horatio's coffee on his desk and sat down. "Alexx says it's the same as the others. No soap, but he was strangled before his ear was chopped off. We don't have an ID yet."

Horatio sighed. "I just got off the phone with Commissioner Elliot. He wasn't thrilled with what I had to tell him. The Brits are also eager for a resolution."

Calleigh smiled in sympathy. "I take it they didn't like Monica's theory?"

"You could say that."

"What about you?"

He shrugged. "I like Monica. I didn't at first. When she told us about the X-Files, I thought she was here to prove this case was, you know, paranormal. I'm still not sure where I stand on that kind of thing, but . . . I think her theory's sound. It makes sense."

"Do you think we'll catch this guy before he kills again."

Horatio was silent for a long time, then he sighed. "I hope so, Cal."

Saturday, March 20

Calleigh wasn't sure how Eric and Speed had managed to talk her and Monica into going out with them. The four of them were at Enigma, a club the boys liked to frequent. They found a table in a darkened corner and Calleigh hung her jacket over her chair.

"You know, I can't remember the last time I went out, especially in the middle of a case," Monica said.

"That's 'cause no one in Washington knows how to have fun." Speed managed to attract the attention of a waitress and called her over. "First round's on me, guys."

When she left with the order, Monica leaned her elbows on the table and stared out at the dance floor. "People in Washington have fun. Sometimes." She laughed. "I think I'm a little old for the whole clubbing scene anyway."

Eric eyed her appreciatively. "But you can't be more than thirty."

Monica laughed again. "Thanks, Eric. I'm flattered. But you're way off."

"Why? How old are you?"

She shook her head. "You're not supposed to ask a woman's age."

Speed lightly tapped the back of his head. "You'd think, with all your sisters, you'd know something like that?"

Eric shrugged, unapologetic. "So what do you do for fun in DC?"

"Well, I'm a workaholic, I'm afraid, so I practically live at the office."

"When you're not chasing flying saucers around the country," Speed said.

"You know, you'd get along well with my partner. He's not a believer either. Despite what he's seen."

"You're kidding, right? There are no such things as UFO's. Right?"

Monica simply smiled.

"Tell us about your partner," Calleigh prompted. She hid a grin when she saw the slight flush in Monica's cheeks.

"I've known John for years. He was a cop in New York before he joined the Bureau. I worked on his son's case—"

"He's that cop?" Calleigh asked, wide-eyed. Monica had told her about Luke when they'd first met. If Calleigh's memory served correctly, John was one of the reasons she had transferred down to New Orleans.

"One and the same." Monica stood. "Where do you suppose our waitress has got to?"

She disappeared in the direction of the bar. Eric grinned at Speed.

"Man, she's hot."

Calleigh laughed. "And way out of your league."

"Hey, a guy can dream, can't he?"

"Besides," Speed added, "you're unavailable . . ."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Eric winked. "So how's Horatio?"

Calleigh looked away, a blush coloring her fair skin. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tuesday, March 23

Horatio arrived at work early with the intention of sifting through all the evidence in what the media had dubbed "The Friday Murders". The last thing he expected to find was Calleigh asleep on one of the couches in the break room. He gently shook her shoulder to wake her.

"Cal?"

"Mmm . . . five more minutes . . ."

Horatio smiled and remembered how his mother had used to wake him up. The opportunity was too good to waste; he tickled her.

Calleigh jumped up. "Wha . . . oh, Horatio. Umm."

He folded his arms across her chest. "I assume there's a reason you spent the night here?"

"I . . . Well . . . I've had trouble sleeping the past couple of weeks so I thought I'd work late last night, you know, maybe find something we might have missed the first time around and then I came up here for coffee and I was only going to sit down for five minutes . . ."

"Cal, you're rambling."

"Right. Sorry. Anyway, I did mean to go home."

"What do you mean by 'trouble sleeping'?"

Calleigh sighed. "I've been having the strangest dreams. This case is disturbing and I . . . I don't know. I'll be fine."

"You should take the day off."

"I'm fine."

"I'm only asking because I want you to stay fine."

Calleigh couldn't argue with that. Impulsively, she reached up and kissed his cheek. "Half a day. I'll be back after lunch."

Sofia Moran stood on the beach, the ocean behind her. She faced the camera, her smile at odds with what she was saying.

"Four people have already fallen victim to the serial killer currently terrorizing Miami. An innocent exchange student, a waitress, a teacher and a truck driver. How many people have to die at the hands of this madman and who will be next? Though the FBI has joined the investigation, the police are no closer to solving these murders than when they began—"

Horatio switched the television off. This was the last thing they needed. He reached for his Rolodex and flipped through until he found a number for Sofia Moran.

End part four.