Thursday, March 25

Calleigh wasn't sure what possessed her to change the route of her morning jog. She found herself drawn to the beach, to the scene of the most recent murder. She slowed her pace, eventually coming to a complete stop. It was early and there was no one else around. Calleigh glanced down at the sand.

Judy Williams lay on the ground, staring at Calleigh. Then she slowly turned to ashes. Calleigh stepped backwards, a scream dying in her throat. She blinked and the body was gone.

"Mary . . ." The voice danced on the breeze, calling to her. Calleigh shivered in the cool air.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance and the moment passed. Calleigh turned and ran back the way she had come, but the image of the ashes refused to leave her mind.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Lieutenant Caine. Can I call you Horatio?" Sofia Moran crossed her legs and leaned across the table, affording Horatio a glimpse of her cleavage. He picked up the menu and studied it instead.

"Whatever you're more comfortable with, Miss Moran."

"Please, call me Sofia."

"I saw your report on Channel Five the other day."

She smiled. "I was hoping you would."

"I didn't like it."

Her smile faltered a fraction. "Oh?"

"In an investigation like this, we can't afford to have the public lose faith in the police."

"The public has lost faith in the police department. Four people are dead. There's a serial killer running around Miami and it's obvious to anyone that the police are chasing their tails."

"It doesn't help when there are reporters such as yourself who encourage that lack of faith."

Sofia Moran covered Horatio's hand with hers. "I have complete faith in you, Horatio. Tell you what; you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. I'll watch what I say on camera if you promise to give me an exclusive after you catch this guy. I'll make you a hero, Horatio."

He pulled his hand away and said, coldly, "I'm not interested in being a hero, Miss Moran."

A waiter arrived to take their order. Before he could speak, Horatio stood.

"Thank you for your time."

Friday, March 26

As predicted, Friday morning brought with it another body. Speed and Eric were out on another case so it was just Monica and Calleigh waiting for the autopsy report in Horatio's office. Alexx entered, her expression grim, and dropped the folder on the desk.

"Michael Jameson, thirty-four years old. Cause of death: exsanguination. His back was literally shredded. I'd say he was whipped to death."

"So it's not our guy?" Calleigh asked.

"Jesus was whipped." Monica opened the folder and grimaced as she took in the photographs.

"Why would he change his MO now?"

Monica shrugged. "I'm going back up to DC for a while. I have a friend who used to profile. While I'm up there, I'll get his opinion on this case."

"What's wrong with the profile we have?"

"Nothing, it's just . . . Mulder sees things other people tend to overlook. I'll be back on Thursday."

Horatio nodded and massaged his temples. "If you think it can help . . ."

"Yes, Mr. Mayor, I understand your concern. I assure you, we're doing all we can to find this killer."

Horatio let the mayor rant for a few more minutes, then excused himself and hung up. When he opened his eyes, he saw Calleigh leaning against the doorjamb.

"You look tense."

Any other day he would have made a joke about her observation skills, but not today. He beckoned for her to enter. "We've had tough cases before but none that scare me like this guy does. I'm almost ready to ask Monica for a paranormal explanation."

Calleigh went around the desk and began massaging his shoulders. "The religious freaks are always the worst."

"I know we're doing all we can but I've got a horrible feeling we're not going to get him."

"Of course we will."

Horatio closed his eyes and decided that, for a little while, he wasn't going to think about the case. As if he could, with Calleigh touching him. He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

Wednesday, March 31

It was strange to be back in Washington, Monica thought. She stepped off the elevator and headed to the basement office she shared with John. At the door, she paused, watching him sift through a pile of paper.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey, yourself. How'd things go with Mulder?"

She held up a folder. "Pretty well. He says hi. Dana sends her love, and William asked me to give you this." She pulled a piece of paper from the folder and handed it to John.

He chuckled. "William the artist. Who would have thought?"

"So what excitement have I missed out on these past few weeks?"

John shrugged. "Not much. Agent Harrison's been assisting me."

Monica's eyes widened. "I'm surprised you're still alive to talk about it."

"Monica . . ."

She laughed. "Sorry, couldn't resist. You know what she's like. When she brings a case to our attention one of us usually gets injured."

"Yeah . . . When's your flight?"

"Five."

"You need a lift to the airport?"

"I wouldn't dream of tearing you away from your paperwork."

"Oh, I think I could sacrifice it, just this once."

Thursday, April 1

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.

She steps back, trying to get away from him, and trips, falling to the floor. It's Monica, and her eyes are closed and she's covered in blood.

There's a noise from the staircase. She scrambles to her feet, wiping bloody hands on her dress, and turns to look. Horatio struggles with a dark shape. She can't see what it is but she knows it will kill him. She wants to step forward but she can't move, can't speak, can't do anything except watch. The shape snaps Horatio's neck and he falls to the floor, suddenly, horribly, still.

The shape moves towards her, holding out twisted arms.

"Mary."

Calleigh sat bolt upright in her bed, her heart pounding. The night was warm but she was cold. She slipped out of bed and made it to the bathroom in time to throw up. Afterwards, she sat on the floor with her back against the bathtub, and cried.

End part five.