A/N: Orlando-crazy, Jinubean and KittyDoggyLover - thanks tonnes! NadezhdaSt - you'll have to wait and see, lol. Hopefully that whole storyline thingy will be clear in the next two or so chapters. LMAO my muse.

(Are these chapter lengths good?)

Chapter 2: Loopholes.

"Well this is cosy," Jordan commented, staring around the small room. There were two reclining armchairs, facing each other, separated only by a small coffee table, on which was a cell phone, a small radio and a pizza menu. She raised her eyes at him and he shrugged.

"Everything we need," he said, and closed the door behind them. "Take a seat, my dear."

The first real wave of fear washed over her, leaving her shaky and in no state to protest. She sat on a chair, edgy, staring at him, wondering what he would do next. He grinned at her, as if reading her thoughts, and sunk down into the other chair. He leaned forward and turned on the radio. The voice of a reporter filled the room.

"Chaos strikes Boston – this morning a train derailed just outside our fair city, leaving fifty people most certainly dead, about forty ore presumed so. Hundreds were injured. Foul play? The FBI, ATF and the Boston PD representatives milling around seem to suggest so, even though they are remaining tight-lipped about the whole thing. No information has been released as of yet…"

The man reached forward and switched off the radio, grinning across the table at her. The light filtered in between the heavy drapes on the window.

"We're going to be here a while," he said. "So we may as well get to know each other. My name is Jeremy Ayres."

"What's the point of that if you're going to murder me?" she asked matter-of-factly.

He sighed. "Number one, its no different to meeting someone in the street who isn't going to murder you. We're all dead someday anyway, its just a different means to the same end. Number two, I would have thought you of all people would appreciate a good loophole. I said kidnapping and murder in the car, but I did not specify who it was I was going to murder."

"Well seeing as you and I are the only ones here, it doesn't leave you much choice. Nowadays we call self-murder suicide." He merely looked at her and she sighed, sinking back into the chair. "Fine, I'll bite. Who are you going to murder?"

"The next person to walk through that door."

"I see. And who would that be?"

"Why I don't know, yet," he said. "I guess we'll just have a wait and see."

"So are you going to tell me what I did to…invoke this?"

Ayres chuckled. "It wasn't just you. Macy and Hoyt were involved as well."

Jordan was frantically trying to place the name and the face, but she couldn't.

"Cast your mind back, Dr. Cavanaugh," he encouraged. "Double homicide, late 2001…"

Suddenly it slammed into place. The murder of a young woman and her four year old daughter four years ago – Ayres. The husband, the very same Jeremy Ayres who was sitting in front of her, had been convicted and sentenced to thirty-five years in prison , only to have been proclaimed clinically insane by a shrink after multiple suicide attempts, night-terrors, hallucinations and dark moods where he would go two weeks without sleep. Not even a wink. He had been sent to the state psychiatric correctional hospital – where security was far laxer than that of the maximum-security prison he had been originally sent to. How had the bastard escaped?

Ayres laughed as he read the recognition in her eyes. "Remember me now?" he asked. "Good. I certainly never forgot you."

"We were doing our jobs you sick demented prick," she said, recalling the way in which the wife had died – stabbed multiple times, though not enough to kill her, and had torn strips of skin off her legs and arms before slitting her throat. Apparently he had decided to be more humane with his daughter, a single stab wound to the heart had killed her.

"No!" he said, voice raised. "You did not do your jobs!"

"Oh? You going to tell me you didn't kill them?"

"I killed her," he said. "I killed my wife."

"Then why all this?"

He met her eyes then and she stared at him, challenging him.

"Because I didn't kill my daughter," he said. "She did."

-------------

"Has Lily called back?" Bug asked over the top of yet another stretcher, bearing yet another charred-beyond-recognition body.

"No. The interns will be here soon, though…"

"Speak of the devils," Bug said, nodding over his companions shoulder. The Chief ME turned and spotted six or seven people climbing out of their respective vehicles, wearing bright yellow 'ME's' jackets and looking around in horror. Garret called out to Sidney, who looked up from the stretcher he and Nigel had been bearing after them.

"Your charges," he said, jerking his head towards the interns. Sidney looked at them, sighed and nodded.

"That should speed up the process," Bug commented.

When the two ME's had placed the body in the tent along with the others, they straightened up and surveyed the damage.

"Alright," Garret said in his best authoritative voice. "I'll get about ten or so of these off to the morgue. You go, and if you hear from or see Jordan, kill her, then send her to me so I can too."

Bug grinned wanly and nodded. Garret's phone rang and he plucked it expertly out of his pocket.

"Lily. What's up?"

"I rang Jordan's cell and her home phone. Not a word."

"Okay," Garret said, anger mounting at the only absent ME.

"Look, I called up a few surrounding morgues and hospitals who have them. I've offloaded twenty-five, and counting."

"You are an angel," Garret said, sighing in relief. "How are you holding up?"

"I've only had one or two people show," she said, and sounded surprised at the fact. "A couple of calls, they've left their details. Not much anyone can do 'till we've…"

"Identified them. Okay, I'll try and speed things up here. Expect Bug and the first truckload of bodies."

"Can you really spare him?"

"No, not really. Damn Jordan, why did she have to pick today to run to the circus?"

"Maybe something's wrong?"

"I don't give a damn. Either she's dead or she's here," he growled, bid his leave and hung up. It was then that he spotted Woody making a beeline for him, grim faced and agitated.

"The drivers were shot," he said.

"What…shot?" Garret replied. "What happened?"

"We're not sure," he said. "The story goes – some guy in the closest cabin to the drivers gets up. Witnesses say he kept looking at his watch. I don't know why the feds kept stressing that, I think they're thinking terrorist."

"No, really?" Garret said sarcastically. Woody ignored him and continued.

"We have no idea how the guy got past whatever security they have. Shot one driver, commanded the other to pick up the pace. Speed was phenomenal, apparently. We still haven't determined how fast the thing was going. The federal CSU is taking care of that. When the carriages derail, the other driver was shot and our boy jumped ship."

Garret frowned.

"Like he knew they would derail?"

"Its not clear. But I suggest you go butt in on the Feds' party if you want a slice of the bodies."

"How thoughtful of you," Garret said. "But I think I have quite enough bodies to keep me occupied for now. It's not out job to figure out why this time. Just clean up after a killer."

Woody frowned. "Well have fun. If there's anything I can do, I'll be over there somewhere." He waved a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

"Actually you can help. Go be Nigel's body partner."

"Body partner…?" Woody asked, worried, but Garret had already walked away.

--------------

"And you wondered why we didn't believe you the first time around?" Jordan asked, after he had told his story. "You came home from work, your daughter dead, your wife crying and standing over her with a kitchen knife. You snapped and brutally murdered her."

"I wanted her to feel pain," he said, quietly. "And she did. The bitch screamed and screamed. Begged for mercy. But it wasn't enough, not nearly enough. I wanted her to suffer more, for what she did to me, what she did to our daughter.

"How do you know she…"

"She was sick! Crazy! Had been depressed for months."

"And I bet you, big man, just ignored her," Jordan spat. "Depression's weak, isn't it Jeremy? Mental illness is a pansy's disease."

He stared at her. "I did everything I could for her."

"Yeah? Well apparently not enough. Why the hell should I believe you?"

"I don't care if you believe me or not, to be honest. I'm here to do a job, and it will be done."

"A job?"

"To make you and your buddies suffer."

"Oh? How?"

He grinned, and Jordan saw that he was completely sane, which was the scary thing.

"The only thing worse than death itself," he started. His tone was low, reverent, as if he greatly respected pain, or whatever the hell he had planned. "Is for those closest to you to die. And guess what? You aren't my main target."