It had been nearly 20 minutes since the EMT team had arrived at the hospital with the covered stretcher. They had already determined her to be deceased at the scene. Now all that could be done was for a doctor to declare her legally dead, and then…

Well, then came the fallout. The quiet fallout. It wasn't the first time he had gone through this experience.

Paramedics had also brought in a live body—the only other person found at the scene with her. This person had been catatonic, he'd heard. None of the paramedics' questions would be answered. All they could do was make sure he was uninjured and bring him to the hospital in a separate ambulance.

Unsurprising, the doctor thought. What else was to be expected from a man found cradling his lifeless wife?

He made his way through the hospital halls and arrived at a particular door. Slowly, the doctor turned the handle, opened the door, and stepped through.

He was sitting at the foot of the hospital bed, still dressed in the suit they had found him in. Christ, there was so much blood on his blazer. What looked to be a handprint was stained dark on his lapel. He didn't look up as the doctor stepped in. As quietly as he could, the doctor pulled up a stool and sat down a short distance away from him.

"Mr. Valentini," he said, "is now a good time to talk?"

He didn't answer at first. The doctor figured he would have to come back later. But when he was on the verge of standing, Stefano spoke up in a very quiet voice.

"When…" he began softly, "can I see her again?"

Oh boy. It seemed he was completely disconnected to what had happened. This was going to be tough. The doctor took a moment to carefully choose his next words. "Mr. Valentini, right now we need to make sure you're okay. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

"I just want to see her again. She was… so beautiful."

At that, the doctor had no words.

It was time. Per his request, Mr. Valentini had been given 15 minutes of privacy with the open casket. But 15 minutes had passed, and now it was time.

Once the coroners had gathered as much as evidence as they could and filed the official autopsy report, Celestina Amonte's body had been released from police custody and readied for her funeral.

It was cloudy today, but it wouldn't rain. Still, there was a somber heaviness that seemed to hang in the air. And when the pastor stepped into the empty church, he felt that heaviness weigh down tenfold. There, a single man stood at the end of the rows and rows of pews. His back was turned as the pastor made his way down the room. He wore a suit that matched his hair—funeral black.

The pastor slowed as he approached Stefano. His eyes lowered and too looked down into the velvet-lined casket. Her youth broke the pastor's heart. She lay with her hands over her stomach and a small bouquet of chrysanthemums tucked in them. A long silver gown reached down to her ankles. It came up to her neck in a cuffed halter-top that covered her neck.

"Silver," the pastor remarked, finally breaking through the thick, invisible barrier.

"I thought she might feel more at home in that color," Stefano replied. "She always preferred it over red."

"That's interesting. She always appeared on stage in red."

"It was just an image to portray," Stefano muttered. "Like La Contessa herself—just an image."

"I'm sure you knew her better than any of us." When the pastor didn't receive an answer from Stefano, he continued, "Son, it's time."

"I know," Stefano replied heavily. "I just…" He gripped the edge of the casket, the black leather of his gloves creaking softly. "I…" He reached forward, as if to touch the woman's cheek, but suddenly withdrew his hand and returned to the casket's edge. "What do I do now, Father?"

"You give yourself time to grieve," the pastor answered. "Time to mourn and time to feel the loss. And in doing so, you will allow yourself the opportunity to recover. Find peace in the thought that she is with God now."

"What has this world done to me?" Stefano demanded, his low voice seething with a quiet anger. "And don't you—don't you dare tell me that this was by God's design, Father. Why would He take my Ales—?" Stefano suddenly stopped, and then continued, "Why would He take Gelsomina's mother away from her?" At the end of his enraged rant, Stefano suddenly let out a breath. He took another deep one, and in a calmer voice said, "I… I didn't mean to be disrespectful, Father."

"No, my child. This grief and anger you are feeling—this is normal. Feel them through to their ends. As for your questions, I'm afraid I don't have an answer to them." The pastor glanced over his shoulder and repeated, "It's time."

Stefano's hands dropped from the casket. He took a step back, though his eyes remained on her. The pastor considered closing the casket now that the funeral was about to start, but instead offered Stefano the opportunity to do so. He did, lifting a hand to hold onto and pull down the casket lid. Before it was shut, and while Stefano could still see her, the pastor caught the man whispering something to her. But it was in Italian, so the pastor didn't understand his parting words.

During the funeral, every bit of seating in the pews was filled and the standing room was crowded. At the altar behind the casket, the priest delivered a brief eulogy. "I remember," he said as his speech came to a close, "when she attended Father Allen's funeral. As they lowered him into the ground, she and a choir sang Amazing Grace. She'd the voice of an angel. Celestina will be remembered as such—and as La Contessa, Krimson City's sweetheart, a kind friend to many, and a loving wife and mother."

A few others spoke as well. When it was Stefano's turn, he said little. His eyes remained on the casket as he said, "We were of the same ilk, and now it's just me. She is irreplaceable. My world has lost its color."

The midday sun had just passed its zenith by the time the funeral-goers filed solemnly out of the church and into a graveyard where a plot of land had been excavated. Those who had attended the funeral of Celestina Amonte passed, without noticing, a small grave with a headstone that read: "In loving memory of: CAROLYN LEDFORD." Resting against the stone was a fresh, purple iris flower.

The sun continued to drop ever closer to the horizon as the burial service took place. Those later questioned would say that Stefano remained graveside the entire service, and even after.

And then, that was the last anyone ever saw of him.

The next day, a 911 call was made from the home of Stefano Valentini and the late Celestina Amonte. When the operator picked up, no one responded from the other end.

The loss of his family—first his daughter, and then Myra—wasn't going to stop him. Even if it made the bags under his eyes much more pronounced and the flask hidden on the inside of his jacket his new best friend, Sebastian was a Krimson City detective and not a damn thing was going to change that.

The day after Celestina Amonte's death was declared, Sebastian had been assigned to the case. Also paired with him were junior detectives Kidman and Joseph Oda—a brilliant young officer that had charged through his training with flying colors. Sebastian'd had his fair share of working with the both of them. He couldn't have asked for better partners, especially with a case as sensitive as this. Given the victim's fame, the press would no doubt be following closely.

They had some time before they were expected at the crime scene, and so the team took the opportunity to read over the case files in Sebastian's office. Sebastian focused on the autopsy report. One shot through the throat—puncturing the trachea, esophagus, grazing the spine, and exiting out the back of the neck. The bullet had been narrow, akin in shape to a sniper bullet but smaller than the standard. Cause of death had been loss of blood.

Sebastian heard Joseph give a doleful sigh and looked up. The dossier of Celestina Amonte was in the young man's hands. "Just had a baby a little over a month ago," he muttered. "That's rough. Real rough. Kid'll never know her mom."

"All the more reason we need to catch whoever did this," Kidman said, leaning forward and tapping her fingers on the papers as she did so.

"Kid's right," Sebastian said, placing the autopsy report back into the folder. "Come on—you guys about ready to head down to the opera house?"

"It'll be the first time I've ever been, to be honest," Joseph admitted as he stood.

"Same," Kidman piped up.

Sebastian sighed. "Guess I'm the odd one out."

"You've been? You?"

"Once," Sebastian clarified. "Took Lily there to see a concert." At the mention of his daughter's name, the detective's face suddenly paled. Kidman and Joseph immediately shot nervous glances at each other. But the silence was suddenly broken when Sebastian abruptly stood, his chair scraping loudly on the floor. "Let's go," he said in a voice that failed in its attempt to feign ease. The three of them exited Sebastian's office and stepped out into the parking lot where a patrol car was waiting for them.

The entire opera house had been shut down for the investigation. Police cars were parked along the entire curb at front, and the parking lot held more. The detectives' patrol car dropped the three off at the front.

According to a radio call, the investigators had found something at the opera house that needed Sebastian's attention. He saw an officer waiting by the gold-handled front doors of the opera house.

"What'd the boys find?" Sebastian asked the officer, who motioned for them to follow him inside.

"A hole," the officer answered as they walked, "in the wall of the opera house. It's about two inches in diameter." They stepped into the main theatre room. After leading them a short distance down one of the aisles, the officer turned and pointed at a spot high up in the back wall of the theatre. Sebastian looked up and saw that a spotlight had been focused on the wall. He squinted, just able to see a black speck and a scene marker next to it.

"So," Sebastian said, "does forensics think it was the bullet that made the hole?"

"No sir," the officer replied. "The edges of that hole are smooth, most likely drilled. They think it was made preemptively to the shot."

"That's insane," Joseph spoke up, looking down from the wall to Sebastian. "That turns this entire case on its head. This isn't just murder, then—it's an assassination. Premeditated and carefully planned."

Things were just getting worse and worse. "Has forensics traced the path of the bullet?" Sebastian asked.

"They have. Based on the angle, the killer could have only been on the roof of a nearby office building. It's about half a block that way," the officer answered, pointing.

"So they weren't even in the opera house," Sebastian growled under his breath, sweeping his eyes around the theatre room. "On the night of the murder, police closed in on the opera house from all angles. Secured every nearby block, including that one. And if the killer was perched on that roof, how did they manage to escape?"

"Could have camped out on top of the building until the heat died down," Kidman suggested.

"No, police were swarming that office building within an hour of the murder," Sebastian said with a brisk shake of his head. "Every nearby structure was checked in case the killer had taken shelter in any of them. And if they'd tried to escape, ground patrol would have spotted them."

"What are you suggesting then?" Joseph asked.

Sebastian's eyes grew distant as he thought. "Not sure," he admitted. "I'm not liking the possibility, but something tells me the killer knew exactly where to go. Which part of the net would be the last bit to close."

"Someone who knows how an emergency lockdown works?" Kidman gleaned from Sebastian's line of thinking.

"Maybe. It's all just speculation for now," Sebastian said with a sudden shrug of his shoulders. "I want to see this office building rooftop first. Has it been secured?"

"Yessir," the officer replied. "I'll take you there."

They looked, but nothing was there for them. No bullet shell, no trace of DNA. All that forensics had been able to find was a small amount of burnt gunpowder residue that didn't tell them anything they didn't already know. The detectives decided that they had gathered all they could from the crime scene and headed back to the precinct to go over the evidence.

Then, a week after Celestina Amonte's body was released from the Coroner's Office for burial, a 911 call was received. There was no one on the other end. And given the identity of the residents, Sebastian was included in one of the two police cars that were sent to the home.

Sebastian stood back from the porch as an officer went up to the door and knocked loudly. He then identified them as the Krimson City police loudly, making sure anyone inside heard. There was no answer. The officer then gave a warning that they were coming in if they still didn't receive a response.

No answer.

It took a couple of rams before the door was broken in. As officers flooded in, they heard the shrills of a wailing infant. When Sebastian heard it, he stopped in his tracks before continuing to move forward. They passed what looked to be a studio space. And then they found her.

Underneath the window was a crib. Above it dangled a mobile of butterflies and flowers. The blanket inside the crib shifted as the crying baby thrashed her limbs, made terrified by the sound of the door breaking in and the officers moving around the house. On the little table next to her crib was the porcelain figurine of a ballerina and a handwritten note. Sebastian picked it up and read it.

Goodbye, Gelsomina. I've gone to find your mother.

They noticed that no coats were hanging on the rack by the door and the car was missing from the garage. A search for Stefano Valentini was instigated. And, because the police assumed the message on the table to be some sort of suicide note, they were on the search for either a man or a body.

Upon further investigation inside the house, officers found a button hidden behind the left ear of one of the busts in the studio space. Sebastian was alerted, and pressing it elicited a soft click that came from the darkroom. They found the hidden door that led underground. Sebastian felt the temperature drop as he descended down the stairs, the cold clinging to his skin and seeping down to his bones.

Motioned-triggered lights came on when he neared the center of the underground room. At the very end stood four glass displays—all empty. On the wall behind each was a large, ornate frame. But these too held nothing. Whatever pictures they had bordered were gone.

A phone call was made to the Amonte manor in Milan, Italy. Upon learning that it was the local authorities, the maid passed the phone to the lady of the house.

It was then Emilia learned that American authorities were trying to get into contact with her. Her granddaughter was in Krimson City, and Emilia was the closest remaining family left. They were requesting that she come and take custody of the infant.

Emilia asked what had happened to her daughter. Upon hearing the answer, she put the phone down and sobbed. She struggled to recover enough to finish the call. When she did, Emilia told the person on the other side to let the Americans know she would be flying over as soon as possible.

It had been a difficult phone call to make, but Sebastian knew it was the only thing they could do for the child. That day had been a long one. He'd sent Kidman and Joseph home, while he himself drove back to the department to pick a few things up from his office. He needed his laptop and a few hard copy case files to look over. Evening may have settled over Krimson City, but there was no rest for the wicked.

Besides, he didn't like being alone with his thoughts. Not anymore.

The hallway lights of the precinct were on, though the ones inside individual offices were off. The mismatched lighting gave the building a… well, Sebastian couldn't exactly describe it… some kind of odd feeling. Like something was there, but not quite.

Sebastian walked down the hall and turned the corner. He spotted the door to his office. But instead of being closed as he had left it earlier that day, it was slightly ajar. Sebastian let a slow, heavy breath through his nose. Honestly, he wished the cleaning crew wouldn't do that as often as they did. The detective crossed the distance between him and his office. He pushed the door open. Reaching to the side, Sebastian flicked the lights on.

He walked around his desk to unplug his laptop from the monitor. But before he could, his eyes fell on something and he paused. There was something sitting on top of the closed lid of his laptop.

The copper-colored KCPD detective badge had been placed face up. Its front was defaced by writing in permanent marker. Sebastian picked it up. There was no name on the badge, only a serial number on the back. But he already knew whom it belonged to without having to look the number up. His office had been sitting abandoned for months now.

Sebastian flipped the badge over to its front, where there was the message: "I did what I had to."

The radio was on, tuned to some talk show station. Pop music muffled by a closed door played somewhere else from inside the house. A man sat at the dining table, still dressed in his work clothes though his jacket was draped over the back of his chair. Dirty plates, the remnants of dinner, were still on the table. The man's attention was currently focused on the article on his phone.

There was a soft creak—that one floorboard behind the man's chair that always made a sound. But before the man could turn his head, the cold barrel of a handgun was pressed against the back of his graying hair.

There came a hissed, "Don't make a sound unless I tell you, or you're dead."

He could feel the man's fear manifest instantly. The phone clattered onto the table, and his hands quickly rose defenselessly.

"Now turn around. Look at me." The man obeyed, looking into eyes that were covered by black shades. He knew the man wouldn't be able to recognize him—not with the shades and the black half mask that covered his face up to the undersides of his eyes.

"I'm giving you one chance—one chance only. You tell me why you defended that criminal tooth and nail. You tell me why you facefucked justice instead of fighting for it."

"I… I don't—."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" he hissed, pressing the gun harder against Newell's forehead. "Thanks to you and this fucked up system, she didn't get what she deserved! Not until someone had to step over the line!"

"S-she… Celestina?"

"Nail on the head, old timer," he spat bitterly, tapping his own temple.

"I was—oh god, please—I was only doing my job!"

"Your job, huh?" He leaned closer. No doubt Newell could see his own terrified reflection in those black lenses. "Let me make it clear, fucker. You're meeting your god tonight. It's judgment day. Now's the time to confess while you still can."

"C-Celestina, she… she was innocent! I'd known her for a long time! She would've never—!"

So that's what he was going to take to the grave, huh? "Wrong answer." His finger dipped down to the trigger.

"Dad?"

Shit. He heard a soft, frightened gasp behind him. He turned his head, and that's when Newell really began to panic.

"No, no, no, please, not her! Just let her go!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her standing there in the doorway. Fear had paralyzed her. When she realized that he had noticed her, only a soft, fearful, "Don't… please don't…" escaped her lips.

She was young. Around the same age as…

"Turn around. Walk away. Pretend you never saw anything," he ordered harshly. The girl shook her head.

"Honey, just listen. It'll be okay."

"Are you… are you going to kill my dad?"

"I said go!" he roared.

"Jackson." It was a different voice that spoke now. "Stop."

Of all people… "Seb," Ledford greeted casually, though his gun remained trained on Newell's head. He was well aware Sebastian had his own weapon aimed at him. "You really shouldn't have interfered."

"I thought the worst when I heard about the killer's clean escape. Then you just had to stop by my office and confirm it," Sebastian said, his voice nursing a quiet rage. "I did what I had to. Is that how you saw it?"

"I thought," Ledford said, each word iterated with force, "that you of all people would understand."

"What I understand is that you've gone off the rail, and I can't let you hurt more people."

"They are NOT people!" Ledford suddenly shouted, finally turning to glare at Sebastian from behind the black lenses. "They are monsters—all of them! I should have believed her when she told me that! I tried playing by the books, Seb, and you saw where that got me! I lost my sister! I found her killer, but everyone was against me! The whole fucking world was against me!"

"Jackson," Sebastian said, speaking slowly now. "Listen to me… just… listen. I know how you're feeling. Believe me, I know."

"And?" Ledford demanded. "Let me ask you this, then—what if someone had started that fire? What if you knew and no one else believed you? You'd hunt the fucker down, wouldn't you? You'd do whatever it took."

He saw Sebastian hesitate, and then say, "The man you've got your gun pressed against isn't responsible."

"Not responsible? He helped her walk!"

"He was tricked, just like everyone else! Don't punish him for that!"

Ledford's finger hovered over the trigger, twitching towards it. He remembered those words spoken to him years ago. There are glaring differences, yes. But maybe… some underlying similarities. Those words had haunted him from underneath his skin since then.

Monsters weren't born. They were made. No… he wouldn't let himself. That one-eyed fuck may have slipped away before his comeuppance could be delivered, but he wasn't going to drag Ledford down to his level in his wake. Finally, Ledford rested his finger back over the grip and pulled his gun back.

"Jackson—."

"I'm not going back, Seb. Can't. I'm leaving, and this is the last you'll see of me unless you shoot me dead tonight." He turned, and the shot to stop him was never fired. The suspect, Jackson Ledford, disappeared from that house before backup could arrive.

He made good on his word, and after the night he let Ledford go, Sebastian never saw a trace of him again. A top suspect had been named for the Amonte case. All that was left was the manhunt to find him. With the case at its satisfactory stage, the three detectives were taken off from it to let others direct the hunt.

They were headed back to the precinct in a patrol car when the call over police radio came in. It was an 11-99 being called at a facility called Beacon Mental Hospital. Their unit was the closest. As the patrol car sped towards the hospital, Sebastian gazed out the rain-stained window.

Addendum: Just a heads up - this is the penultimate chapter. And, as I'll be heading out of the country next week and returning mid-January, this might be the last update of 2018. First, I'd like to sincerely thank you for reading and your constant support. Have a wonderful rest of the year, and here's to an even greater 2019!