June, 2002

Newman Halfway House

He's paralyzed; can't move his arms or legs. Strapped down naked upon a cold hard slab…

They look down upon him with their dispassionate black-eyed gaze, surgical tools in hand.

Wake up, Jack. It's not real. It's just a dream…

Frigid hands touch him, spider-thin fingers trailing across his bare chest, and he's whimpering in pure terror.

C'mon, Jack…I'm here. Wake the hell up!

Indecipherable alien eyes peer down at him as his head and neck is immobilized, as the drill begins to descend…

Jack McCoy jolted awake with a cry of terror.

He wasn't there. He was here, in his room at Newman Halfway House, James Smith sitting by his side, Smith's hand on his shoulders.

Not…there.

Not where the aliens were, not being experimented upon.

"You back?" James Smith asked.

"Yeah…" McCoy sat up, clutched a pillow to his chest as he wiped his face, wiped the tears away…

"You want to talk about it?" Smith asked.

"No."

What good would that do?

…..

Central Park

2:30 AM

Jeanie and Phil. Two teenagers in heat…

They'd escaped parental vigilance, crept out of bedroom windows, or down fire escapes, to have this one night all to themselves.

Phil had found this one place, where interruption was all but impossible. The grass was soft, the view blocked from several different directions; and everything overseen by this gnarly-looking tree that sort of looked like a man.

Jeanie lay back, Phil on top, fumbling as only a teenager can, but she didn't mind. She was a teenager too. Instead, she looked up, at the tree they were under. It sort of had a face…

Eyes blinked down at her…

…..

Jack McCoy felt a bit out of sorts today. That nightmare always did it to him…

Now, it was late morning, and a warm day in June, and he had trash to pick up…

The smell of rotting meat wafted across the area.

Great…

McCoy sighed as he hefted the trash stick, and lugged the trash bag he carried, searching for that awful smell.

People are pigs…

Then, he heard the buzzing sound.

Flies…

Flies always found rotting garbage before Park Personnel did. But the buzzing was…loud; like there were lots of flies; and now alarm tingled along McCoy's nerves.

This was a rather out-of-the-way part of the Park, not an easy place for litterbugs to get to.

McCoy followed the buzzing down to its source, a gnarled old tree shaped sort of like a human. The smell-fresh blood, rotting meat, and offal-was overpowering.

McCoy backed up, retching. The body parts were almost completely hidden by a blanket of flies. But McCoy saw a hand, and enough of a human torso to know murder had been done there.

Under that gnarled-looking tree.

He fled, looking for someone to report to…

…..

Detective Mike Logan retched, holding a handkerchief to his mouth, desperately wishing for something…anything…to relieve the stench.

"That's what it smells like when someone's bowels have been ripped open."

Logan could have done without the ME's cheerful tone.

"Here," He heard Ed Green's voice, another handkerchief-a perfumed one-held in front of his face.

"Thanks," Logan snatched it, held it to his nose and mouth.

Now, he could concentrate on the ME and the victims.

"What happened here?" he asked, and the ME shrugged.

"Kids enjoying what comes naturally, I guess," he said. "Then someone…or something…interrupted their midnight revels."

"Midnight revels?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

"Whoever, or whatever, caught them flagrante delicto," the ME shrugged again. "As near as I can tell, this happened in the early morning, somewhere between two to three in the morning. We'll know more when we autopsy…"

"Where's the witness who called it in?"

"Over there," the ME waved vaguely, attention focused on the two victims. Logan glanced briefly at the victims, and shuddered as he looked away.

Who…what…could do that to two kids?

"We're here Mike," Logan followed Ed Green's voice, and there the witness was, sitting next to Green.

"Jack?"

"Yeah…" McCoy looked gray, and who could blame him?

"You know we have to ask you about this," Logan said.

McCoy nodded, glanced at the site.

"I just found them, Mike. Like that."

"I know…" Logan sighed. "How's about we talk over coffee? I know I could use one. How about you?"

McCoy nodded shakily.

"Yeah," he said. "A coffee would be nice."

"Let's go," Logan and Green moved, McCoy between them, away from the murder site, and that tree…