"There's just simply not enough information." Larry turned away from the blackboard in Charlie's office.
"And you know how we know that the human mind usually sees patterns? I'm not even partially finding one."
"I suppose we could try to figure out a pattern based on the parking lots."
"Nothing is constant though. We have open parking lots, we have garages. We have men, women, every race, various ages, different professions. The only thing they all have in common is that they happen to live in a city designated by the 2005 census, as one of the biggest in the U.S."
Charlie ran his fingers through his hair, and sat back on the edge of his desk, "I just can't believe there's not one other connecting factor."
"I think that must be this guy's gig," Amita shook her head, "He stays illusive because he's so random."
Larry shook his finger at the younger persons, "Perhaps the only thing we can consider is the human factor."
"Is there any way to predict human insanity?"
"This guy has already predicted it for us. He's attacking here next."
"So," Charlie tapped his fingers, "Nothing else?"
His colleagues shook their heads, "How could we not have anything?"
Amita got up and paced the room; her eyes fell on the mailbox in the corner. Some poor student worker was by nearly every day to drop off the miscellaneous letters that Charlie neglected to get every day. The office managed to cut him some slack on that issue.
There was a peculiar set of white envelopes with the seal of the student medical services. She daintily plucked up the one with her name, folded it, and stuffed it into her back pocket. A certain voice in her mind was counting her blessings over the fact that she had gotten to the letters first.
Charlie and Larry were great coworkers, but so curious and absent minded that they often decided to pry through the mail and personal business of others. There were times when Amita had nearly pushed Larry out of his chair because he had lectured her on some of her spending habits in her bank statements.
She tossed Charlie's letter onto his desk, "Care to see if you're dying soon?"
He smirked, "I'll have you know that I am in perfect health. Well, as perfect as the modern human can be, what with the percentage of particles in the air, the average rate of diseases forming in unstable cells."
"It's late," Amita swung her carrying bag up over her shoulder, "I'm gonna go home and sleep."
Charlie looked up, a little dismayed, but she quickly countered with a kiss, "I just need to focus on sleeping tonight, you and I are fine."
There was his lovesick, sleepy looking kind of a grin he got when he realized he was still loved, and loved well.
She pulled on her jacket, tightened her grip on her purse, and walked out of her and Charlie's office.
The resounding clacks of her heels on the linoleum and then the pavement followed her out of the building. They did comfort her somewhat, especially with the cases these days. She wasn't too worried. The parking lots were videotaped and well-lit.
Her keys jangled in her right hand. Every step or so, she tossed them into the air and caught them expertly. Like a trained professional, her eyes were moving back and forth, searching for any sign that there was danger nearby.
Nothing was really peaking her interest.
One of the streetlamps flickered a few times. She looked over at it while she opened her car door. When she looked over back at her car, she caught the image in the review mirror just in time.
Amita threw herself to the ground, barely missing the blow of the axe. The blade sunk into the roof her car, and clung to the metal. She tried to roll underneath her car, but a gloved hand grabbed the collar of her shirt. The cloth on her jacket was scrapped up fairly well.
She struggled to get to her feet and turn herself around. Her heels broke off her shoes, and the fronts gave her little traction. The killer was pulling her backwards, out of the light.
Opening her mouth to scream, she felt the heavily gloved hand cover her mouth. The padding was so thick that when she tried to bite, the effort was useless to continue. Thinking better of it, she reached back and grabbed the legs behind her, jerking hard.
Luckily, she caught the assailant at a weak moment, and sent them tumbling over onto their side.
"Damnit!" She heard the person exclaim, and the voice made her look backward as she crawled away.
The person reached for her again, and Amita grabbed the arm and dug her nails into the flesh. She ripped and tore the skin when the killer tried to pull back.
Infuriated, the assailant grabbed at the hand and used it to fling themselves forward. Amita felt a knee slam into her upper thighs and pin them to the ground. She was slapped hard across the face.
Using her last resort, Amita managed to rip the mask on the face of her attacker.
She was in shock and mouthed the word, "What?" before she realized that her hesitation had lost her the fight.
The killers' eyes looked at her with a strange look, one that was almost sad. A cloth was placed over Amita's nose, and the last thing she thought was how often that chloroform was used to knock people out.