Monday, 3:35 am

"I take it you've heard of Mr. Alexander before, Lieutenant," the Deputy Chief said, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

Flynn had heard of him. Flynn had met him. Flynn had looked into his soulless eyes and wondered if perhaps this was the face of evil. Flynn had watched him walk away.

"You've got to tell Sharon, Chief," he said desperately, ignoring the throbbing pain in his hand.

Brenda shook her head. "We do not include the families-"

"You're not hearing me, Chief. She's the only one who can get through to him. She nearly had him, eleven years ago. She came closer than anyone else. If you want to find Alexander, and Emma, before it's too late, you need Sharon."

The use of Captain Raydor's first name set Brenda's teeth on edge, and Flynn knew it. He also knew how Sharon was going to take this news; that is to say, badly. Very badly.

"Well, before we tell the Captain anything, I think Sergeant Gabriel has some explaining to do," Brenda said evenly, turning her gaze onto the young Sergeant.

Gabriel took a step forward, seeming uncertain of himself. "Well, Chief, evidently Marcus Alexander called Chief Pope. Said he had something that belongs to Captain Raydor, but he would only return it to her in person. He hung up before we had a chance to trace the call."

Andy's heart dropped in his chest. Something that belongs to Captain Raydor. Andy wished he wasn't certain that thing was Emma, the most important thing in Sharon's life, in the hands of a killer.

"Lieutenant Flynn, what do we know about this guy?"

"I'll tell you everything, Chief, but we have to tell Sharon first. She needs to be a part of this conversation," Flynn told her. He almost said please, and Andy Flynn never said please to anyone in his life. Except for his mother and Sharon Raydor.

Brenda threw her arms up in the air, and Flynn took this as her way of giving him permission, and so he went with dragging feet back into the living room, where Sharon Raydor sat on the couch with her two sons.

For a moment, Andy remembered Sharon as she had been all those years ago. She had been more scared than cold, more cautious than distant, more compassionate than hard-hearted. He wasn't sure where that woman had gone. A part of him wondered if she wasn't hiding under the sharply pressed suits of a certain FID Captain. If that woman still existed, the one who laughed in his arms in another life, Andy feared the news he was about to deliver would destroy her forever.

"Sharon?" he said quietly, and she craned her head to look at him. She looked pretty, even with the circles under her eyes and the worry lines across her forehead. "We got something you're gonna want to hear."

The light in those green eyes that could dance with mischievousness seemed to go out upon hearing his words, and she slipped off the couch and onto her feet.

"Mom?" Sam said quietly, staring up at her, and she laid a gentle hand on his cheek.

"It's going to be ok, baby," she said, and walked off towards the kitchen, where the rest of Major Crimes was waiting for her. Andy followed her without a word.

"Captain," Brenda said when they entered the kitchen, preparing herself to deliver the news herself, but Andy deftly stepped between the two women, cutting the Chief off. He didn't want Sharon to hear this news from anyone else. This was his fault, and he was going to be the one to break her heart.

"Sharon," he said evenly, "Chief Pope got a call tonight. From Marcus Alexander-"

His explanation was cut off by the stinging slap of Sharon's hand across the side of his face.

"Captain!" Brenda exclaimed, but no one was paying attention to her. All eyes were focused on the slight form of Captain Raydor, trembling in her own kitchen.

"Jesus Christ, Andy," she nearly screamed, her normally pale face drawn gaunt in the artificial lights. There were no tears, only rage in her now. "I swear to God, Andy, if he has her, if he has my baby girl, if you-" she raised her hand to strike him again, and he caught her slender wrist in his hand, pulling her forward into his arms, holding her so tightly she couldn't even pound her fists against his chest.

"He's not going to hurt her, Sharon, I won't let him," Andy murmured against her dark hair, and finally she relaxed in his grip, burrowing her face in his shirt, her body wracked by silent sobs.

Brenda and the rest of the squad stared on in morbid fascination at the scene before them, certain they had never seen anything like this, and hoping they never would again.

"I won't let him hurt her," Andy said again, and he prayed that he wasn't lying.

Eleven years before

Sharon surveyed the carnage before her, a nauseous feeling rising in the pit of her stomach. The body of the young woman lying on the floor at Sharon's feet looked hauntingly familiar. Pretty face, dark hair, a single gunshot wound between two vacant green eyes. There was a small piece of blue paper clutched in her stiff fingers, a calling card from the man who had ended her life, and a warning to Sharon.

This was the eighth body in as many weeks. Sharon didn't know where Alexander kept finding these girls, but they kept cropping up. Her knees felt weak, her skin felt strange under her clothes and the lingerie Andy had bought for her, his smell thick on her skin and all she wanted to do was shower.

To make it worse, Andy wouldn't leave her side, hovering over her shoulder and asking questions of the officers on the scene. They had nothing to tell him, however, and they never would. The killer left no evidence behind, save for the note in the dead girl's hand. No prints, no hairs, no fibers, no shell casings. He was a ghost, but a ghost with a name. He called the police himself, using a payphone outside the apartment building before he wiped it clean.

Marcus Alexander.

"Sharon," Andy said softly from somewhere behind her, and Sharon turned to face him on instinct. She wished she hadn't; he looked so concerned and confused, and she wanted nothing more than to leave this place and hold her children tight. But they were with her ex tonight, and she had nowhere else to go. No escape.

"We've got a problem," he told her, and she couldn't find it in herself to worry about what this new development might be.

"You mean another problem?" she said, her voice even and emotionless. She was spent. Another dead girl, another family, another week of having nothing to say. Another week of feeling like she was falling, with no net below to catch her.

"The vic has a daughter, and we can't find her," Andy told her, watching her face intently to see how she would respond.

And all Sharon could see in that moment was the face of her own daughter, barely seven years old. Emma had just started second grade. Sharon should have spent the night at home, helping her with her homework, brushing her hair, singing her to sleep. Just like the dead woman at her feet should be holding her own daughter, happy and safe. But she wasn't. No one was safe.

Sharon bent down, and reached out with one gloved hand to pull the note from the clutches of the woman whose name Sharon still didn't know. She unfolded the square of paper, and read the words printed in an efficient, even script.

The darkness is coming for you, Sharon. No one is safe.