Chapter 2: The Shift

"What was that about, Don?" Terry asked once Don had returned. "This case is a cinch? Are we working the same case?"

"Terry, I don't want Charlie working this one. It's too rough," Don said.

"He's handled tough cases like this before. For God's sakes, the first case you two worked on together was a murder and rape."

"I just don't think he can handle it right now." Terry suddenly placed a hand on Don's shoulder.

"Don, I don't think this is about Charlie. Am I right?" She asked, her voice softer.

Don rolled his eyes. It was Terry's counselor voice. In college, Terry had trained to become a counselor before deciding that criminal profiling for the FBI suited her better. Every once in a while, if she knew he was upset, she would take on the "counselor voice-" the soft, gentle voice that tried to probe his emotions. He hated it when she did that. The last time she had used that voice was not long after his mother's funeral. It had made him feel weak.

"Don, I think you're starting to make this case a little too personal."

"Oh, excuse me for feeling sorry for a fifteen year old girl who had a knife shoved up her-"

"Don't you dare and try to make me look like an insensitive bitch! Yes, I feel sorry for the victims. But Don, you are letting this case control you. You're here early in the morning, and you leave later than I do. You haven't seen your father in months, and you just completely blew Charlie off. When work starts to interfere with your personal life, it's time to step away."

Don stared hard at Terry. She was bold to suggest stepping away; Don had never responded well to that notion.

"You're suggesting I pass the case off? No. There is no way in hell I'm going to do that. We can't afford to. I know this case better than anyone else does; I have the best chance of breaking it!"

"Don, you're obsessed with this case. Now, I don't know why; you probably don't even know why, but you better step back for a second and consider the consequences of letting yourself get too involved, especially if this guy gets away."

"He's not going to get away," Don countered. "I'm going to get the sick bastard."

Terry sighed, frustration growing. There was no talking to the eldest Eppes brother.

"Fine, Don. But if something happens, don't say you weren't forewarned."

"Warning noted. Now, do you want to talk to her parents, or do you want to check out the coroner's report?"

"Parents. They should be in better shape than they were earlier."

"I came in to wake her up for breakfast. I always do that; Nicky is… I mean… she wasn't a morning person," Sarah Raleigh said wiping away tears with a tissue. Terry nodded. As she had suspected, the parents weren't much help at all.

"And you hadn't noticed anything strange? Was she acting differently; did she have some new friends; anything at all?"

"No. She was happy." Mark Raleigh shook his head.

"Wait. There was something, Mark," Sarah said. She turned to look at Terry. "Nicky mentioned something strange happened at school."

Terry opened up her notebook. It was probably nothing, but at least it was something to write down.

"Nicky said she and her friends were hanging out at the school's steps when this man approached them. He asked them if he could take pictures of them."

"When was this?"

"Friday. The girls let him; they figured it was for yearbook or something."

That was the day of the murder, Terry thought, scribbling down the information.

"She said he told them to continue talking, so it could look natural."

"Mrs. Raleigh, did Nicole happen to mention any of the girls with her?"

"June Turner." Mr. Raleigh answered for his wife. "June was her best friend. I'm sure she would have been with her. Do you think that the photographer did this?"

"I can't tell you, Mr. Raleigh. We're just checking out all leads."

"Yeah, I remember that guy," 15-year-old June Turner said. "He was a little weird."

"Do you remember what you and Nicole were talking about when he was taking pictures?" Terry asked. She had driven to the Turner residence to speak with the teenager. She glanced at the girl's parents, who hovered in the next room, listening in. They seemed afraid to leave June alone.

"Um, we talked about what we were going to do that night. I was going to the movies with my boyfriend, and she was staying home."

"Did she talk about her parents going grocery shopping?"

"Actually, yeah, she did. Why?"

"June, I need you to give me a complete description of the man. Better yet, why don't you come with me?"

"Not much different from the others," the coroner said to Don. "No foreign chemicals in the bloodstream. COD is exsanguination, chiefly from the wound to the abdomen. "

Don looked at the girl's face. Her skin was pale, and dark ringlets framed the small face.

"Stomach and liver were punctured, as well as the left lung. Thighs were slashed, though no major arteries were damaged. Her vagina was ruptured, presumably by one stab wound."

"Was she raped in any other way?" Don asked softly.

"No. The fluid found on her was indeed semen, and I was told the DNA matches the others. That's pretty much it."

"Thanks." The coroner nodded, and left Don alone with the young girl's corpse.

"Why you?" He whispered. He put his hand to the girl's cheek. Her skin was smooth, but cold. He closed his eyes, for only a moment.

"Oh, God," he whispered when he opened them. Instead of the pretty face of Nicole Raleigh, he saw the face of Charlie Eppes. He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath. He needed to be in control. Now was not the time to make this case more personal.

"Don."

Don flinched at the sound of Terry's voice from behind him. Abruptly, his hand dropped from the corpse's face and he turned to look at Terry. He saw deep concern in her eyes.

"What?" He asked, choking down his emotions.

"We have a possible suspect."

"A name?" Don asked, his heart leaping with hope.

"Just a face right now. One of Nicole's friends said a strange man took pictures of them the day of the murder. She said he could have overheard them talking about Nicole's parents going out that night. We have a sketch artist with her right now."

The morgue's doors opened just as Terry finished speaking to reveal a very solemn David Sinclair.

"Oh, shit," Don murmured.

"We just got a call from LAPD. Said they found a young woman stabbed multiple times in her bedroom. No signs of struggle, but they said her wrists showed evidence of restraints."

"Have they processed the crime scene yet?" Don asked, his voice hoarse.

"They're waiting for us."

Charlie Eppes sighed as he walked down the hall at CalSci. Ever since that morning, he hadn't been able to focus. All he could think about was the stress on his brother's face and in his voice. He felt completely helpless. He wanted to help Don, but he kept pushing him away. Why? What about the case was bothering Don so much?

"Professor Eppes?" A quiet voice called ahead of him. Charlie looked up and smiled.

"Keith! How are you?" Keith Brown smiled back. He was a new student at CalSci, but Charlie had already taken a liking to him. He was young, even for a college student, bright, and exuberant.

"I'm good. Well, sort of. I'm having difficulty solving one of the problems you gave us on Monday."

"Would you like me to help you out a bit?" Charlie offered. Keith smiled.

"That would be great."

"Professor Eppes!" Another voice called, this one unfamiliar. Charlie turned to see a man in his mid-twenties, holding a camera.

"Can I help you?" Charlie asked. The man smiled and offered his hand, which Charlie took. He was almost a head taller than Charlie, with dark blonde hair and grey eyes.

"My name's Raymond Leary and I work for the CalSci Press. I'm taking pictures of students and teachers this week. Do you mind if I take a picture of you and…"

"Keith Brown," Keith answered, shaking Raymond's hand.

"Sure, why not?" Charlie answered. Charlie stood next to Keith and smiled for Raymond as he took three or four shots.

"Thanks," Raymond said, and walked away.

"Anyway," Charlie began, "Let's talk about this in my classroom where we can have some peace."

"Professor, is there something wrong?" Keith asked a few moments later. "You seem really distracted."

Charlie smiled. The student was perceptive.

"Do you have an older brother, Keith?"

"No. I'm the eldest."

"Well, my brother, Don, is an FBI agent as you know."

"Yeah, you help him out with a lot of the cases. You solve most of them, don't you?" Keith said, his eyes flashing with excitement.

"Some of them. Anyway, he won't let me go near this one case he's working on, and I can't figure out why. I know it's a hard one, but I've helped him out with some pretty rough cases."

"Maybe he's just trying to protect you," Keith suggested.

"I guess, but does he have to be so… so… angry about it?"

"I know sometimes when I'm trying to protect my little brother, I can get very angry, especially when they really want to know what I'm protecting them from. Just give him time, Professor. He'll figure out you're strong enough to handle whatever it is, I'm sure of it."

"Ellen Thompson, age 22," David said, as Don crouched next to the dead body. "Single, Caucasian female. Lived alone. Neighbor called it in when she didn't show up for a babysitter job."

Don rubbed his face irritably. The crime scene was identical to the others. Stab wounds on the breasts, stomach, and thighs. Her wrists were bloody from her desperate struggle against the handcuffs that had restrained her.

"Don," Terry said. "We have a note."

Don took the rolled up note from Terry, trying to maintain control over his rising anger and frustration, as well as the hopelessness of the situation.

"Nine times FUCKED!

Nine times KILLED!

Bleeding virgins wail

Diana is freed…"

"Diana," Terry murmured. She took the note from Don abruptly, her mind whirling.

"I think I know why he kills," Terry murmured. "Whoever this Diana is, he's killing these girls for her. He might be trying to please her. He could see her as a goddess, and is making blood sacrifices to appease her."

"That's twisted," David commented. "What's our next move, Don?"

Don didn't answer. Instead, he left the room.

"Don," Terry called after him, following him to the kitchen of the apartment.

"God damn it!" Don said suddenly, and kicked the wall, his rage finally exploding. "We lost him. I lost the bastard!"

"Don, calm down," Terry ordered firmly. She could not have her partner act in such a way. "We're going to find this guy."

"It's over, Terry. It's over. He's done. He's going to disappear again, and we won't find him." The rage peaked again as he thought of the nine faces of the victims. "Damn it."

"Good," Terry said. Don glanced up in disbelief.

"Good? Good? How can losing a killer be fucking good?" Don asked, his voice high.

"I'd rather lose a killer than lose my partner," Terry answered solidly. "You're scaring me, Don. I've never seen you so stressed out before over a case. Why don't you take this chance to relax, to calm down? Have dinner with your dad, or something."

"Shit, I forgot," Don murmured, suddenly recalling Charlie's invitation. He glanced at his watch. It was five' o'clock.

"Don," Terry said, looking at him urgently. "Why don't you go now? I'll process the scene, and get it to you tomorrow. Tomorrow, you'll be refreshed and calm, and ready to handle this case. Okay?"

Don paused before answering. He knew he needed to get away from the case. He knew he should see his father and brother. But he felt that if he left, the case would fall apart.

"Don't worry, Don. David and I can handle this." Terry smiled, watching her partner's eyes, silently praying that her words were getting through. She could still see a vestige of that haunted look that had filled his eyes back at the morgue.

"Alright," Don said slowly. Terry broke into a huge smile, relief flooding through her.

"Thank you, Don."

"But if anything comes up, you'll call me, right?" Don said, preparing to leave the apartment.

"Of course, Don," Terry said emphatically. "Now, hurry up, before you miss dinner."

Don smiled, and for the briefest of moments felt some anxiety deep within him release.

"Did you talk to Don today, Charlie?" Alan asked, taking a seat at his dinner table. Charlie nodded without much enthusiasm.

"He said he'd be over for dinner tomorrow. He promised."

"Well, at least he's going to try, Charlie," Alan said, trying to encourage his youngest son. He knew how much Charlie loved to have dinner with his father and brother. The mathematician adored Don as much he adored his father, if not more. It brought him down when Don didn't keep his promises.

"You'd think he'd try harder," Charlie mumbled, picking at his food. Alan had made roasted chicken and fried potatoes, in hopes to cheer his son up. He knew Charlie enjoyed both dishes.

"Hey guys," a familiar voice called. Charlie turned to see his older brother, still wearing his FBI jacket.

"Don! What a pleasant surprise," Alan said. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. We've hit a cold spot in the case, so I'm taking a break. I'm sorry I haven't been over very much…" Don began, trying to sound light. In truth, he was still worried about the case.

"Don't worry about it, Don," Alan said. He had picked up the forced optimism in his son's voice, and could see fatigue and frustration in his face. "You're just in time for dinner."

"Great; I'm starving." Don hadn't had a decent meal since the Notebook Killings had began, and the scent of chicken made his mouth water.

"How's it going, Charlie?" Don asked, sitting next to his brother.

"Good. I'm glad you came tonight, Don," Charlie said, smiling.

"Anything for my little brother," Don said, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"So, what's this case you're working on?" Alan asked, handing Don a plate.

"I don't think it's a good dinner topic, Dad," Don said, eagerly grabbing a fork. He took a bite of the chicken.

"You know I have a strong stomach," Alan said.

"Well, we've been trying to catch this guy who's been murdering women. He's killed nine so far."

"Wow," Alan said.

"Yeah. And we can't find anything on him. We can't trace his DNA or his fingerprints. It's like he doesn't exist."

"Are you sure it's one guy?" Charlie asked. Don nodded, swallowing his potatoes.

"He has a very specific signature. Only one person could maintain the signature so accurately."

"What's his signature?" Alan asked. Don took a deep breath, carefully choosing his words.

"He binds his victim, stabs them a few times, and then leaves a note in them."

"In them?" Charlie asked.

"Yes," Don replied, his tone indicating he did not want to go into any more details.

"No wonder you won't let Charlie on the case," Alan commented.

"Dad!" Charlie said.

"Well, it's true!"

"It doesn't sound too bad," Charlie said defensively. "I could handle it!"

"Charlie, your brother's sugar-coating it," Alan informed him.

"Oh." Charlie's cheeks reddened, for the fact he had missed that embarrassed him.

Thankfully for Don, his cell phone rang. He excused himself.

"Eppes," he said, half-sighing. He had wanted a quiet dinner with his family. But instead, he had gotten a reminder that his case was getting colder by the second.

"It's Terry."

"What's up?"

"They found another body."

"What?" Don said, bewildered.

"It's the same MO. Found in bedroom, use of restraints, similar stab wounds, but…"

"But what?" He demanded. There was a long pause.

"The victim is male."

"How can that be?" Don murmured.

"Don, there's even a note."

"What the hell is he doing?" Don asked.

"I don't know anymore. I'm on my way to the crime scene. Police were already processing it when they found the note. They didn't suspect a connection because it was a male victim, but when they saw the note, they called."

"Alright. Tell them to hold everything until I get down there." Don turned off the phone.

"What's going on, Don?" Alan asked.

"Something's come up. I'll have to finish this later."

"Alright. See you later tonight, then," Alan said, watching as his eldest son left the house.

"What have we got?" Don asked as he got out of his car. Terry had been waiting for him.

"Keith Brown, age seventeen. Lived with his mother, while attending classes at CalSci."

"He's awfully young for that college," Don commented. He ducked under the crime scene tape surrounding the house.

"He graduated three years early from high school and was majoring in some form of math. His mother didn't say," Terry said, reading of her notepad.

Suddenly, a flash in his peripheral caught Don's attention. He turned, and saw someone in the crowd was taking pictures of the house.

"Hey, Terry," he said slowly, not taking his eyes off the man, "Do you happen to have the sketch of the suspect with you?"

"Right here," she said, handing him a copy. He looked at the thin face, the cleft in the chin, and the short cropped hair, and knew that the man photographing the house was the same man who had taken pictures of Nicole Raleigh on her last day.

Don began to walk towards the small gathering of onlookers, slowly unbuttoning his holster. His pace quickened as the man turned, beginning to leave.

"Hey!" Don shouted, beginning to run. Terry began to follow him, her gun out.

Don burst into a sprint, hoping to catch the now running man. The suspect had quite a start on him, however, and was fast for someone of his height.

The man ducked between two houses, causing Don to halt. He drew his gun, and slowly edged up to the corner of the house. He stepped out, ready to fire if necessary. But no one was there.

"What the hell?" He murmured. Where had the man gone?

In the fading sunlight, Don caught a glimpse of something black on the ground. He crouched slowly, keeping an eye open for the suspect. He could hear Terry rounding the corner as he picked up what appeared to be a film canister.

"Did you lose him?" Terry asked.

"Yeah," Don replied. "But he left this behind."

"Let's get that developed."

"I'll do it," Don said. "You handle the body."

Terry glanced at him in surprise. For the past nine murders, all Don had wanted to deal with was the body. Why such a change?

"Are they done yet?" Don asked the lab tech.

"In just a second," the tech replied.

"Don," Terry said, entering the developing room. "Here's the report for Keith Brown."

"He's killed two people within the same day," Don said. "How is it possible?"

"He didn't. Coroner's report says that Ellen Thompson was dead at least a day before discovery. Keith Brown has only been dead for five hours."

Don opened the manila folder and saw a photo of Keith's body. He nearly dropped it as for a second time that week he saw his brother's face.

"You okay, Don?" Terry asked.

"Yeah," Don said, swallowing hard.

"He reminds you of Charlie, doesn't he?" Terry said softly. She had finally figured out why Don had taken the case so personally. Most of the victims had dark hair, and quite a few of them had curly hair as well.

"Yeah." There was a long silence.

"Charlie looked almost exactly like him at seventeen," Don said.

"But he's not Charlie, Don," Terry said. "Remember that."

"They're done," the lab tech said, handing Don some photos.

"Holy shit," Don said, for the first photo was that of Jenna Sanders, smiling with her arm around a friend.

"It's got to be him, Don," Terry said as Don showed the second photo, which was another picture of Jenna, only this time she was dead, her body mutilated.

"These are before and after shots," Don said, he looked at two pictures for each victim.

"He's showing us what he's capable of," Terry said. Suddenly, Don froze.

"What is it, Don? Don?"

Don looked up at her, his eyes wide with fear and shock. He raised a photo to her sight, and suddenly Terry knew why Don looked so terrified.

The photo was that of Keith Brown at CalSci. He was smiling while leaning against a wall. But what terrified Don was the fact that Keith Brown stood next to his smiling brother, Charlie.

Chapter 3: Cold Realization, will be up in a few days/weeks. Thanks for reading!