Doctor Temperance Brennan was growing increasingly concerned at the prospect of having her only daughter living on a college campus were two murders had been discovered in four days. She tried to concentrate on the set of remains that lay in front of her next to the grungy yellow dumpster where they had been found but she was more anxious than she normally would be at a crime scene and she knew Booth was feeling the same way. Their daughter was living only yards away from the place were two gruesome killings had potentially taken place. She tried to push it from her mind and instead addressed her partner. "Like the other body, victim is male, Caucasian and aged between seventeen and twenty". She leaned further over the body and noticed a break to the clavicle and comminuted fractures to the right and left femurs which were similar to Peter Cummings' injuries as well as severe fractures to his ribs. "Only this victim is missing one of his phalanges".

"Some of the students think it could be a sophomore named Kevin Williamson".

"It could be him. I'll need to get all of this back to the lab Booth." Temperance Brennan stood and peeled off her gloves.

"Have you spoken to Christine today?" Booth surveyed the remains with a frown.

"I spoke to her this morning, she's busy with classes all day but I told her we'd call her later."

"Maybe we should move her off campus." Booth was interrupted by his ringing cell phone and excused himself whilst Brennan put her kit in the boot of her car and stepped out of her dark blue forensic suit. Booth flipped his phone shut and made his way over to her. "Apparently Kevin's parents say they haven't spoken to him in three days and weren't able to get a hold of him when they tried calling him last night. Neither could his girlfriend."

"Then I should really get back to the lab so we can identify the victim".

"Okay Bones. Maybe for now we should get some police patrols arranged and enforce some sort of curfew."

"I think that's a good idea, plus, taking Christine off campus now would only disrupt her".

"Okay. And, hey, if we're looking at a serial killer, which is possible theory since the injuries to both victims were very similar; at least they're only killing males."

"Booth! You know I can't indulge a theory like that without proper evidence. That's only an assumption".

"Okay, okay Bones, I get it. You get back to the lab and do your thing and I'll deal with making it a little safer on campus and I'll call you later."

Unfortunately for Temperance Brennan, she had decided to divulge Booth's theory of a serial killer back at the lab whilst examining the second set of mangled bones only to discover that her best friend hadn't shared her relief that the killer may only be murdering males on campus. It was only after Angela had gone ballistic and stormed off the platform, jabbing numbers into her cell as she went, that Brennan had deduced that it hadn't been the most prudent thing to say to a woman who was fiercely protective of her children and whose son lived on campus.

Christine had seen the hoard of students gathered, yet again, around the crime scene when she had left her building early this morning to attend her abnormal psychology class. She had known her parents would be there because her mother had called her that morning wanting to make sure she was safe. She understood her parents concern - she was a little concerned herself. Last night, after Michael had walked her back to her dorm, she filled Rachel in on what had happened and then gotten ready for bed but all night, she had barely slept a wink. She had tossed and turned and in the short amount of time she had slept, she'd had a nightmare that had shocked her wide-awake.

She had dreamt that she was walking down the corridor on the third floor. She had never been to the third floor before but she knew that it was where Michael's dorm room was. The lights were out and as she advanced along the cold wood floor of the hallway, she noticed that her feet were bare and dirty but she didn't understand why. Had she been outside? It seemed like it was getting darker and there wasn't even the faintest bit of light coming from underneath the doors of any of the rooms. Why would there be? It was the middle of the night after all. She carried on walking until she saw him. She instantly felt safe. She forgot all about the blackness surrounding her and her previous confusion. She saw Michael's face and he smiled at her. She smiled back and picked up her pace. She wanted to get to him, to touch him. He held his arms out to her and she crushed herself against his strong chest feeling relieved that she was no longer alone but when she pulled back slightly and looked up into his face, he was no longer smiling. His eyes had turned wide and glassy. His beautiful face contorted in pain. He grasped his stomach and as she looked down to see what was wrong, she saw the blood. The deep red liquid was pouring out of a gash in his stomach and she took a step back in terror. That was when she saw her own hands; covered in his blood. She was holding a large knife whose blade was also smeared in the sticky dark red molten that seeped from between Michael fingers as he tried to steady himself and hold his wound closed. She gasped and dropped the knife. She remembered thinking that it was very strange that the blade made no sound when it impacted with the hard floor. That was when she had woken up with a jolt. She had sat up against her pillow trying to slow her rapid breathing, pressing her trembling hands to her chest to rest over her heart.

Now, as she sat in her second class of the morning waiting for her professor to arrive, she thought about her dream. She wondered what it had meant. Why was she dreaming about killing Michael Hodgins? Lord knew they didn't have the best track record but she had never wished him dead - especially now when he was showing her a different side to himself. She had even found herself attracted to him at certain times over the last few days. She put it down to the recent murders that were on everyone's mind and the fact she had been spending time, not purposely, with Michael. Still, after she had dressed for class this morning, she'd had a strong urge to call him and check that he was okay. Luckily, she'd used her better judgement and told herself not to be ridiculous. However, she was anxious to lay eyes on him at some point today, even if just for a split-second to reassure herself that she hadn't sleep-walked and brutally attacked him in the night. Before she thought anymore about it, her attention turned to the door where her professor had just walked in. She reached for her note book and was about to get out her pen when she noticed her father following closely behind. He asked if everyone was here before shutting the door behind him. He reached for his badge and flashed it around the room, introducing himself, before putting his hands on his hips. She knew her father. This must be serious.

"I'll only take a few moments of your time. I'm sure by now you've all heard about the recent murder's that have taken place on campus. As of yet there are no suspects. After speaking with the Dean, we have agreed that from tonight onwards, until further notice, a curfew will be enforced on all students and faculty member's unless you have a police escort. After 10.30pm, for your own safety, all students must remain in their dorms and any students needing to travel to and from the library or anywhere else, will be escorted in groups by a member of the Police Department. There will be patrol cars around campus at all times so do not be alarmed, it is for your own safety. It's best to travel in groups and please be careful. That's all, thank you for your time." Her father gave the professor a curt nod and left the room but not before looking her in the eyes for a second longer than necessary. Now she really was worried. Now, she felt as if she really were in danger. She believed that, more than anything, it was her dream that had unnerved her so for the rest of the day as she travelled to and from her classes, she tried to put it from her mind. She met Rachel for lunch on the quad again at 1 o'clock. It was clear from Rachel's nervous rambling and the frown that had taken up residence between her eyebrows, that Seeley Booth had taken a trip to everyone's classrooms that morning. She didn't know why it should bother her or Rachel in any case since both victims had been male, but nonetheless they spent their lunch hour discussing who the possible killer could be. Was it someone in Letts Hall or maybe even someone who lived in the Anderson building with them? Since both victims were male, was the killer male or female? What could their possible motive be? Did Doctor Brennan and Agent Booth have any leads? Christine could not even answer the last question since her parents hadn't even mentioned the case to her since she last saw them last except to check that she was okay.

The girl's theories continued into their dinner conversation as they sat in the dining hall with their heads over their untouched meals, their eyes scanning the room for anyone who 'looked like a murderer', as Rachel had put it. As Christine pushed her mashed potatoes around her plate and fiddled with the small dolphin pendant that hung from her necklace, she thought about calling her Dad to milk him for information but she decided against it. A thud on the table made her jump until she swiftly lifted her head to see that Michael had tossed his tray down next to her and pulled out a chair to sit.

"Mind if I join you ladies?" But his question was merely a formality since he'd already seated himself at their table. Christine was about to say something sarcastic when the image of Michael's wide eyed stares and his blood on her hands, halted her. Instead, she managed a faint smile. "Are you okay?" She should have known that a polite smile instead of a harsh witty comment would put him on alert. Now he was looking at her expectantly, concern showing in his expression.

"I'm fine", she set down her fork. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just look weird. Anyway, what were you two lovely ladies talking about?" Christine was about to tell him to mind his own business when Rachel leaned slightly forward and started talking in hushed tones.

"The murders", she motioned for Michael to lean closer and he complied but Christine could tell it was paining him not to laugh. "We were throwing around some theories. We think the killer is a scorned female student turned serial killer." Rachel took a quick look to her left and right as if she was revealing government secrets.

"Wow." Michael cracked a smile and began stabbing at a piece of chicken with his fork. "You two have quite the imagination don't you?"

Rachel blushed slightly and then let out a quiet giggle whilst waving her hand. "I guess I've seen too many episodes of True Crime."

Christine laughed along with her friend; finally beginning to relax. Whilst she sipped her diet coke, she took the time to study Michael Hodgins. Today he wore a pair of black cargo pants and sneakers with a beige t-shirt and an open neck black fleece. He looked good but more importantly there was no dark red mark staining his clothing and rather than writhing in pain he was happily chatting with Rachel about her classes in between mouthfuls of his mashed potatoes. Christine smiled to herself. A week ago, she would have been bent over laughing if someone had told her she'd be happy to see Michael Hodgins unharmed and dining with her. It was funny how things worked out.

After Rachel and Christine were done with their dinner, Michael insisted on walking back with them to their room. Christine rolled her eyes but Rachel thanked him three times before they'd even left the dining hall. On their short walk back the dorms, Christine decided to quiz Michael about his art and question why he never walked around with paint smeared on his clothing or smudges on his face. She knew it was ridiculous but the more she thought about it, the more it annoyed her. "I've never even seen any of your work." She was quite serious about the last point. Apart from a glimpse here and there when they had been younger, she had never seen Michaels art work. She didn't even know if he was any good. He'd laughed at that last one. As if he was so self-assured, it was laughable to hear someone doubt his talent.

When they reached their room Rachel thanked him again and went on inside and as Christine was about to follow her roommate, Michael gently reached for her hand. "Christine, wait". He looked down the corridor as if trying to make up his mind. "Will you come with me for a minute; I want to show you something".

"That's what she said." He tilted his head back and let out a raspy chuckle at her response, still holding onto her hand. She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks and she didn't know where to put her face, she had startled herself with the innuendo. "I'm sorry", she quickly apologised. "I don't know where that came from".

"That's okay, as long as it was a yes".

"Okay." It was against her better judgment to follow Michael Hodgins into the unknown like one of his women but she had to admit that a part of her was intrigued by him. As she called to Rachel that she wouldn't be long and pulled their dorm room door shut, she felt a little giddy. Every moment she spent with Michael he became more and more attractive to her. She didn't know why she had never felt it before – probably because he had spent the better part of the last four years pretending she didn't exist. At the realisation she recoiled a little and pulled her hand out of his.

"Everything okay?" He asked and put his hands in his pockets choosing to ignore the awkwardness that had just occurred.

"Yeah. Let's go."

Michael unlocked the door to his dorm room and let it open slowly. He gestured for Christine to enter so she slipped past him taking care not to touch him as she passed through the narrow door way. The carpet was the same grungy green colour as hers and like her; he had put down a much nicer rug to cover most of it. Whilst he rummaged around in a large folder that was wedged in between his wardrobe and the wall, she began to look around. His bed was adorned with a simple dark brown quilt which she lightly ran her fingers along. It was Egyptian cotton, she knew because his mother had given her a similar one in turquoise last Christmas. There was a patterned silk throw draped over the foot of his bed which she thought looked like an Asian inspired design, probably another of his mother's subtle touches. A small bedside table stood next to his bed and held a chrome digital alarm clock along with a beige suede lamp and his iPod. His sleek black wooden desk was positioned under the window where a silver laptop lay shut along with another lamp, only this one was chrome and bendy. Christine was shocked at the neat orderly fashion in which his room was organised and was almost annoyed that she couldn't see a single art supply anywhere. Where was his paint or pencils even? Didn't he use oil pastels or chalk? Where were his messy clothes or his pallet and fancy brushes?

"You look mad".

"What?" She turned in his direction and noticed he was holding a folder under his arm. "No, I'm fine. What's that?"

"Well", he motioned for her to take a seat on his bed and she did so after slightly hesitating. "You said you'd never see any of my work, right?"

"Right."

"Here it is". He placed the folder on the bed beside her and took a seat at his desk a few feet away. She cleared her throat before turning to the first page. She was worried in case his work wasn't any good. How convincing were her lies? Unless she had gotten any better at it in the last couple of years, not very convincing at all and she prayed there was something half way decent in this portfolio. The first page was a black and white drawing, or rather a portrait. The detail in the girl's curls framing her heart shaped face and the small crease around her eyes as she smiled, down to her small straight nose we perfect and Christine knew immediately that the girl was Michael's youngest sister Lily. She smiled and turned to the next page. This piece was in stark contrast to the previous one as the colours almost bounced off the page. It was an abstract piece with different shapes and textures. It reminded her of the piece that hung in the hallway at home. Her mother had paid twenty five thousand dollars for it but looking at Michael's work, she probably would have preferred to see this in her hallway every day. She flipped through several more pages before stopping at a drawing that looked almost as realistic as a photograph. She guessed that he'd used oil pastels in this one but she couldn't be sure and she studied it more closely. It was of a young woman that couldn't have been any older than her mid-twenties. She stood on a rounded table, seemingly proud in all of her naked glory. Michael moved to sit beside her on the bed, obviously wondering what had caught her attention and as he saw what she was looking at she felt the heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks. He smiled. "Her name was Diane. German; didn't speak a word of English".

"I though nude models were supposed to just stand there and be quiet".

"Oh they are. I took Diane out after that class. I took French in high school so it was the most awkward coffee date I've ever had". They both laughed.

"Your work is good Michael".

He gave her a quizzical look. "You say that as if you're surprised".

"Honestly I am. I mean, when I look at you, I don't see an artist. You're neat and organised and just looking around this room. Where's all your stuff?"

"My stuff?"

"Your art stuff". He let out a soft knowing laugh.

"Believe it or not, you're not the first person to ask me that so I'm going to let you in on a little secret. They invented these really cool things a long time ago called overalls…I like to wear them". She laughed feeling slightly stupid for not working it out before now. "And as for my art supplies…" He moved over to his wardrobe and pulled out a hefty looking wooden truck and two sleek chrome cases. He opened each one up and inside where all the art supplies she imagined one person could ever need. There were brushes; probably about fifty in all different sizes along with three wooden pallets. He owned several sets of acrylic paints, water colour paints, oil pastels, chalk pastels, hundreds of markers and art pencils and that was just in his wooden truck. "Does that solve the mystery for you?" he asked through a chuckle.

"Yes, that it does." She smiled slightly embarrassed and pushed her hair behind her ears. She sat back on his bed. His was so much more comfortable than hers and she decided she'd have to talk to her Mom about a new mattress for her own bed. Michael put away his trunk and two cases and then sat a few inches away from her on his bed.

"You know, I almost got marched off the campus thanks to Mamma Bones".

"Why, what did my mother do now?"

"She seems to think that there's a female serial killer at work targeting males. Apparently she decided to express her relief at having a daughter to my Mom".

"And?"

"Let's just say I had to spend a good twenty minutes talking my mother out of coming down here to pick me up. I barely managed to talk her out of putting stationed guard outside of this building".

"That might not have been a bad idea. The murders have happened outside this building and the one right next to us. My Mom and Dad don't have any leads. Maybe we're not safe", she exhaled and closed her tired eyes.

"You okay?" He asked seemingly studying her.

"I just didn't get much sleep last night that's all".

"Were you worrying about the killings?"

She looked into his dark eyes and once again thought about his face twisting in pain and his glassy stare. She decided against telling him about her nightmare. She feared that all he would take from it is that she'd been dreaming about him and that was the last thing she wanted him to know. "Something like that".

"Christine, I already told you not to worry about it. Nothing's going to happen to you and with your parents working the case, I'm sure it won't be much longer until they catch the person who's doing this".

"Yeah, you're probably right". She wondered what he'd say if he knew it wasn't her own life that she was worrying about. Something about her nightmare had seemed so real, it had put her on edge. "I'm going to get going; I have some work to do before I hit the sack but thank you for showing me your work. It's amazing".

"Thanks. Come on, I'll walk you back".

As Michael watched Christine fumble for her key he smiled. Sometimes she seemed so cocky and together and other times she muttered and mumbled and seemed so unsure of herself. She definitely intrigued him and tonight he was glad he'd spotted her in the dining hall. Of course he'd gone there purposely looking for her, but nevertheless he was glad she'd been there at the same time which meant he'd been able to have dinner with her and he'd also had a chance to show her some of his work. He'd liked seeing her casually positioned on his bed, as if she belonged there. He'd liked it even more when he'd discovered her staring at the nude picture of the German model. He'd noticed that she'd started to blush and the thought brought a smile to his lips. "Got it", she said pulling out her key and shoving it into the lock. The lights were on and across the room Rachel waved from her position at her desk as she tapped away at her laptop with a pair of earphones in her ears. She pulled the left one out slightly to address Christine. "Someone left a box for you; it's on your desk".

"Okay, thanks Rachel. She turned to him and smiled. "Thanks again Michael".

"You're welcome", he turned to leave. "Oh, and, Christine?"

"Yeah?"

"Get some sleep." He smiled before shutting her door. He stayed positioned outside whilst he took his phone out of his pocket. He was about to text her a slightly inappropriate crack about the nude picture she'd spent so long staring at but he was interrupted by the sound of her scream. "Christine!" He banged on her door but didn't wait for an answer before barging in. She stood in front of her desk peering over at the box Rachel had pointed to a moment ago. "What's wrong?" He walked towards her and noticed that she was shaking. He looked down at the small square box and immediately grasped Christine's shoulders and gently moved her backwards away from the desk. The white cardboard box lay open; its insides were marked with patches of red where a bloodied finger lay along with a note.

"What does the note say?" Asked Christine who was now peering around him whilst tightly grasping his shoulders as if to steady herself.

Michael read it aloud. "Princess, please pass this along to your Mother". He turned on Rachel sounding a little more aggressive than he intended. "Who dropped this off?"

The pint-sized red-head clutched her chest as if to slow her breathing. "I don't know. Someone knocked at the door and when I answered that was on the floor and it had Christine's name on the front".

"Michael", Christine seemed to have trouble focusing on his face and kept darting glances at the box. "They know who I am. The murderer; it has to be from them. They know who I am and where I am! Oh my God".

"Calm down", he once again took her shoulders and steered her towards her bed where she sat down, tears forming in her eyes. "Give me your phone Christine".

Temperance Brennan had just thrown her take out box in the trash and joined Booth on their sofa when her cell phone rang. She reached for her purse and saw her daughter's caller ID on the small screen.

"It's Christine", she said to her partner as she flipped it open and pressed it to her ear. "Hello Christine. Is everything okay?" Seeley Booth reached for the remote and turned the TV set onto mute. "Michael. What are you doing with Christine's phone? Is she okay?" Booth hated listening to one ended conversations and wished Bones would just switch her cell onto speaker phone so that he wasn't sat in anticipation. "Is she okay?" Bones' brow began to furrow and her voice grew several decibels louder.

"Bones. What's going on?" He asked leaning forward expectantly.

"Whatever you do, don't touch it. Lock the doors and windows and I'll alert the police department who are on patrol. We're on our way". She flipped her cell shut and sprang from the sofa reaching for her purse and her keys.

"What's going on? Has something happened to Christine?" He reached for his jacket and keys and stood up.

"That was Michael", he began following her down the hallway and out of the front door. "Someone left Christine a package outside her door. It was a finger, possibly the one missing from the second victim. There was also a note… Princess, please pass this along to your mother." Booth looked infuriated and jumped into the driver's seat. He started the engine and put it into drive before Brennan had even had chance to shut the passenger's side door.