"I don't know, Morgan. This isn't any other case. You know as well as I do that this is personal." Jas took a step away from the wall, staring at the dozens of pictures on the wall. She tilted her head, as if looking at the bulletin board at a different angle would solve everything. Surprisingly, it doesn't. She walks over to the other wall, also are entirely out of bulletin board. That one is covered with pictures of a body underneath a freeway overpass, the LAPD's latest case. I had taken a week off work to get my head together about Ash and had somehow ended up here.

"Wow, really?" I said, sarcasm evident in my tone. I slammed another folder closed and threw it down onto the desk. "Fuck this! Fuck all of this! This man has nothing. Nothing at all. He's a serial killer! He's murdered 24 people. Kidnapped even more. How can he have fucking nothing?" I stare at the photos on the wall. I instantly regret it. The woman in the photographs are so...beautiful. Life snatched away form them in the blink of an eye. On their chest, a single photo. Of little girls. Their little girls. Some teenagers. Some toddlers. And on one, a tiny infant. My heart cracks and my stomach churns with fury. But it's one note, sealed in a plastic bag and tacked up to the board, that scares and enrages me more than anything. I walk up to the board and snatch it off. Dried blood is splattered over the words. But I have them memorized.

Morgan,

Hello, sweetheart. Remember me? Father of your child? Because I sure remember you.

You know, it really is rude to keep a father from his child. A girl needs a positive male role model, you know. Do you want Åshild to hate me like you hate your father? By the way, Åshild is a truly dreadful name. Honestly, Morgan. Don't worry. When I take her, we'll change it. Oh! Sorry. Did I forget to mention that I plan to take our daughter? Well, I do. I honestly don't really see you as a fit parent. I would take it to the courts, but I think you understand why I can't be fingerprinted, right, dear? And killing you in court wouldn't be as much fun, right sweetheart? Risk of getting caught and all. I'd prefer to sneak in late one night, have some fun with you, and stab you to bits before I take April. Oh, sorry, Åshild. That's just what I'll call her when you're six feet under.

Sweet dreams, sweetcheeks.

Adam

I feel physically sick. Oh, god. The night comes rushing back to me in technicolor. She was so silent. So, so silent. It was the noise of the blade breaking her beautiful skin that made me dash into her room. The note on top of her seemingly lifeless body. The bright blood. She fought, that's what the nurse said. She grabbed his hand and tried. To stop the knife from entering her heart. As a result, it stabbed her mouth, scarring her lip and chipping her tooth. But he didn't stop. It was like he...enjoyed it. He dragged the tip of the knife all around her body, causing long scar lines on her small little arms and stomach and legs. But it was the final stab that caused the most damage. It hit her right in the heart.

"Son of a bitch." I murmured under my breath. Jas heard me and looked up at me with a sad little smile.

"We'll get him, Morgan. I want him behind bars as badly as you do."

"Then why isn't he? Answer me that, Jasmine." The anger in my tone makes her recoil. I know this isn't fair. God, Jasmine helped raise Ash. I know she loved Ash like she would her own daughter. Through everything, she had been my rock. But Ash was my world. She was my world. And the fact that the man who had made her lose a portion of her heart and caused the scars up and down her body was not in jail yet angered me more than anything else in the world. It wasn't fair.

"Sorry."

"It's okay, Morgan."

"No, it really isn't. This could never be okay. That man made my daughter grow up in foster homes across the country. He caused her pain and fear and...h-h-he stole her from me!" I trace the outline of the picture of Ash that decorates the middle of the board, willing tears away.

"Morgan, we're getting closer to this guy everyday. And I know how frustrating this is. But we..."

The ringing of my phone cuts her off. It's a cricket, which Sara assigned as her ringtone because it reminds her of her husband, Grissom.

"What, Sara? It's not really the time." My tone is sharp, my words clipped.

"Morgan, get your ass down to Desert Palms right now."

"What, do I have to work a case? Look, I'm trying to…"

"Ash isn't breathing.