Disclaimer: All rights to the canon and etc. belong to CBS and the producers. I just own the original characters and the really creepy guy.

Author's Notes: Thanks as always. You guys make me blush. Many of you have helped me over these weeks and made this story better.

As you requested Simanis, here it is, on Monday.

This song is perfect for our forensic doctor and CreepyGermanAryan guy.

"So what if you can see the darkest side of me?, No one will ever change this animal I have become"

-Three Days Grace-

F.B.I. Field Office

Los Angeles, California

11:33 a.m. (Two days after raid at Wilmington)

Six weeks.

She had been gone for six weeks and her team had been to Hell and back. She didn't have to ask for an explanation. Everything she needed in order to piece the puzzle together was right here in front of her. It was in the tightly drawn face of her partner as he typed away at his desktop. It was in the gloomy faces of the other two members on their team as they siphoned away through the mounds of paper in the war room, one of their remaining forensics by their sides, looking very pale and lost. It was in the atmosphere that blanketed their floor, other agents moving purposefully about but quiet as if no one wanted to disturb the silence.

And it was in the file that lay opened on her desk. Her stint with the Department of Justice had ended, and Megan had brought herself back to work early this morning as opposed to taking a day off to recuperate. She suddenly wished that she had taken the day off. She had gone through her own Hell with her assignment and a part of her still was not ready to come back. True, she had missed all of this, the building, their work, and most of all her team; they were her friends, the closest thing she had to a family and it pained her to know that she hadn't been here when they had so obviously needed her most.

In their team, David was the one who could be counted on to remain the most in control, always cool in the face of an adversary. Colby, who she had missed dearly, was always the one who could find humor in the most serious of situations, always bringing them back from that final place of darkness and point of no return. Her partner was their leader, the one who shouldered everything and kept them strong because he remained strong. Her job was to keep them all together. To keep them afloat. When she saw one of them slipping, she was always there to reel them back in, the one who talked it through.

And she hadn't been there when all of this had happened, and it didn't take a genius like Charlie to figure out that a little bit of talking it through could probably have been useful.

The shrill ringing of Don's desk phone brought Megan out of her own little world, and a quick glance at the clock on her computer made her realize that she had been staring at the same set of words for the last fifteen minutes without taking any of them in. Keeping an eye on Don as he answered the phone, Megan refocused and read over the paragraph she had been stuck on.

'…at roughly four thirty a.m. Dr. Peyton Huntzberger was retrieved from the old 1912 fishing factory in downtown Wilmington. Another person, later identified as Keith Kelli, was also retrieved. Both were removed and sent to Cedars-Sinai Emergency Room for treatment…'

The report went on to disclose more about the injuries of each. The boy, Keith Kelli, was alive; his eye sight would likely be damaged for the rest of his life, but he was better off than the other victims that had come before him. Peyton, on the other hand, was alive, after being treated for multiple wounds and drug intoxication. However, she had no recollection of what had happened, as Don and Kathryn had each told her separately this morning.

Seeing that Don had returned the phone to its cradle and was rolling his chair back, Megan turned to ask, "What was that about? We got something?"

Don stood, nodding to say, "Yeah. Titus got the system to give us a name. He just got done with Loosle, running the background check on the guy."

Her chair rolled back with relative ease and she followed him into the war room, giving a small smile to its three occupants. Amidst the papers scattered throughout the room were glossy photos of the different crime scenes. Her eyes caught one that hadn't been one of the two she had been at before she left. The absence of a dead body told her that the living room belonged to Peyton. Immaculate and organized around the areas that had not been destroyed in the apparent struggle, Megan noted that the forensic specialist was a person who liked to have everything in its own place and neatly ordered.

The arrival of the southern Mississippian and the head of the Criminal Division kept her from further dissecting the photos. Agent Loosle greeted her with a curt "Agent Reeves." Titus gave her a warm smile and warmer words, drawling out, "Agent Reeves, I hadn't realized that you were back. It's nice to have you around again."

"Thank you, Titus." Megan said affectionately; she had missed them as well. She took a seat next to David, opposite from Colby and Kathryn. The tall, auburn toxicologist gazed up at her colleague, her face dull and lifeless, her grey eyes the only indication that a person was in there.

"What did you find, Titus?" Don was the only one who had elected not to stand. He had taken up his customary perch of leaning against the table, arms folded over his chest, once again taking on the role of the strong one.

Megan followed the man around the room, just as interested in his answer as all of them. Titus inserted the flash drive in the projector's laptop, moving aside so Loosle could operate it while he turned to speak to them.

Titus cleared his throat, looking over his shoulder at the board every few seconds, waiting for something to pop up. "The lovely and ever so quickly staff over at the hospital finally released Keith Kelli's and Peyton's clothes. We searched that entire basement and weren't able to lift any viable prints; for all his evilness and such, the bastard knew how to clean his messes up. Didn't leave anything behind that allowed us to track him. But, he messed up when he grabbed Peyton on the arm. A substance on her shirt imprinted three of his fingers, allowing us to get three good prints from a database over seas. And, well, meet Christof Knapp…"

The screen focused to bring up a profile shot of a relatively middle aged man with blonde hair and blue eyes. Nothing about him marked him as being a killer or a deranged man.

Agent Loosle hit a key, sending the command for another picture to replace the one of Christof Knapp. It was of the same man, only a few years younger, with fewer lines around the forehead and eyes, and a keener look in the expression.

Titus continued on at this new one, saying, "Who is really Dierk Knapp," the screen faded one more time and brought up another profile. He grinned and stated triumphantly, "Who actually is Meinhard Ackerman, forty three years old and born in Munich, Germany."

All eyes rooted to the screen. This was the man they were after. This was the man who had killed three innocent college students, experimenting on them to 'perfect' them and killing them when it hadn't worked. This was the man who had kidnapped a forensic doctor because she knew too much, keeping her drugged and incapacitated until she had almost died. This was the man who had caused all of their problems, and was still out there somewhere.

After a pregnant pause and a heavy moment of silence as everyone in the room stared at the face of Meinhard Ackerman, each of them lost in their own bitter thoughts of rage and sadness, Titus cleared his throat and brought all of their attention back to what was at hand. "Meinhard Ackerman attended the University of Münster in 1982, becoming a doctor and taking an active interest in biology and genetic research. In 1990 he then moved to Prague and entered into the Institute of Chemical Technology. A year later he was asked to leave, for reasons undisclosed. Coming to U.S. in 1983, he stayed off the radar in New York for some time, moving to South Carolina and Georgia and then finally coming to Los Angeles in 2005."

"That fits with the idea that Peyton and Claudia had. That he was an experienced doctor who knew what he was doing when he operated on the victims," David piped in from the chair to her left.

The screen changed again, bringing up a blurred picture of what appeared to be their man at Union Station. It was Agent Loosle's turn to explain the picture. "Earlier this morning after we discovered Ackerman's identity, we issued an APB to all local authorities to be on lookout for him, in case he decided to lay low before skipping town. A police officer at Union Station called in saying that he recalled seeing a man matching his picture around five this morning, hanging around the train area. The only problem is he can't remember where he was headed and this is the only camera that captured him."

Colby swore under his breath, and Megan saw Don's jaw clench, the muscle ticking. To have been so close to catching this man and then to have him slip through their fingers was more than any of them could take. One wall after another had slammed up on this case. For every step forward they had gotten, this man had forced them to take two more back.

Don swallowed and then straightened. "Yeah, well, there are only three directions that this guy could have gone. Chicago, New Orleans, or San Diego. And he's going to want to get to an airport that will give him a connected flight out of the country. So we can assume that he is making his way back East. Probably either Chicago or New Orleans."

"My thoughts exactly, Eppes. That's why I've already alerted all stations within the Chicago and New Orleans area and the areas along the way. Agents from those field offices have already been assigned to watch the area, ready to pick him up. All we have to do is hope that he didn't jump off at one of the stops," Loosle added.

A cell phone rang and Megan instantly reached for hers, amused that everyone else had done the same. It turned out that it wasn't hers and belonged to the only other woman in the room.

Kathryn flipped the cover, putting one finger in the opposite ear to ward off any interfering sounds. They all listened in as she began speaking rapidly to the other person on the line, "No…What do you mean she's gone? How… How is that even possible? Oh, really? No, I am not being contrite with you…No…Thank you for telling me."

"Bad news?" Don asked, turning around.

The air in the room became heavy again and that silence reared its ugly head, the silence where no one wanted to say what they were thinking. Kathryn stared at the open phone for a moment, closed it, and then looked up at them before saying in disbelief,

"That was the nurse from Cedars-Sinai. Apparently, Peyton just discharged herself and left."

2150 Brentwood Park

Brentwood, Los Angeles

1:48 p.m.

It hadn't changed.

The architecture was still the same, bricks inlaid with years of memories from other families and times, their color reflecting the sun's light as it beamed down from high overhead. Over there were the flowers in the beds that Kathryn planted every spring. The grass was still its beautiful lush green color. Looking to the left she could see the bushes separating her home from the environmental law students that lived next door, and farther down the road the palm trees that swayed in the wind.

She didn't exactly know if she had been expecting anything to be different and she had to tell herself that it had probably been stupid of her to think that it had changed. Why would it have? The only thing that had changed had been its owner, and she couldn't even remember that.

The wind that made the fronds of the palm trees sway finally reached her and Peyton pulled the light jacket closer to her, feeling only cold despite the warmth of the day. She was always cold now since she had woken up in the hospital bed. Nothing could warm her up. The cold wasn't on the surface of her skin. It was in the very marrow of her bones, deep inside her, refusing to go away.

"Are you going to be okay, Peyton?"

Slowly, tearing her gaze away from the blowing fern on the front porch, Peyton rotated her feet and turned around to face her neighbor that lived across the bushes to her right. Alexei, her French immigrated fashion designer, had picked her up from the hospital after she had conned the nurse into allowing her a phone call. She could have called Kathryn to come and get her, but her friend would have insisted that she stay longer. Besides she wanted to be alone at the moment.

"Yes. Thank you, Alex." Vaguely she heard the words come out of her mouth, but they were spoken with no recognition or feeling.

He nodded, leaving her to her own thoughts with a small apprehensive look on his face. Shrugging off his worry for her, indifferent for the moment, she walked to side door leading into the garage. Fingers fumbled in her pockets as she retrieved the key that Alexei had used to get inside and bring clothes suitable for her to change into.

The lights flickered on, revealing the boxes and other things in the garage. Her eyes lingered on the red paint of her Porsche as she walked around the front, going up the steps to unlock the door to the house itself. She humored herself, looking down at her wrist and thinking, Won't be driving that any time soon. Perfect wrist to have smashed. The one I need to shift the gears.

She burrowed further inside the jacket, finding her house cold as well. Her feet were slow as she moved through the kitchen and into the living room. Peyton stopped and surveyed it. Everything was at its usual, the only thing missing the two end tables on either side of their couch. She knew there was a reason as to why they weren't there, but the why itself was lost. Something else that had happened over those three days that she couldn't remember.

A purring and rubbing against her legs made her look down. Bending down she scooped Caesar into her arms, cradling him to her chest, and petting his head. He purred in greeting and meowed softly into her neck. She made soothing noises to him, reassuring him that his mistress was back. He was a comfort to her, something warm for her to hold even if it didn't chase away everything that plagued her.

The steps were taken slowly as well, Caesar now riding on her shoulder, and together they passed the second level where Kathryn lived and continued up to the third level where her room was.

It was the same as well. Balcony doors shut, drapes hanging loosely, moving gently as the air blew from the vent underneath. Shadows played against the wall, the sunlight splintering them into different shapes.

Caesar jumped from her shoulder to the bed, looking up expectantly at her, eyes imploring that she join him. She smiled at him and finally peeled off the jacket, digging around in an inner pocket for the two small brown bottles. They made a nice thud as she sat them down on her nightstand, right beside the book she had been reading and a glass of water that was now several days old.

The boots came off as well, landing somewhere in the general vicinity of her bathroom that led to the closet. Fully clothed she peeled back the coverlet and crawled under, reaching over to uncap the prescribed bottles.

Lining up the correct dosage, she remarked aloud to Caesar that they made a nice and neat little white row. The two pain killers prescribed for the pain in her wrist and the Pentothal designed to help her regain the lost memories were chased down by the old water.

Her cast free hand pulled the elastic from her head, and she shook out her hair before sinking into the pillow. She pulled the thick gold comforter up under her chin. Even that didn't chase away the chill entrenched in her heart and spirit.

Her eyes closed as the medicine worked its wonders and she finally allowed the Sandman to take her in his arms, feeling safe for the moment in her own bed as opposed to the hospital bed. The last thing she remembered before she was out was Caesar padding across the comforter to curl up around her head, the sound of him purring contentedly, tail swishing through her hair, lulling her to sleep.

Ontario Amtrak Station

Bench outside Track 5

Ontario, California

8:13 p.m.

The wind whipped through the platform, scattering old discarded newspapers, cups, food wrappers, and anything else that was light enough to fall prey to the fanciful air of the night. Over the tops of the palm trees the sun was sinking into the sky, its last rays of the day, orange and fiery, hazy as they gave way to oncoming darkness. From behind the station came the slow rise of the sun's counterpart, the silver orb making its own way into the night sky, stars following in its wake.

The only occupant of the platform huddled farther down on the stiff, wooden bench seat, pushing himself down into his jacket and pulling the hood of the gray sweatshirt closer to his face. No one paid him any heed and if they did it was only to think that he was a homeless stranger taking up empty space for the night.

Meinhard Ackerman closed his eyes, thinking of what had gone wrong and why he was here, sitting on an old bench, waiting for the next train that would bring him closer to the East coast and one step further to getting back to his homeland. Once home he would have to start all over. Begin anew and take on another identity.

After the blonde woman had struck back and escaped— after he so foolishly had trusted her and allowed her the small opening to get away— he had taken a few seconds to recuperate and get his bodily functions back under control. The amount of anesthetic poured into his blood had been minuscule when compared to his size, and had done nothing more damaging than slowing him down ever so slightly.

Standing in his laboratory, he had calmly and logically devised the best course of action to be taken in order to recapturing the woman and disposing of her. But something that he had not foreseen had happened. Somewhere along the way the two Latino ex-cons that he had hired to do his brunt work had messed up, giving the authorities the opportunity to trace them back to the factory and find them. Faced with the option of staying and being caught by the police, Meinhard had fled through the tunnels beneath the building. He could start over once he had left the country and he had been careful to leave nothing that would incriminate him and allow them to find his true identity. The woman would have been taken care of by the other Latino, the one who had come close to hurting her earlier on. That is if she had survived the chemical onslaught to her brain and happened to remember anything.

The tunnels had allowed him to resurface thirty yards away, in the tree line, and out of sight of anyone. From there it had been easy to slip away into the night; he had plenty of money in cash that had provided him a secluded and hidden place to lay low for a few days and enough to easily buy the ticket that would see him out of California.

From here he would continue on down South, and eventually make his way to the airport that would connect him to Germany. The thought of being found out didn't worry him at all; he had left no discernable trail for anyone to find him. In this country his real name was hidden behind many others.

The only problem was the loss of his work. Having to leave so suddenly had seen the farewell to his work here. Most could be recopied from his memory, but the extensive and copious notes themselves were lost to him forever now. He would have to start over, begin anew, and make a clean break.

However, there were always fresh bodies to be found and the infidels of the world were still imperfect. His life's work was not finished and the perfect ones on this Earth still needed him to save them from having to share their lives with those lowly creatures. And if they couldn't be perfected and died from it that was one less being that remained.

The only occupant of the platform settled back down, folding his hands in his sleeves and stretching his long legs out. As the sky darkened and the sounds of the night's creatures filled the area, he let his body rest.

If a passerby happened to walk closely enough to see his face they would have seen a slow smile steal over. Thoughts of his plans for the future and the work he would do soon enough comforted him as he waited for the next train. He could wait for now. Soon he would get his chance again and this time he was sure that he wouldn't fail.

What a creepy deranged man this Meinhard is. No remorse at all. Tsk-Tsk.

Next time we go on a nice little fugitive recovery hunt and bring in a theme from Season Two of supernatural dreams of lost ones.

Background information

Places in Germany: All of those are real. The Universities, what you can major in there, etc...

Union Station: There are three ways you can go on Amtrak and those are it.

Pentothal: This is a relatively new drug that I came across when I was doing my research on amnesia, that is being used in hopes of speeding up the process of regaining lost memories; i.e. Peyton's scenario

The Return of Megan: Megan's return is not something that I randomly stuck in here. She was gone for six weeks in the show for her DOJ stint, and it has been six weeks since she left in this story. So, thus, sticking to Season Three (except for Colby), Megan is back.