Well, I'm feeling a bit off tonight, writing at a computer that isn't mine. Plus, there was a really great episode of House on tonight... In any case, thanks for staying with me! It'll totally be worth your while. Oh, and does anyone else absolutely hate this editor program? Driving me CRAZY! So, yeah, you'll have to ignore the annoying formatting job. Grrrrr...

He, the elusive "serial murderer", tightened the bands to his protective mask as he let the towels soak another round in the vat of bleach. Noxious fumes filled the air, lessening the risk of being caught. Correction: of anyone unprotected coming out alive. A perfect crime, he thought as he twirled the linens with a rod. No evidence, no connections and I can flaunt my genius before the city, no, the world! He routinely watched the nightly news in satisfaction as the bags under the chief's eyes darkened and the police grew stubble. Haggard and worn, and not a centimeter closer to the truth than the previous day. "When will he strike again and how many more have to die before we catch this madman?" Wouldn't you like to know!

One once said that absolute power corrupts absolutely, but since when is intelligence a corruption? He grinned at his philosophical nature - must be another manifestation of his higher functionality. To dream up this serial… ah-hah, a glitch. He grit his teeth, blood rushed to his ears in anger and jealousy. How dare Sabina Picard take credit for this? His day in the sun shadowed by her novel. There was only one way to keep her out of this: the "victims" of his genius were only focused on until something new caught the media's eye. Take out Sabina Picard, along a random person, and the media will be so focused on the mysterious death that Sabina just fades away. Then, he takes the stage, an unstoppable force in both murder and media coverage.

He hoisted the linens into a basin of clear water and was pleased to see the absence of the familiar rusty colored stains. No one would suspect that these had been soaked in blood just hours prior, that they had been a transport for a severed head and carried incriminating evidence. And that it's not over yet.

"I know virtually nothing of this man," Holmes muttered to himself as he polished off a coffee and poured another. "Or that he's a man, for that matter." The files lay strewn across his desk and while the department was operating under the assumption that the murderer was indeed male, Holmes knew better than to operate under any assumption. From all appearances, there was no conclusive evidence, except that the murders ended in the same grotesque display, pointing to the serial. Even so, there was no commonality among the victims. No apparent commonality, in any case.

This was quite easily the first time in Andrew Holmes' life that he had been stumped through and through. No clue, brain-dead, stumped. He banged his head on the desk, punctuating the syllables, "So. Un. Fair." This is a matter of life or death: every moment he spends dithering in a cesspool of ignorance is another opportunity for the murderer to do…whatever it is he is doing that allows him to evade the police.

Holmes jumped out of the chair and screamed to the sky. "Shouldn't I have a supernatural gift after all that!" No one should have to go through that torture without recompense - that night, he swore he would die, but the earth kept turning. He had always figured that God had given him a gift in return: the gift to catch criminals and spare victims pain. But now…now there are grieving families, traumatized children, and a weak and useless detective. Holmes collapsed into his chair and murmured, "Thanks a lot, 'God'."

No, Sabina thought. I'm not going to do it. I shouldn't even have idle chit-chat with this guy.Sabina paced back and forth in front of the phone cradle. This was a dangerous game she was playing…In a burst of confidence, she lunged for the phone and dialed. "Hey BC, I was wondering if you could do me a couple favors…"

This is a bit longer and hopefully more satisfying than the previous chapters. Please leave a review - I love feedback. I'm sorry the mystery is so long in coming. I'm working it in, piece by tiny piece, but I'm sure I'm just being frustrating and difficult. It happens. Unfortunately for me, the next chapter is going to have to be done by hand, because I'm going on vacation and my battery would only last ¼ the trip. Damn!