THICKER
THAN WATER

Emily Sheppard had already screamed her throat raw by the time her captor returned.

Emily always considered herself a survivor, managing to overcome quite a bit in her three plus decades on Earth: an abusive father, dysfunctional family, financial struggles, numerous bad relationships, a pain killer addiction and even an ovarian cancer scare a few years back. Through it all, Emily kept telling herself better days were ahead, even if she couldn’t quite believe it. Once she met Kurt, Emily routinely said the hard times were simply the dues she had to pay before getting to have his love in her life. The last eighteen months were better than she ever hoped for, but a part of her, the cynical, damaged girl she’d been for so long, was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. She never dreamed that drop would be this precipitous.

The 33-year-old, part-time hostess was now trapped in a nightmare she could never have imagined, even at her lowest, darkest moments. When she left the restaurant where she’d worked for the past four years, exhausted from a long day on her feet, all she could think of was getting home. Some of her coworkers were heading out for a quick drink and some laughs, but she begged off, preferring a nice cup of tea and Kurt’s waiting arms. While unlocking her Ford Focus, Emily thought she heard someone call her name from far away. That was the last thing she remembered before waking up in this room completely nude, suspended upside down from the ceiling by ankle restraints. Her wrists were also bound together, tied to some kind of spike, which was hammered into the concrete floor. Barely ten seconds after regaining consciousness, she screamed for the first time.

After her initial panic subsided, Emily steadied herself, spending the first few hours in a desperate attempt to get free. It was difficult to think straight with the blood rushing to her head, but she valiantly kept trying. Eventually she realized the futility of it all. She broke down and began weeping uncontrollably before passing out again. She awoke to a new problem: she needed to use the bathroom. When she reached the point of bursting, unable to hold it any longer, her urine ran down the front of her body, settling on her face and in her hair as she once again cried like a toddler. Besides being one of the most humiliating moments of her life, relieving herself in that position was tangible evidence this wasn’t all just some horrible dream. Now even that unlikely comfort had been taken away from her and an even greater dread closed around her heart.

As if he recognized her weakening resolve, Emily’s captor chose that moment to enter for the first time. He wore a full face mask similar to those worn by executioners during medieval beheadings. Only his eyes were visible through asymmetrical holes cut in the fabric, and those dark orbs chilled her to the core. She choked out the word “why” before he hosed her down for the first of many times, causing her to choke as the water filled her nose and mouth. She thought she was going to die right there before it stopped and she could finally breathe again, coughing and gasping for air. He was gone without uttering a single sound.

Her kidnapper kept her in that simple, windowless, 10 x 10 room for days with no heat, light or other amenities, such as food and water. Her only nourishment came via an intravenous drip hanging from the ceiling attached to a vein near her ankle, so it wouldn’t get contaminated by her excretions. She spent most of the first few days falling in and out of unconsciousness due to both her inverted position and the machinations of her tormentor. After the first 24 hours, he would periodically come into the room to torture Emily, always keeping his face hidden. Emily quickly grew to despise the sight of that face mask with a hatred so all-consuming it surprised even herself.

Always in complete silence, her captor made superficial but precise incisions all over her body, cutting just deep enough for blood to stream down her naked form. He stood in mute awe as it flowed over her hips, breasts and buttocks, never saying a word. The madman never took his eyes off her, staring at the patterns the dripping blood made as it cascaded down her body. Despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction, she could hear his breath quicken and feel his excitement grow with each scream, moan or sob she eventually uttered. The son of a bitch would wait for her to lose consciousness before stitching her wounds and hosing her off once again.

Emily thought of Kurt often in those early days, drawing on their love for the strength to go on. She was determined to see him again, to somehow escape from this unnamed level of Hell in which she found herself. Hoping to piece together an escape plan, she began looking for normal patterns in this surreal, insane set of circumstances. She strained to hear any sound that might be a clue as to where she was being held. But she didn’t even hear the wind or rain. As the days dragged on she noticed her captor only tortured her at night. At least she thought it was night by the drop in temperature before and during his visits. Did this bastard have a 9 to 5 job, pretending to be a nice, normal person instead of what he was: a deranged lunatic? Did he have formal medical training? The precision of his cuts and the meticulous stitching of the wounds made her think so. None of these disparate facts helped her form even a rudimentary picture of her attacker. That reality left her dispirited, chipping away at any remaining hope of survival.

As the same sick scenario played out over and over, day after day, Emily lost her will to live, unable to focus on anything but the pain radiating from every inch of her skin. Her demented keeper spent long hours cutting her and watching her bleed never saying a single word to her when she shrieked curses at him through gritted teeth. Before long, all she wanted was to retreat inside herself in a desperate attempt to get away from his cold, inhuman eyes constantly staring, always staring. The only thing she had left to look forward to was the moment she inevitably lost consciousness, managing to escape his glare for a little while.

After one such encounter, Emily woke up on the floor, no longer suspended but still restrained at the ankles and wrists. As she lay there on the cold, hard concrete, she couldn’t escape the stench of the fetid, waste-filled puddles scattered on the ground from her multiple cleanings. Even though she was still shackled, she could run her fingers over the vast multitude of stitched incisions all over her body. She’d lost so much blood it seemed incomprehensible that she could still be alive. Her belly ached from hunger and her throat was raw from both dehydration and her continuous screaming. She felt as weak and helpless as a newborn infant.

The continuous torment also eroded all her remaining reserves of strength, her hope and even her senses. Emily had no idea how long she’d even been at the mercy of this lunatic; the very concept of time was now alien to her. It seemed like she’d never been anywhere else but that room, that she’d spent her whole life with her psychotic captor. Now when she tried to think of Kurt, her happiness with him seemed like a forgotten fantasy from a life she’d never lived at all. It was so hard to picture his face when she closed her eyes. All she could see were those eyes, that facemask and the shadows moving around her, which meant he was back and the nightmare was starting again. Emily no longer remembered a life without pain, inevitably accepting she was going to die in that room.

The unmistakable sounds of the madman returning brought her to tears once more, the last remaining ounce of resistance dying inside her. Emily prayed to a deity she never believed in for this ordeal to be over; to put her out of her misery. She desperately wanted to die. As her captor silently made his way into the room, she looked up at his shadowy form and begged him to kill her.

“Please, please, I’m ready,” she whispered softly with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please end this. I want to die.”

The man stood in silence, gazing down at the broken, beaten woman before him. Slowly he knelt before her, his eyes locked on hers. Methodically, he removed his facemask and Emily screamed louder and longer than ever before. The man calmly waited for her screams to fade. Once they turned into incoherent sobs and distraught mewling, he took her face in his hands with a gentleness that surprised her.

“Much like every other so-called normal person, your viewpoint is quite pedestrian, Mrs. Sheppard,” the man said with a smile straight out of a funhouse mirror. “You think in terms of beginnings and endings, not of the infinite expanse that this actuality can be.” He casually wiped the tears from her cheeks with his index fingers. “You see this perhaps as the end of your life, the cessation of your suffering, but it is merely another phase of ultimate existence. This is all simply part of the very essence of what we are.” He moved his hands down her face, resting them on both her shoulders. “Do you finally understand this?”

Emily felt an eerie calm come over her. The world seemed to move in slow motion as all her anxiety and fear melted away. She stopped crying and smiled as only a child can, before the child learns how unfair and cruel the world can be; how hard life becomes once you grow up. She said serenely, “I do understand now.”

“You have made me very happy, my dear,” the man whispered softly in her ear. “It is a pleasure to finally meet the real Emily. My name is Mikhail.”

There was a sudden sharp pain in the right side of Emily’s neck, immediately followed by a feeling of euphoria. She felt the warmth of her blood flowing down her skin. It was a familiar feeling by now, but she innately knew this time was different. Her bleeding was so rapid she knew her jugular vein had to have been pierced. The end had finally come for her. It was comforting, in a way, as Emily strangely felt whole, like she’d found a piece of herself that’d been missing all those years. She knew there was little time before life left her completely. She closed her eyes, smiled broadly and thought of Kurt.

Police Detective Jefferson Mancini was a dedicated and highly decorated officer of the NYPD, working in the homicide division of Manhattan’s 13^th Precinct for the previous six years. In his twelve years on the force he’d seen and been involved in his fair share of bad situations. Like most cops, he’d even caught a few cases that affected him personally: his third grade teacher, Miss McCaffrey’s husband was busted for solicitation; a kid he went to summer camp with, Edwin Nunez, got mugged on the lower East Side; and a girl he had a crush on in college, Joanne Kleinschmidt, died of a heroin overdose in her dingy, little Queens studio apartment. Those instances gave him some pause, causing a day or two of quiet reflection on the random nature of life or brought back bittersweet memories long forgotten. This current situation was in an entirely different league.

Ever since Emily Sheppard’s body was found under the Brooklyn Bridge, the detective’s world had begun to fray at the edges. The bizarre nature of her abduction and the obvious torture she had endured sent his mind reeling. He felt a mixture of guilt, empathy and sorrow on top of an overwhelming sense of responsibility to find her killer. Truthfully, it was eating him up inside but it was infinitely worse for her husband, Kurt, the police detective’s best friend. Looking across the bar at the drunken, slumped-over form of his long-time buddy, Jeff couldn’t help but think this was the worst it was ever going to get for either of them.

The two men met in Junior High School, bonding over sci-fi movies, comic books, the N.Y. Mets and, of course, girls. During their teenage years, they were inseparable, despite their many differences. Jeff was a star athlete, tall, muscular with the dark hair and the good looks of a teen heartthrob, while Kurt was a quiet, average-looking, introspective dreamer with a sharp mind and a quick wit. Kurt and Jeff became a team early on and nothing could break them apart. They watched each other’s back even when their precocious natures got them into hot water.

As they grew and matured, so did their friendship. It was a bond stronger than family. Even when Jeff entered the Police Academy while Kurt started at NYU, they managed to stay important to each other, getting together at least once a week to share various aspects of their new lives. In fact, whenever something relevant or memorable happened to Jeff Mancini, Kurt Sheppard was always there with a grin, a wisecrack, unconditional love and support. Jeff desperately wanted to be there for his friend now that Kurt needed him more than ever.

“I didn’t want to call anybody else, Jeff,” the bartender said softly at the far end of the tavern, looking back over his shoulder at Kurt Sheppard, who was in one of the booths along the wall. “He’s been in here every night since Emily went missing. Usually, he nurses three or four beers before heading home, but tonight he was out of control. I had to cut him off about an hour ago, even took his keys just to be safe. He was pretty pissed for a while but then he just kinda petered out over there. Figured you’d want to handle it yourself.”

“Thanks, Mitch,” Jeff replied, slipping him a twenty for the consideration.

“Up and at ‘em, dude. Time to go home,” Jeff said loudly as he tried to prop up his friend, who was pretty much dead weight due to his level of intoxication. The detective lost his grip and Kurt’s head slammed against the mahogany table with a startling “Thud.”

“Ooooow,” Kurt mumbled, roused from his stupor by the pain.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s get you outta here,” Jeff chided as he reached for the drunken man’s arm. Kurt regained enough of his senses to finally recognize his long-time friend. He stared up at him while trying to focus his thoughts as Jeff continued to try to coax him upright.

“Wha –? Get outta here? You get outta here!” Kurt yelled, pulling his arm away roughly, accidentally slamming his hand into the wall. “Ow! Dammit!” he said, shaking his hand, before turning back to Jeff stone-faced. “Don’t you have a killer to find, buddy? What you wastin’ time harassing drunks for?!”

Jeff knew it was the alcohol talking rather than his best friend, but the words still cut deeply. He spoke softly, “Kurt, come on, bud, you know I’m doing everything I can, but right now we have to get you home to bed. I’m not about to leave you alone when you need my help.”

“Emily needed your help! Where were you when she needed you, Jeff! When we needed you! Where were you then?” Kurt screamed as tears began to roll down his cheeks. He repeatedly slammed his fists on the table, causing all his empties to fall and shatter on the floor. The distraught man then buried his face in his arms on the table.

The few remaining patrons watched the tableau with various amounts of interest, scorn and bemusement. Mitch, the bartender, began to inch closer, but Jeff waved him away with one hand. He put his other hand on his friend’s shoulder, causing Kurt to look up, his face red with anger and inebriation. It was then that he saw Jeff was crying too and his countenance instantly changed from rage to sorrow. “I-I’m trying, man. I –” Jeff whispered.

Kurt covered Jeff’s hand with his own as he said through sobs, “I’m sorry. I know you loved her too. I just miss her so much, Jeff. So much. I don’t know how to go on. Sometimes I can – I can still hear her voice calling to me. I don’t want to live without her. I don’t. I – I wish I could’ve died with her,” Kurt said, desperately.

The police detective had no words that would even remotely comfort his buddy, so he sat down next to his friend, put his arm around him and hugged him until they both were all cried out. He then drove Kurt home, got him settled into bed and, despite it being almost 2 a.m., went back to the precinct to go over the case once more.

At 7:13 a.m. the next morning, Jeff Mancini was rousted from a fitful slumber by the ringing phone on his desk. He was greeted by the mocking laughter and derisive comments of his fellow officers who’d been having a grand old time at his expense. His shirt was littered with post-it notes saying “Sleeping Ugly,”

“Kids, Don’t let this happen to you” and “Do Not Feed the Animal,” among other sophomoric attempts at humor. As he reached for the receiver, he instinctively gave the room his middle finger, holding it high above his head for everyone to see.

“Mancini,” Jeff said, removing the Post-its as he cradled the receiver on his left shoulder. “Hey, Caroline. Hmmm? Yeah, okay. I’ll be right there.” Jeff grabbed his coat and headed toward the door, saying, “When my partner shows up, can one of you comedians tell him I went to see the M.E.?”

“Crawley’s in with Cap,” Detective Timmons said between bites of a cruller. “Been in there for the last ten minutes or so.”

Detective Mancini changed course in mid-stride, heading for Captain Mulvaney’s office. Just as he turned the corner, he heard the Captain shout “Damn it, Crawley!” which stopped Mancini in his tracks. The office door was slightly ajar, so he crept quietly up to the door frame and listened. He always got a kick out of hearing his buddy, Kevin, get reamed out. He wondered what it was about this time. Maybe the new female morgue assistant he’s been trying to get with? What’s her name? Marcy? Marnie?

“Maggie needs to be reminded why she was given this opportunity. As much as I like initiative, too much of it can lead to problems. She needs to understand that,” Mulvaney continued, calmer now. “Why don’t you take care of that for me, Kevin m’lad? You seem to have a certain rapport with the lass.”

“Not a problem, Skip,” Kevin Crawley replied. “Anything else?”

Mancini began to tiptoe away, sensing the meeting was coming to an end, when Mulvaney added, “Yeah, make sure that partner of yours doesn’t start sniffing around where he’s not supposed to. This Sheppard case could take him places he doesn’t belong. Make sure he doesn’t get to those places.”

Jeff was stunned for a moment, frozen in place, but quickly his instincts kicked in. The detective slipped quietly into the break room before his partner opened the door to the Captain’s office.

Jeff’s mind reeled from what he’d overheard. He felt anger, confusion, betrayal and a myriad of other emotions as he tried to understand what just happened. Did the Captain really order his partner to purposely interfere with Emily’s murder investigation? If so, why? Was he somehow connected? How was that even possible? And why would Crawley go along with it? Did he know more about it than he was letting on? There were too many questions without answers. Jeff considered his partner a friend, so he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Kevin Crawley was of Irish descent, standing at 5’8’ with short cropped blonde hair and a small military-type moustache. He’d served in the U.S. Army during the first Gulf War, maintaining the look all these years. Crawley worked homicide for the past ten years, becoming partners with Mancini after Jeff’s first partner retired four years earlier. Jeff respected and admired the way Crawley went about his business, with tenacity and fairness for all perps, as well as compassion for the victims and their families. To think he might be involved in something shady didn’t add up.

Right now, Jeff knew there was absolutely nothing he could do about what he’d heard, so he decided to play it cool. Mancini compartmentalized these thoughts as best he could and refocused on the job at hand. The police detective took a few deep breaths, calmed his mind and grabbed two Styrofoam cups. Minutes later, he emerged with fresh coffees and met Crawley at his desk.

“Figured you’d need this after your pow-wow with Mulvaney,” he said with a smirk. “Want to tell me what this butt-chewing was for or is it still too raw?”

“Just the usual,” Crawly answered. “I’m a screw-up and it isn’t going unnoticed. However, I will somehow manage to go on.”

“Well then let’s pay a visit to our friendly neighborhood medical examiner. Caroline’s got something for us,” Mancini said as he headed toward the door again, his uneasiness growing. Minutes later, he was no less shaky, but he put on a happy face.

“What ya got, Caroline?” Mancini’s baritone voice boomed as he walked through the morgue doors with a big smile, Kevin Crawley close behind.

Caroline Mooney had worked as the medical examiner for the 13^th Precinct since she’d moved to New York City from Denver, Colorado, a little over 2 years before. Slightly less than 6 months after her arrival, she had a very short, very passionate fling with Detective Jeff Mancini. Both eventually realized they weren’t a good fit, but they remained close and, aside from the infrequent booty call, strictly platonic and professional since their break-up. Caroline knew Mancini respected her both as an M.E. and, more importantly, as a person. She liked and respected him as well; too much to allow personal matters to interfere with their working relationship.

“Well, good morning to you too, Detective Mancini,” Mooney replied dryly before smiling and turning to Mancini’s partner. “How are you, Crawley? Staying out of trouble?”

“You know me, Mooney. I do what I do,” Crawley smirked.

“Just make sure you don’t do whatever it is you do in my morgue. Keep away from Maggie during work hours. This isn’t some two- bit pick up joint.” she said, throwing him a menacing look. “Do me that favor, okay? Don’t shit where I eat.”

Crawley smiled broadly, “You sure do talk real purdy, Miss Mooney.”

Fully aware she was getting nowhere with the unrepentant man- child, the medical examiner turned to Mancini and said, “Moving on to the reason I asked you down here, Jeff.”

Mooney was well aware how important the Sheppard case was to her former paramour. She also wanted to close this case quickly, so despite her ever-increasing workload, Mooney fast-tracked the autopsy. Caroline had liked the woman instantly, having met Emily on two occasions during her dalliance with the detective. Emily instantly dubbed their pairing “Mooncini,” like one of those celebrity couples, and the M.E. enjoyed the time she’d spent with the Sheppards immensely. For a brief moment, she smiled wistfully at the memory of a new love and new friends, but her demeanor became serious as she brought up the forensic results on the large computer screen over her desk.

“The full autopsy confirmed the initial findings,” the medical examiner began. “COD was massive blood loss. I’ve taken a mold of the neck wound, hoping to identify the murder weapon. The wound measured approximately 17 by 8 centimeters and seems to have been delivered by multiple blows, one of which severed the jugular artery. All damage was inflicted just prior to death.” Caroline noticed Jeff wince at the details and could see his eyes begin to water, so she decided to talk to him like a friend instead of a cop. “Okay, I’ll cut to the chase. When Mrs. Shephard was brought in she’d almost completely bled out. There wasn’t much blood left to analyze, but I managed to extract some from the superior vena cava. What I found was beyond me,” she said, sympathy in her eyes.

“What do you mean beyond you?” Jeff asked, pulling himself together.

“I mean, this isn’t the first time I’ve examined a body where massive blood loss was COD and we both know I am damn good at my job, but these results left me dumbfounded,” Mooney replied. “Her blood showed signs of three separate disorders: both hemolytic and aplastic anemia, as well as thrombocytopenia. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Crawly and Mancini looked at each other with confusion. “What?” they said in unison.

“I’m sorry,” Caroline said, changing the display on the screen to show a human circulatory system. “Basically what that means is that not only did she have a severe decrease in red blood cells, which would be somewhat understandable if she was dehydrated and tortured, but her bone marrow also stopped replenishing her cells at an adequate rate. Personally, I’ve never heard of these two conditions existing simultaneously. On top of that, her platelet count was drastically low. If this was a pre-existing condition, with the number of cuts inflicted during her capture, she would have bled to death much earlier. It’s almost as if these disorders began minutes before she died. I’ve found nothing to account for these findings and believe me, I’ve looked. Furthermore, any and all biological problems that would cause any one of these three conditions would appear in other areas of her system, but there were absolutely no signs of them anywhere in Emily Sheppard’s body.”

Jeff Mancini furrowed his brow for a moment before saying, “Best guess?”

Caroline frowned. “You should know me better than that by now. I don’t guess, but when I don’t know something, I’m not too proud to ask for help.” Caroline picked up a pad and began writing. “I sent samples of Emily’s blood to the most brilliant hematologist in the country, Dr. Rebecca Miller of Gene-Tech International, here in the city. I’ve attended more than a few of her seminars and spoken with her afterward a couple of times. If anyone can figure this out, it’s her.” She handed the contact information to Detective Mancini. As the two men were leaving, she added, “I think you’ll like her, Jeff. She’s just your cup of tea.”

Three hours later, Mancini and Crawley were still waiting in the reception area of Gene-Tech International, after undergoing the most thorough ID verification either of them had ever experienced. The head of security, a fastidious and slightly fascist man named Barnaby, was rude, overbearing and more than a little condescending during the process, so both detectives were beyond annoyed at the delay in getting to see Dr. Miller. For the first hour, Jeff tried to get his partner to give up any information about his meeting with the Captain, to no avail. Eventually they fell into silence, each stewing in their respective thoughts.

“I guess we should be glad there was no body cavity search,” Crawley joked to break the quiet.

Just then, a tall, gangly man exited the elevator and sauntered toward them. He had jet-black, spiked hair, multiple piercings in his ears, nose, and lips and he wore eyeliner. Jeff immediately thought of Johnny Depp in Edward Scissorhands as the detective rose to meet him. The name tag on his lab coat identified him as Holden Levitt, Lab Assistant. He never made eye contact with the officers, looking past them at something out the window as he said, “Dr. Miller will see you now.” Then he turned and walked back toward the elevator banks.

“I guess Jack Skellington wants us to follow him?” Crawley said.

“Let’s go, Kev,” Mancini whispered, “but keep the snide remarks to yourself, even if this Dr. Miller is equally odd. I need to know what happened to Emily and I don’t need your legendary ‘sensitivity’ to piss her off.”

Kevin Crawley started to say something in return but thought better of it after seeing the look in his partner’s eyes, so he kept quiet as they walked into the waiting elevator. The three men rode up to the 15^th floor in silence. When the doors opened, Levitt exited the car, extended his left arm in an exaggerated manner and said, “This way, detectives.”

The lab assistant walked across the hall before opening a door marked Hematolog y/Research. The two men entered a huge room filled with an assortment of computers, microscopes, rows of beakers and test tubes, glass cabinets, as well as a multitude of equipment neither of them could hope to identify. In the back corner of the room was a woman entering data into a computer via a hand-held tablet. She had her back to them, not bothering to turn around as she said, “Just a moment, Detective Mancini. Caroline Mooney emailed me the particulars of this specimen. I will be through with my analysis momentarily. Please wait.”

“Do you have a prelim-” Jeff Mancini began to say, but Dr. Miller cut him off.

“No questions please, Detective,” the hematologist said stoically. “That’s one of the reasons I had you wait in reception until I was nearly complete. I don’t like needless questions and I don’t believe in supposition. Once I’m through with my analysis, I will state my findings.”

Crawley sighed loudly. Mancini threw him the dirtiest of all dirty looks, causing his partner to put both hands in his pockets as he began meandering around the room.

Detective Mancini waited patiently for a few moments. He was about to speak when Dr. Miller turned around, placed the tablet on the counter and picked up a remote control. When she finally looked at him, Jeff was stunned. She was a petite woman, no more than 5’1” and thin. She had dark brown hair pulled up tightly into a bun, giving the pale skin of her face a slight harshness that in no way diminished her beauty. She possessed delicate features: a narrow nose, high cheekbones, full lips, and big blue eyes that seemed to shine in the light of the computer screens. Despite her lab coat and turtleneck, it was readily apparent Rebecca Miller had a very feminine and attractive physique, including an ample bosom for a woman her size. She looked like every boy’s sexy librarian fantasy. Jeff understood Caroline’s parting shot at the morgue now. She was just his type.

“I’ve finished my initial analysis of the blood samples, Detective,” Dr. Miller said. “I’m ready to report my findings. Please note, a more detailed analysis will take at least a day, but Caroline said this was time-sensitive. I did what I could in the time frame allotted.” There was no urgency or stress in her voice. She didn’t smile or frown or even change her facial expression. Her entire demeanor reminded Jeff of Dr. Temperance Brennan from the TV show Bones: cold, calculating and without a hint of human emotion.

Detective Crawley was at the other end of the room in front of a large metallic door with a coded keypad next to it. He tried to look inside the room and knocked on the small window in the center of it.

“Get away from there,” Dr. Miller scolded.

“What is that thing anyway? Looks like some kinda freezer,” Crawley said as he made his way back to Mancini.

“It is a cryonic preservation chamber used to store samples for use in my work,” the hematologist answered.

“You mean it’s a giant freezer filled with frozen blood?” Crawley asked with a wince.

“Blood, spores, cultures, infectious diseases and other necessary samples needed for my work, yes,” she replied. Dr. Miller turned to Mancini, clearly annoyed at this waste of time, and asked, “Are there any other superfluous questions or may I begin my findings?”

“Of course, Dr. Miller,” Jeff said, smiling. “Forgive my partner. His curious nature sometimes gets the better of him.”

The hematologist looked at him impassively before turning to the screen and pressing the remote control. “As you can see, I’ve isolated the different types of blood disorders found in the bloodstream by Dr. Mooney. She was correct in her diagnosis of Hemolytic Anemia, Aplastic Anemia and Thrombocytopenia. However, I have concluded that each of these was introduced as a direct result of an outside catalyst.”

“Catalyst? You mean, someone injected her with some kind of drug?” Mancini asked.

“Possibly. I can’t be sure without further analysis, but any drug or other chemical would leave traces in the body and the blood. All I can say with certainty is that these disorders were not naturally occurring in her circulatory system. I assume Dr. Mooney didn’t find any hypodermic marks or she would have mentioned it. It’s entirely possible the wound that caused the victim’s death was meant to obscure the injection site.” Dr. Miller turned and saw the pain on Jeff Mancini’s face. For the first time, she softened slightly.

“I apologize, Detective. Caroline told me of your relationship with the deceased. I didn’t mean to upset you.” she said. She took a half step toward him but hesitated and retreated back to her original position. It was almost as if she understood the emotions she was supposed to feel – sympathy or compassion – but couldn’t access them properly. Mancini had never met a more repressed or closed- off woman in his life. He wondered how long she’d been this way and just for a second, he wondered what her smile looked like.

Crawley put his arm around Mancini’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about ol’ Jeff, Doc. He’s made of sterner stuff than that.”

“Yes, it’s fine Dr. Miller,” Jeff said, removing his partner’s arm and walking toward Rebecca. “I appreciate your help in this matter. If you discover anything else, please feel free to call me, day or night. My cell is on the back.” Mancini handed her his business card. “Thank you again.”

His hand lingered on hers as she took the card and their eyes met. “Yes, of course. I will do my best,” she managed to say, but he could see the physical contact was making her agitated and uncomfortable. He quickly broke contact, turned and walked toward the door.

“And if you ever need anyone to heat up your freezer on a dark and lonely night, love... give me a jingle,” Crawley said quietly so his partner wouldn’t hear, putting his card on the counter before jogging to catch up with Mancini.

Dr. Miller stared at the two business cards for a long while. Then she took Crawley’s card and threw it in the trash can. With a small grin, she then placed Detective Mancini’s business card in the left side pocket of her lab coat and gave it a little pat.

At 10:23 p.m. that evening, Emily Sheppard’s car was found less than one hundred yards from where her body had been discovered. Mancini was on his way to Kurt’s house when he got the call. As much as he wanted to check on his friend, this could be the break they were both waiting for, so he headed directly over to the scene. Kevin Crawley, along with the forensics unit, was already there when he arrived.

“Thought you were done for the night!” Crawley shouted from fifty yards away.

“I just heard so I came right over. Which officer found it?” Mancini asked.

“You’re lookin’ at him, buddy,” Crawley replied with a Cheshire-cat grin.

“You?” Mancini said, incredulously. “How the hell did that happen?”

“After we split up, I went for a couple of beers, but something stuck in my craw. Why here? Why was her body left here? I couldn’t shake the feeling that the location meant something, so I drove down here to think,” Crawley replied. “You know how I sometimes like to sit at a crime scene and let my subconscious wander; maybe see something I’m missing? Like on the Delgado case?”

“Yeah, you’re a regular mind freak,” Mancini joked.

“Whatever, dude. Well, I drive down here and first thing I see is the car. I run the tags and boom! Emily’s car,” Crawley said, puffing out his chest in victory. “Whoever our perp is, I think he’s playing games. No reason to dump the body and car separately otherwise. At least not in the same fuckin’ place.”

Mancini nodded in agreement before asking, hopefully, “CSU find anything?”

“Let’s find out, partner,” Crawley said.

The Crime Scene Unit was scouring the immediate area looking for any new evidence that might have been left when the car was dumped. Various technicians moved in ever-widening concentric circles from the car wearing their wind breakers and pale blue gloves as Jeff and Kevin crossed over to Emily’s Green Ford Focus. Mancini already knew they were in a dead zone as far as traffic or other cameras, so there’d be no footage of the car dump. As he looked over the car, there didn’t seem to be any exterior damage and no signs of a struggle. The officer in charge, Sasha Montgomery, was going through the trunk when the two homicide detectives reached the car.

Montgomery had worked with the Crime Scene Unit for the past 8 years, ever since graduating from the academy. She is a petite woman, no more than 5’3” with a take-charge attitude and an eye for detail. Sasha was always easy to spot with her short, cropped fiery red hair, large black glasses and wide smile, not to mention her bottom-heavy figure. She always joked about being shaped like a bowling pin, small on top but big on the bottom. What Mancini always noticed was how she frequently changed the jewelry in the 7 piercings adorning her left ear, but always wore the same hoop in the one piercing in her right ear. The detective in him wanted to hear the story behind that, but now was neither the time nor the place. Truth be told, he liked and respected Sasha Montgomery as both a police officer and a human being.

“Anything good, Gum?” Crawley asked, using his own personal nickname for the CSU officer.

“Nothing yet, Creepy,” Sasha responded without looking up, smiling at the use of her own nickname for Crawley. “In fact, this is the cleanest car I’ve ever seen.”

“Emily was something of a neat freak, Montgomery,” Mancini offered.

Sasha Montgomery looked up from the trunk. “Not tidy, Jeff. Clean. No particulates, no fingerprints, no DNA. There is no evidence of any kind in this vehicle,” she said, exasperated.

“How is that possible?” Mancini asked.

“It’s like someone knew exactly how to get rid of every piece of forensic evidence. It’s uncanny,” Montgomery countered. “But don’t worry. No one can hide everything from me. I’ve yet to roll up my sleeves and dig deep. Once I get this car back to the lab, I’ll go over it with the finest of fine tooth combs. We’ll nail this bastard.” She placed her hand on Mancini’s shoulder for emphasis.

“Thanks, Sasha. I know you’ll do what you can,” Jeff said.

After a few hours assisting the Crime Scene Unit, and despite his growing exhaustion, Jeff Mancini headed back to his original destination for the evening: the home of Kurt Sheppard. The detective knew he was pushing himself too hard and eventually the lack of sleep would catch up with him. He hoped to bring Emily’s killer to justice before it became a problem, because whenever he thought about sleep, he couldn’t bring himself to lie down, choosing to go over the case one more time instead. Still, he understood that his growing exhaustion, the grief he was compartmentalizing and the conflicting emotions coursing through his mind were a bad combination. Sooner or later, he’d get sloppy, start making mistakes, and pay the price.

As he approached his destination, the fatigued officer spotted someone near the side door of the Sheppard home. He caught a glimpse of a white shirt or nightgown before it disappeared behind a tree. Instinctively, Jeff turned off his lights and engine so he could silently coast to a stop before the hedges that separated his friend’s house from its neighbor. He was out of his car in an instant, drawing his weapon and freeing the mini flashlight from its compartment on his belt without turning it on. It was a cloudy night with no moonlight to illuminate the grounds, so his visibility was sorely limited. Silently, he approached the side of the house, stopping every 3 or 4 steps to strain his hearing for any signs of trespassers. Suddenly, the detective spotted something in his peripheral vision and spun toward it, turning on the flashlight at the same time.

“Whoa! What the hell!” Kurt Sheppard screamed, jumping back as he shielded his eyes with his arms.

“Kurt! Geez, man! You scared the shit out of me!” Mancini said in a quiet voice, turning off the flashlight and lowering his weapon. “I thought there was someone out here when I pulled up. I was just taking a look around. Let me check it out. Stay behind me.”

Kurt fell in behind the police detective as he headed toward the backyard. They both strained their eyes against the darkness, searching for any sign of an intruder. Just as they got past the side entrance, the wind whipped up and Jeff saw something to his left. Once again, he switched on the light as he whirled to face his attacker. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. He began to laugh. It was a white bed sheet, caught on the branches of the tree that separated the Sheppard home from the Capriati house next door.

“Shit! I almost shot a sheet!” Jeff said, still chuckling and shaking his head as he holstered his weapon. “I must be more tired than I thought, buddy.”

Jeff turned toward Kurt, keeping the flashlight down so as not to blind his friend again. Kurt’s face was dimly lit by the reflected light and he looked pale and gaunt; like a desperate soul searching for salvation. Kurt looked up at the sky and placed his hands on his head, shaking it back and forth.

“I really don’t think it was a sheet. I think there was someone out here, Jeff,” Kurt muttered softly. “I was sleeping when I heard someone call my name. I swear...it-it sounded like Emily. I could’ve swore it was her.” When he lowered his head to face Mancini again, tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, Kurt, buddy. Don’t do this to yourself,” Jeff said sympathetically.

“I’d do anything to get her back.” Kurt sobbed. “Anything to have just one more day with her. Oh God, please...please, I’ll do anything.”

Jeff Mancini’s heart broke seeing his best friend like this. He was worried Kurt might be losing his grip on reality. The detective hugged his friend and led him back inside. They talked for a few hours on the living room sofa where they’d shared so many good memories with Emily: holidays, movie nights, football games and other joyous events. Eventually, Kurt fell asleep, emotionally spent. The police detective placed a blanket over his friend, watching him sleep for a bit before nodding off himself.

On his way to the precinct less than three hours later, Jeff felt his phone vibrate. He noticed he had two missed calls. He put it on speaker and placed the cell on the seat next to him, turning the volume down on his police radio so he could hear the messages.

“You have two new messages. To play your messa-” Mancini pushed 1 on his keypad as he drove past the basketball courts where he and Kurt used to play pick-up games when they were teenagers. The messages began to play:

“Beep. Mancini, Montgomery in CSU. Need you down here ASAP. Got something for you. Something weird.”

Maybe I finally caught a break, Jeff thought to himself.

“Next message.”

“Beep. Helloooo, Detective Mancini. This is Rebecca Miller calling but you can call me Becca if you want. Do you? Do you want? Hee hee hee. Anyway, how are you?” Dr. Miller spoke in a soft tone, almost a whisper. “I have some information for you. I think you’ll like it very, very much. I need to see you as soon as possible. Come see me day or night. I’m always here for you, Jeff Mancini. You know what I mean. Byeeee.”

“To replay this message, press-” Jeff hung up the call and smiled. Did the stoic and ultra-professional Dr. Miller just drunk dial him? He wasn’t sure since her words weren’t slurred and there was no sign of impairment in her speech patterns. Mancini didn’t know the good doctor very well, but that call definitely seemed out of character. She sounded like one of the women on those phone sex commercials they played late at night. He chuckled at that thought and made a mental note to definitely return that call after stopping in to see Sgt. Montgomery in CSU.

After a quick stop at his desk to check messages and see if Crawley was in yet, Jeff headed down to CSU. Sasha Montgomery was sitting at her desk, bleary eyed but working.

“What do you have, Sasha? Something to help me nail this bastard?” Jeff asked, purposely repeating her words from the night before.

“You’re the detective. I supply the info, you figure out what it all means.” Montgomery said, yawning and stretching. “Where’s ‘creepy Crawly?’ Usually you two are attached at the hip.”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t in yet but he had a late night,” Mancini replied. “I’ll get him up to speed whenever he wanders in.”

Montgomery shrugged. “Hey, it’s not like I miss him. His act gets old after a while and sometimes he hits on me so hard, he leaves bruises.”

“He’s harmless. You know that,” Jeff said, settling onto a stool near Sasha’s desk. “Let’s get to it so you can eventually get some sleep.”

“From your lips...” Sasha said as she walked over to her computer. A few keystrokes later she’d brought up her report on the vehicle. “Like I said last night, this car is unusually clean, but whoever wiped it didn’t reckon with my skills.”

The sheer data on the screen overwhelmed Mancini but Sasha was right at home, shifting the charts, graphs and lists with the skill of a virtuoso musician. When she had them in the order she wanted, she began.

“At first glance, it seemed like the vehicle had no story to tell but after I scraped the treads and inner wheel wells, it told quite a fascinating little tale,” Sergeant Montgomery said. “There was trace residue from several different plants, trees and other flora as well as insect larvae and animal droppings. I ran them through the mass spectrometer and the most prominent residue came from the vaccinium corymbosom or High Bush Blueberry, a shrub whose fruit attracts various forms of wildlife, which explains the droppings. These particular pellets came from the procyon lotor, more commonly known as the raccoon. There was also a prominent amount of Quercus Coccinea or Scarlet Oak residue. I’ve already got Officer Nieves cross referencing for any location in the tri-state area where both types of plant life and raccoons would be present. So far he’s come up with 208 such spots.” She sighed.

Mancini made a face and Montgomery cut him off before he could say anything.

“I’m not done. I believe we can narrow it down even further. There were trace amounts of some form of petroleum within the mud I found in the tire treads. Once, I get the trimethylpentane and n-heptane ratio, I’ll be able to tell exactly where the petroleum was produced. I’m currently waiting for the results, but I should be able to at least give you a smaller search grid.” Sasha turned to Mancini with a hopeful look. “What do you think, Jeff?”

He stood and continued to look up at the screen for a few moments before saying, “I think we have a lot more to go on than we did yesterday.” Mancini looked at Montgomery with a smile. “Thanks, Sasha. You rock.”

“That I do. Thanks for noticing,” she said, returning his smile. “But that’s small time compared to my next revelation.”

“There’s more?” Jeff asked.

“Oh, yeah! Sit your ass back down because I pretty much hit the freakin’ lottery on this one,” she said, changing the screen to another set of seemingly incomprehensible charts.

Before starting, she paused and said, “Sorry about that outburst, Jeff. I’ve had 7 espressos and a couple of Red Bulls. It’s been a long night.”

“Believe me, I understand, Sasha,” Jeff responded. “I haven’t slept more than a few hours since this all started. I’m sure I look like all kinds of shit warmed over.”

“Yeah, you’re a wreck. Everyone should look so bad. When exactly is the People Magazine ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ photo shoot, cowboy?” Sasha said. Instantly she realized she had crossed the line. After an awkward few seconds, she added, “Anyway, let me show you what I’ve got.”

Jeff couldn’t help but laugh.

Sasha’s eyes got wide as she blushed. “I mean the data from my analysis!”

Mancini smiled warmly, extending his arms in front of him as if to say “please do,” but decided not to make the situation worse for Montgomery with a wise crack.

“Okay, well I also went over the interior of the car inch by inch and when I got to the passenger’s seat, I found something extremely interesting. I was leaning on the seat with my elbow, checking the seatbelts for any particulates, when I felt a pinch. Apparently, the seat had a bad spring inside the fabric.”

“Riiiight, right. I remember Emily complaining about it to Kurt,” Jeff said. “She said it was like getting stung by a bee when you hit it just right.”

“Yes, I imagine it was,” Montgomery agreed, “and the last passenger must have hit it exactly right because it stung someone good.”

“DNA?” Mancini asked, hopefully.

“Yes,” Sasha replied. “I ran it through every known database and got a hit almost immediately.”

“That’s terrific,” Jeff said, jumping up from his stool again. “Whose is it?”

“That’s the weird part I mentioned when I called. The DNA belongs to Ava Vazquez, Jeff.”

“I...know that name,” Mancini said, the color draining from his face.

“Yes, I imagine you would,” the M.E. said. “You investigated her murder a few months ago. Ava Vazquez is dead.”

“What? How can that be?” the detective asked frantically. “Did you double check the DNA? How can she be dead and somehow end up riding in Emily’s passenger seat?”

“I triple checked it and then I did a more in-depth analysis of the sample. I found it to be necrotic, definitely not from a live body,” Sasha replied. She waited a few moments before saying, “I think we have a serial, Jeff. One who tortures, kills and dumps his victims and then digs up the corpse after they’ve been buried. Maybe somehow preserves them, too.”

The medical examiner’s words chilled Jeff Mancini to the core. The prospect of it was too ghoulish to comprehend. What kind of monster were they dealing with? Most serials kept tokens or trophies from their kills, but to dig up the body itself? It didn’t make any sense. It was a risk only a truly demented psychopath would take; beyond brazen, beyond bizarre. What would compel a man to do something like that?

To make matters worse, nothing about the two cases were remotely similar. Most serial killers are slaves to their routine, keeping the same M.O. for each victim. Any changes in their rituals are subtle and logical, a progression within the same basic premise. They rarely killed in completely different ways. Jeff’s mind started to reel as the details of the Vazquez case came flooding back.

Ava Vazquez was 22 years old when she disappeared from her mother’s home while the elder woman, Yolanda, worked the overnight shift as a cashier at the local supermarket. She was missing 4 days when her body was discovered near Ground Zero.

Her body showed no signs of torture and COD was determined to be an accidental drug overdose because of multiple track marks on her arms and legs, despite the absence of narcotics in her system. Crawley had dismissed it as a simple case of a pimp trying to turn Ava out and taking it too far, too fast. After Jeff spoke with her mother, he dismissed that theory.

A girl like Ava, God-fearing, ambitious and intelligent, would never get caught up in the world of drugs and prostitution. Jeff attended her funeral out of respect and it was there that Yolanda Vazquez begged him to find out what happened to Ava; to bring peace to her daughter’s soul. Unfortunately, his investigation hit one dead end after another and eventually he had to move on. His failure to get justice for Ava had haunted him for weeks. Now it was possible that she’d been abducted and her body desecrated by the same madman who’d taken, tortured and killed Emily Sheppard.

The vivid image of his friend’s dead body lying in the mud under the Brooklyn Bridge came to Mancini’s mind unbidden. He slumped back onto the stool and ran his hands through his hair over and over, trying to force the sight of Emily’s mutilated neck out of his mind’s eye. He’d tried mightily to come to grips with everything that had happened with varying levels of success. Now he needed to somehow process this new development, but the pieces didn’t fit; the senselessness of it all threatened to overwhelm him. Sasha Montgomery stayed silent, letting him work it out in his mind. After a few minutes, his training and experience took over and the detective looked up, his face pale and haggard. “Did you pull the autopsy report on Ava Vazquez?” he asked.

“Of course,” Sasha said. “I looked for any similarities but there were none. No signs of torture but multiple injection sights on her arms, legs and feet. Nothing to make anyone think it was the same killer. Except of course that we now know Ava’s body was in Emily’s car.”

“It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes a lick of sense,” Jeff said, unable to reconcile the conflicting data. He was out of control emotionally, desperately trying to maintain a calm outer veneer, but he felt the dam about to burst. All the emotions he’d been pushing down were bubbling to the surface at the worst possible time. The last thing he needed was to break down in front of a fellow officer. That could lead to being forced to see a shrink or, worse yet, being pulled from the case. He couldn’t let that happen. He refused to.

Thankfully, Montgomery spoke, breaking him out of the torrent of emotions, “I notified Caroline Mooney and asked her to go over the autopsy report too. She’s better qualified to catch any irregularities than I am.”

Mancini looked at Sasha, his mind still racing. “Thanks. Tha – Thank you. I – I – uh...that petroleum. Let me know if you manage to find out where it came from, okay?” He felt slightly dizzy.

“You know it.” Sasha smiled at him with sympathy in her eyes, much like Dr. Miller the day before. “Listen, Jeff. You’ve got a lot of friends around here and we all know what this one means to you. I want you to know you can count on me and everyone else to do whatever we can to help.”

“Thanks, again. Truly. I appreciate that more than you can know,” Mancini said. He stood and hugged her for a brief moment, immediately feeling awkward for doing it. He broke the embrace suddenly, turned and headed toward the door. “When I get this bastard, drinks on me, okay?” he shouted without turning.

“You got it,” Sasha answered. After Mancini disappeared through the swinging doors, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “‘When’s the photo shoot?’ Geez, Sasha, could you be a bigger loser,” she muttered to herself and put her right thumb and forefinger up to her forehead in the shape of an “L.”

Immediately after walking through those doors, Jeff Mancini pressed his back against the cold, concrete wall outside the laboratory. He slid down the surface until he was squatting with the palms of each hand pressed firmly against his eyes, fighting the urge to cry. His head filled with visions of his best friend and his wife, of Kurt and Emily, so happy, so in love. He stayed there for a few minutes, breathing deeply and forcing his mind to think of other things. He momentarily remembered that bizarre message from Dr. Miller and inadvertently chuckled. That seemed to snap him back from the emotional edge and, after a few moments, he slowly stood, adjusting his clothes in an effort to get it together.

Feeling the weight of his near breakdown and growing exhaustion on his shoulders, Detective Mancini headed for the coffee machine near the exit. When he turned the corner, he spotted Kevin Crawley near the machine. His longtime partner had the new morgue assistant, Maggie Brelan, pushed up against the wall with his left hand and was using his right hand to point a finger in her face, menacingly. Jeff couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she looked petrified.

Maggie was a tall, slender woman with jet-black hair cut into a bob. She looked a bit like a recovering goth girl, one who realized you can’t get a good job when you look like one of the undead. She still had some of the trappings, including too much eye make-up, a nose ring and two lip piercings, but otherwise she had cleaned up nicely. When Maggie saw Mancini, she gestured to Crawley who turned to look at Jeff before backing off her. Kevin motioned for the girl to leave and she quickly ran through the exit doors.

Crawley then turned to Mancini. “There you are, partner! Been looking for you,” he said with a big smile.

“What was that all about, Kev?” Jeff asked.

“What? Oh, that. Captain Mulvaney wanted me to impress upon the new girl what her responsibilities are,” he said matter-of-factly. “She tends to overstep, y’know?”

“Overstep? In what way?” Mancini said.

“Forget it, dude. Nothing important,” Crawley answered. “What did Gum have for us?”

Mancini was absolutely sure something was off about what he just witnessed. His partner’s refusal to talk about it reinforced that notion, but he was too tired to go back and forth with Crawley, so he let it go for now.

“Long story short, Sasha is tracing where Emily’s car has been for the past week or so. Still working on it but making headway,” Mancini said, still eyeing his partner.

“Okay. Should I get the rundown too?” Crawley asked.

“No, she’s been up all night. Let her be,” Jeff replied, knowing Montgomery didn’t need Crawley sniffing around right now. “Besides, there’s more.” His face turned grim once more.

“That doesn’t sound good,” his partner said.

“It’s not. There’s a very real chance we are dealing with a serial killer, Kev,” Mancini explained. “Get this: Sasha found Ava Vazquez’s DNA in Emily’s car. We think she was killed by the same person.”

Crawley put his hand on his head, obviously shaken by this news. “No way. Not possible.” He looked distraught. It was the look Mancini had seen hundreds of times on the faces of family members asked to identify a loved one’s body.

“It’s true,” Jeff said. “This thing is much bigger than we thought.” He put his hand on Crawley’s shoulder to steady him.

“Okay. Okay. What’s our next move, partner?” Crawley asked, composing himself.

“Right now, we need to head back over to Gene-Tech,” Mancini replied.

“Oh, shit! No way, buddy. I can’t go through that again right now,” Crawley said. “How ‘bout I follow up with Mooney and see where she is. Then I’ll read over everything CSU came up with and meet you later, okay?”

“Sure, whatever. Just keep me in the loop should any new developments arise, okay?” Mancini conceded, happy to have some time alone to process everything.

“You got it, and give my regards to the ice queen, will ya?” Crawley said through a forced grin.

Detective Mancini was surprised when Holden Levitt came to retrieve him from the Gene-Tech reception area a mere 10 minutes after he’d arrived. As the elevator doors closed, Levitt turned to the detective.

“Dr. Miller insisted I bring you right up, Detective,” Holden said, nervously looking at the ground. “I think I should warn you...no, not warn, that’s not right. I guess, just make you aware...Dr. Miller isn’t quite herself today.” The lab assistant’s face turned beet red as he awkwardly struggled to express himself.

“What seems to be the problem?” Mancini asked just as they reached the 15^th floor.

Even before the doors completely opened, Holden Levitt scurried out of the elevator. Without looking back, he said, “You should see for yourself, Detective. Good luck.”

Jeff stood outside the elevator for a moment staring down the hallway where Levitt had disappeared. He stifled a yawn and shook his head vigorously as he wondered just what was going on lately. It seemed like everywhere he went, someone was acting strangely: Captain Mulvaney, Crawley, Kurt, Sasha, even Maggie, the morgue assistant. Now, Holden Levitt? For the briefest of moments, he thought maybe they were all in it together. Maybe it was a vast conspiracy to drive him crazy. He dismissed the notion immediately, chalking up the irrational thought to his fatigue and anxiety. He felt silly for even considering it.

When Detective Mancini walked into Dr. Miller’s lab, his world became an entirely new level of strange. As soon as he opened the door he could hear the sultry vocals of Fiona Apple singing “Criminal” throughout the room. All the lights were off and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed the air smelled of, what was it, jasmine? The only light came from the various computer screens populating the room, giving everything an eerie, blue hue. Dr. Miller herself was once again in the far corner of the room, her back to Mancini as she swayed seductively to the music. He approached slowly, watching her hips move in time with the beat. Once he was almost ten feet away, she spun around, her eyes still closed, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

She wore a dark, sleeveless, low cut dress that displayed her charms in a way that surprised the detective. It seemed entirely too provocative and daring for the reserved hematologist. The dress was accentuated by elbow-length dark gloves, knee high boots and a black, lace choker adorned with some kind of charm that rested at the base of her neck. Her raven hair was down and wild, cascading to her shoulders, and framing her delicate features in a way that made her look exotic and mysterious. Dr. Miller ran her hands across her face, lips and body as she continued to gyrate to the music. Her skin was still incredibly pale, but her lips were full and a shade of crimson Jeff had never seen before. He was mesmerized by her and unable to look away. Her eyes suddenly snapped open. She smiled a devilish grin, full of sexual desire as her sparkling azure eyes locked onto Mancini’s.

Dr. Miller moved toward him slowly, her eyes never wavering. When she was directly in front of the Detective, she spun around twice and threw herself against his body. Jeff instinctively caught her in his muscular arms as she placed each hand on his respective shoulders. Their faces were mere inches apart and she licked her lips seductively. He caught the faintest whiff of cinnamon on her breath as she breathed heavily, purposely pushing her breasts against him with each new inhalation. Mancini felt himself react to her body, a deep and powerful longing the likes of which he’d never experienced before. He felt an unearthly calm as he gazed deeply into her eyes; a peace he’d never known. Jeff leaned in to kiss her and she met him instantly, her lips quivering with a passion so intense it felt like an electric current was passing between them. Suddenly, Dr. Miller bit his lower lip with such force that she drew blood. Mancini cried out and pushed her away by sheer reflex, immediately missing her closeness and the feeling it brought him.

“Ow! What was that?” Jeff said, his mind beginning to clear.

Dr. Miller looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. She looked around perplexed before she retreated to the other side of the counter and quickly put on her lab coat. She wrapped it tightly around her, holding the collar together with her left hand in an attempt to cover herself completely. The hematologist used the remote control to shut off the music and turn up the lights. She was unable to look at Mancini for long minutes as their eyes readjusted to the luminance. When her gaze finally turned toward him, she looked petrified.

“I...I can’t...I don’t...I’m terribly sorry, Detective,” she said, mortified. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. Perhaps I’m coming down with a touch of the flu or something. I haven’t been feeling myself at all.”

“It’s all right,” Jeff replied, unconvincingly. “Should I step outside to give you a moment to compose yourself?”

Without meaning to, Rebecca smiled at the detective. His chivalrous gesture not only impressed her, but also made her feel once more at ease in his presence. “No, no,” she said, quietly. “What I have to tell you is far too important to waste time with my bizarre behavior or subsequent embarrassment.”

“All right. What new information do you have?” Mancini asked, hoping a return to business would help her regain her bearings.

Dr. Miller picked up her tablet and began filling the computer screens with her analysis. With each stroke of the keypad she seemed to regain her center, transforming back into the highly competent and resourceful scientist he knew her to be. Once all necessary information was ready, she gave Jeff a furtive glance before quickly looking back at the tablet.

“The in-depth analysis provided some very interesting results,” she began, once more slipping into her dispassionate, ultra-technical manner. “Once I broke down the blood catalyst I discovered it was most likely biological in nature.”

“You mean a biological weapon, like anthrax?” Mancini said, his voice rising.

“No, not at all,” the hematologist countered. “The catalyst is more like a natural occurring secretion, like insulin or epinephrine, hormones and enzymes that help regulate various functions in the body.”

“In whose body? Emily’s? I don’t understand, Doctor,” Jeff said.

“No. I’m not explaining this properly. I apologize, detective,” Dr. Miller said with a sigh. “It’s more like what happens when snake venom is introduced into the blood stream. For example, when one drop of viper venom is introduced into human blood it acts as a super coagulate, instantly clotting the blood. This catalyst acts in exactly the opposite manner. It breaks up the red blood cells and affects both the platelets and the bone marrow, totally inhibiting the natural replenishment of the cells. In effect, this catalyst is a super-blood thinner or anti-coagulant.”

“And you’re saying it comes from some kind of animal or reptile?” Mancini asked.

“That’s the troublesome part. In all my years, I’ve never come across any naturally occurring enzyme, hormone or secretion that behaves as this catalyst does. It’s a complete mystery,” she said with a frown. “There is a chance it’s an artificially manufactured agent, but due to the various biological markers within the catalyst, the likelihood of that is remote. All I can say with certainty is that it was introduced into Mrs. Sheppard’s bloodstream minutes before her death.”

Jeff shook his head and grimaced. “The more I find out about this case, the more questions pop up. And none of them make any damn sense.”

“I’m sorry, Jeff,” Rebecca said, causing him to lock eyes with her again. She quickly turned away from his gaze before adding, “With this single-sample analysis, I’m afraid I can’t even speculate where it came from. Perhaps if there was another sample to compare it against, I could isolate and discov –”

“That’s it!” Mancini yelled. “Ava’s DNA sample. If they’re connected, then it stands to reason she’d have the catalyst in her system too!” He rushed over to Dr. Miller and hugged her tightly, causing the hematologist to stiffen awkwardly.

“Uh...what are you talking about, Detective?” she asked.

Jeff released her immediately and moved away. “I’m sorry. I got carried away. It’s just that I think I know a way to get you another sample to compare your findings.”

He smiled and she smiled back, neither knowing what to say or do next. They stood there, 5 feet from each other, but seemingly miles apart. Finally, Dr. Miller said, “Well, I should get back to work. I want to apologize again for my behavior, Detective Mancini. Honestly, I couldn’t be more embarrassed. What you must think of me,” she said looking down at the ground.

“What I think is...” Jeff started to say as his phone chimed, alerting him to an incoming text message. He quickly looked at the message, “911” from dispatch, which meant he needed to call in immediately. “What I...um...think...” he stumbled.

“Yes, Jeff?” Rebecca said, looking up at him with those sparkling blue eyes of hers.

“I think you’re a remarkable woman and you have nothing to be embarrassed about...Rebecca,” Mancini said earnestly.

“Thank you,” she replied with a heartfelt smile.

“I’ve got to run but I’ll be seeing you soon. Thanks for all your great work, Doc,” Jeff said. He waved and walked quickly to the door.

Once the doors closed behind him, Rebecca Miller broke into a wide smile again and whispered to herself, I hope I see you very soon, Jeff, before hitting the remote control for the stereo. She took off her lab coat and let her body sway seductively to the beginning strains of Madonna’s “Erotica” as she lost herself once more in the rhythm of the music.

Thirty-seven minutes later, Detective Jeff Mancini pulled up to Queen of Angels Church in Sunnyside, Queens. After leaving Gene-Tech, he’d been informed by the dispatcher, a lovely woman named Arlene Wisniewski, about an incident involving Kurt Sheppard. As he jogged toward the main steps, the officer out front directed him to the Annex building next door. There were a few officers outside the annex taking statements from witnesses. The board in front of the building listed the daily schedule for the many outreach programs associated with the church. Today at 11 a.m., there had been a Loss and Grief Group Counseling meeting in Annex Room C. Upon entering the building, Mancini saw his partner Crawley, in front of that room talking to a short woman in her mid to late 50s.

Crawly excused himself to the woman, crossed over to Mancini with his arms out in front of him, palms up, as he said in a low voice, “God damn that Arlene! I told her not to have you come down here. I wanted to spare you this.”

“Spare me what exactly? What’s going on?” Mancini asked as he tried to see around his partner into Annex Room C.

“It’s about your friend, Kurt Sheppard,” Crawley said softly. “From all accounts, he went a little berserk during a group counseling session.”

“Berserk? What does that mean? Is he okay?” Jeff asked urgently. “Where is he?”

“Yeah, he’s okay. I mean, as good as he gets these days, I guess,” Crawley said, awkwardly. “From all accounts he went after the woman in charge before some of the other members stepped in to stop him. After I got here, I put him in the rectory, hoping it would calm him down. He’s been in there about 10 minutes.”

Jeff pushed past Crawley, heading for the rectory, but his partner grabbed his arm. Mancini turned, face full of fury, snarling, “Get your fucking hands off me, buddy, before I...”

“Whoa! Whoa! Hold on there, partner! I’m only trying to help!” Crawley cut him off, pulling Jeff near the wall and lowering his voice so no one else could hear. “What’s wrong with you? That man has a lot of pent up grief and resentment right now and most of it’s directed at you. I’m not saying it’s right or it’s wrong, but you gotta leave him be for a while. Let him work through it.”

Mancini angrily looked into Crawley’s eyes and saw only the face of a friend, a man trying to help. It seemed so contrary to his partner’s behavior over the past few days; he didn’t know what to believe anymore. As the dam of walled-off emotions threatened to break inside him once more, Jeff could no longer hold his tongue.

He grabbed Crawley by the shoulders and shook him. “I want to know what’s going on with you, Kevin!” he screamed. “Why did Mulvaney tell you to obstruct my investigation into Emily’s death?”

“You overheard me and Cap?” Crawley said with embarrassment. “Damn, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Why not?! What the hell are you two hatching?” Mancini asked, his voice fraught with emotion. “Why are you sneaking around and plotting with that morgue assistant and why, for God’s sake, after all we’ve been through, are you working against me?”

“Against you?” Crawley yelled back, pushing Jeff away. “Is that what you think?”

“What the hell am I supposed to think, Kevin?” Jeff retorted.

“You’re supposed to think you have people, a whole hell of a lot of people, who care about you!” Crawley extorted. “Captain Mulvaney didn’t want you going off the deep end so he asked me to look out for you! Everyone can see you’re pushing yourself too damn hard! You’re obsessed. You’re not sleeping, barely eating so he ordered me to help you because he didn’t want you dealing with shit like this. You know, something like when your best friend goes mental, gets himself into a mess of trouble and needs a helping hand? Something that might send you to a bad place mentally? Cap wanted me to take point so you wouldn’t have to! Because we all know how badly you’re hurting, Jeff. Even if you can’t admit it to yourself.”

Crawley began to pace back and forth, getting more and more agitated as he talked. Finally, he turned to face Mancini. “This Lone Ranger act of yours is getting old, damn it. I’m your partner! And more importantly, I’m your friend, Jeff! If you can’t count on me, if you don’t trust me, what the fuck am I here for? You’re not in this alone! The entire department is behind you! We all want to help, so let us! For the love of God, let us.”

Detective Jeff Mancini stood motionless during his partner’s tirade, his face twisted with a combination of rage, grief and sorrow. Now he stepped toward Crawley who began to back away, leery of the argument escalating into a fist fight. Instead, Jeff hugged his partner without a word, feeling a huge weight leaving his shoulders. Crawley wrapped his arms around Mancini and patted him on the back a few times for emphasis. Mancini felt slightly dizzy, struggling not to cry on his partner’s shoulder, to lose control once again.

Crawley said softly in Jeff’s ear, “As far as me and Maggie goes, I – I – well, I think I love her, man.”

Mancini immediately broke the hug and looked at his partner with a big smile. He grabbed Kevin’s face in his hands and said, “You? In love? No fuckin’ way.”

Crawley looked down, embarrassed and said, “Yeah, I know, right? Who’d a thunk it, but she is so great; so awesome. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“That’s great, Kev. Really great. Happy for you, dude,” Mancini said, the distance that had been between them gone. “And thanks for setting me straight. It all makes sense now. I guess the lack of sleep was making me paranoid or something. I appreciate you and everyone else having my back.”

“That’s what I’m here for, partner,” Crawley responded. “Now let’s go see how Kurt is doing and then we’ll catch this bastard together.” He smiled his trademark smirk.

When the two officers got to the rectory, it was empty. Kurt Sheppard was gone. They continued through the building into the nave of the church, hoping he’d wandered in there for some reason, perhaps to pray. The rector priest, Father Thomas, was standing by the altar and turned when Mancini and Crawley walked in.

“Are you looking for that poor, lost soul who was in here, officers?” the clergyman asked.

“Yes, Father,” Jeff answered. “His name is Kurt Sheppard. Do you know where he is?”

“Why, yes. He was praying in the first pew, seeking counsel with The Lord I imagine, when Mrs. Vazquez came in to sit with him,” the priest said. “They spoke for a bit and left together a few moments ago.”

“Mrs. Vazquez?” Jeff asked incredulously. “Do you mean Yolanda Vazquez?”

“Yes, do you know her?” Father Thomas said. “A lovely woman. She’s been running our grief counseling program for the past few weeks. Very good turnout. People seem to really like her. I hope she can bring some comfort to Mr. Sheppard.”

“I do too, Father,” Mancini said. “Thank you. We appreciate your help. If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch. Have a blessed day.” The two detectives walked down the aisle toward the exit of the church. “I take it you’ve read the CSU report since I saw you last?” he whispered to Crawley.

“Yeah, it’s weird, right? Ava Vazquez is somehow linked to Emily’s death and now her mom is reaching out to Kurt? What do you make of it?” Crawley whispered back.

“We both stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago. At least, as they pertain to murder investigations. Something is going on here.” They opened the doors and walked out into the sunlight. “We need to find Kurt right now. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this.”

“You and me both, partner,” Crawley agreed.

Mancini and Crawley coordinated and briefed all the other police officers at the church about Kurt. Despite it not being an official police emergency, the brotherhood of blue was more than happy to help out their comrades in arms. Crawley called in a BOLO to alert all units in the vicinity and Jeff supplied a picture from happier times he kept on his cell phone. Then the two partners began their own search, starting at the Vazquez home. No one was home. Yolanda’s neighbors admitted they hadn’t seen her for a few days. They searched for Kurt Sheppard all afternoon, stopping at all his usual haunts: his home, Cooper’s Ale House, Brian’s Tavern and any other place that occurred to either of them. They came up empty. No one had seen him.

Having exhausted any and all ideas, and with nowhere else to go, the two detectives were sitting on the steps outside the Sheppard home as the sun set in the west. They’d bought some dinner from a local Chinese restaurant and two cold beers from the bodega on the corner. Mancini and Crawley sat there eating, talking, and trying to take their minds off this bitch of a case. A half hour later, both their phones suddenly went off simultaneously, which they knew from bitter experience was never a good sign. A quick call to dispatch told them to return to the precinct immediately and they were off like a shot. They rode in silence, each trying to shake the feeling that something terrible had just happened. Upon arriving, Caroline Mooney met them outside the building. She had a look on her face Mancini had only seen twice before in his life.

The first time was during his first month on the job when he assisted at a burning building in the South Bronx. The building couldn’t be saved so he saw dozens of families watch their entire lives go up in flames, the looks on their faces indelibly etched in his mind. The second time he saw that face was just a few days ago when he accompanied Kurt to identify Emily’s body in the morgue. It was a look of total despair, of loss so profound the mind couldn’t cope with the emotion of it all. Caroline Mooney now wore that visage.

“What’s the matter, Caroline? What happened?” Mancini asked, his genuine concern for this woman all over his face.

“I – I – She’s gone, Jeff. I’m so sorry,” Mooney replied. “I don’t know how this happened.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Who’s gone?” Crawley asked before his partner could.

“Emily,” Caroline said, barely audible. “Her body. It’s gone.”

“No! Oh God, No! How?!” Jeff screamed as he ran into the precinct, Crawley following closely behind. When they got to the morgue, they found Sasha Montgomery and the CSU techs searching for clues. Mancini stood in silence, his head spinning once more at this latest turn of events. Sasha turned to the two detectives.

“Gum, where’s Maggie? Is she okay?” Crawley frantically asked, cutting in front of Mancini.

“We don’t know,” Montgomery said. “She wasn’t here when the theft was discovered. We’ve tried her cell but it goes right to voicemail. Either she’s missing or...”

“Or what? What? You think she did this? You think she could do something like this?” Crawley screamed. “No fucking way you pin this on Maggie! We need to find her! She could be in trouble or hurt or...or...oh, God, no. Please, no.” Crawley suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

“How could this happen, Sasha?” Mancini asked, his voice weak.

“We’re trying to figure that out, Jeff,” the sergeant replied. “There are no extraneous prints, particulates or evidence at all. Someone couldn’t just waltz into a police morgue and take a body without leaving a trace. We checked the surveillance video and it was...well, it was...honestly, I don’t know what it was. You’ll have to see it for yourself.”

Ten minutes later, Mancini, Crawley, Mooney and Montgomery were huddled around the desk of IT technician and police officer, Victor Nieves. He cued up the video from the morgue to the proper time and waited for the go-ahead.

“This is set up to begin about 5 minutes before it gets weird,” Nieves said nervously.

“Just show us,” Mancini said, irritated.

Nieves clicked his mouse and the video began. The surveillance cameras didn’t have audio so the five police officers watched in silence, the only sound filling the room their own staggered breathing. Maggie Brelan sat at her desk, working on her computer in the morgue alone when she was distracted by something. She reached into her pocket and retrieved her cell phone. After a conversation of no more than 20 seconds, she moved to the compartments where the dead bodies were stored and opened one. She removed the body of Emily Sheppard and, with the help of a gurney, moved it to the main autopsy table. She checked the upper torso for a few minutes, paying specific attention to the baseball stitching from the autopsy performed by Caroline Mooney three days ago.

“What is she doing, Mooney?” Crawley asked caustically. Nieves paused the playback.

“I’m sorry, Crawley, but I have no idea. There is absolutely no reason for her to be working on that body,” Caroline replied. “We were waiting for word from the family as to where the body would be sent: a funeral parlor or for cremation. That authorization would not have come to her cell phone.”

“So she’s obviously up to something shady? Is that the implication, Mooney?” Crawley said through gritted teeth.

“Caroline didn’t say that, Kev. Calm down. Nobody is accusing her of anything,” Mancini said, putting his hand on his partner’s shoulder. He whispered in his ear, “Keep it together, man. We’ll figure this out.”

Crawley looked at Mancini and his face softened. He nodded. “Okay, sorry. Let’s get on with it,” Crawley said to the room. Nieves started the video again.

After another few minutes of examination, Maggie removed the shroud covering the body, balling it up and placing it in the proper container. She removed the toe tag and placed it in her pocket. The morgue assistant then stood in the center of the room and looked around hesitantly, as if going over a checklist in her mind. Finally, she went back to her desk, retrieved her purse and left the morgue. The IT tech paused it again.

“The hallway cam shows Miss Brelan taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as she leaves the building. It’s logical to assume she simply went out for a smoke break,” Nieves stated, hoping to ease the tensions in the room.

“Are there cameras outside the building?” Crawley asked.

“None that cover the smoke area,” replied Nieves. “However – and don’t shoot the messenger here – Miss Brelan is not seen on any camera after leaving and never comes back into the building from any entrance. I checked.”

Crawley snorted derisively at the tech. “That doesn’t prove a God damn thing,” he muttered to himself.

“Is this what you considered so weird, Caroline?” Mancini asked.

“No, not even close. Keep watching,” Mooney replied, deadly serious.

The video began again. For long moments it showed nothing but the nude, lifeless body of Emily Sheppard. It was a slow form of torture for Jeff Mancini, forced to stare at his friend like that. It was almost more than he could take, so Caroline took his hand, innately knowing he needed support in that moment.

As the five officers stared intently at the video feed something truly unexpected happened. Emily’s body disappeared! It was there one second and gone the next.

“What the fuck just happened?” Mancini yelled, pulling his hand away from Caroline’s.

“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Mooney replied. “It’s like some kind of horrible magic trick.”

“Has the video been tampered with?” Jeff asked frantically.

“No, sir,” Nieves said. “I’ve been over it front to back. There is no way anyone tampered with the surveillance tape. She’s just there one moment and gone the next.” “That’s fucking impossible,” Crawley said.

“Obviously,” Sasha said. “There has to be a logical explanation. This isn’t Harry Potter where magic and invisibility cloaks are the norm, but I’ve never even heard of something capable of doing this.”

“Even if the technology existed, why would someone use it to steal a dead body?” Mancini asked rhetorically, his right hand nervously rubbing his forehead. “As if this case wasn’t fucked up enough. Now it’s gone to Twilight Zone levels.”

“I know, right?” Montgomery said. “It’s beyond bizarre. How can we be looking for a possible serial killer who can not only drive a car or enter a room without leaving any evidence behind but now seemingly also has the ability to make bodies disappear? It’s friggin’ crazy.” Her words hung in the air as the group of officers struggled to come up with an even semi-plausible explanation for what they’d just seen.

After a few moments, Sasha picked up a file folder from Nieves’ desk and handed it to Mancini. “Not to change the subject but maybe we all need it right about now. Anyway, here’s something decidedly not crazy.”

“What is it?” Crawley asked.

“We finally got the results back on the trace amounts of petroleum I found in the mud from Emily’s car,” Sasha said. “Turns out it was airplane fuel, specifically gas used for small prop planes. Victor here narrowed down the possible locations to 9.” Montgomery slapped Nieves on the back.

Mancini looked over the file for a moment before saying, “and I’ve just narrowed it down to one. St. John’s Cemetery in West Babylon. That’s where Ava Vazquez was buried.”

“The key word being was,” Crawley added.

“Let’s go, Kev,” Mancini said “Maybe this time we’ll get some answers.” Mancini headed out the door. Crawley followed close behind.

It was after 9 p.m. when the detectives arrived in West Babylon, which meant the cemetery was closed to the public. St. John’s was located on a desolate stretch of road linking two major thoroughfares, but traffic was minimal at that time of night. It was Crawley’s suggestion to sneak in, just in case the killer was still using the cemetery as a base of operations. No sense alerting him to their presence by causing a scene at the main entrance, he reasoned. Mancini parked his unmarked police cruiser outside the west gate and the two of them used the hood to scale the 7-foot fence that surrounded the grounds. They decided to begin their search at the grave of Ava Vazquez.

As they walked slowly through the dimly lit graveyard, Crawley tried texting Maggie. Mancini covered his partner’s cell with his hand as he said quietly, “Dude, let’s not send up a flare, okay?”

“Sorry, man. I’m just out of my mind about where she could be,” Kevin whispered back, putting the phone back into his pocket. “I swear, if this is what it’s like to care about someone, it sucks. No, thank you.” He gave Jeff a half-hearted smile.

“I don’t believe that for a second, Kev. When you love someone, you do whatever it takes. It’ll all work out, you’ll see,” Mancini replied, trying to buoy the other man’s spirits. “At least, until you manage to screw it up somehow on your own.” Crawley kept oddly quiet, not even acknowledging Jeff’s attempt to lighten the mood.

Mancini had no time to dwell on it as they came over the last crest to the left of Ava’s gravesite. He recognized the wide headstone which stated: Here lies Ava Vasquez, Beloved Daughter. Taken too soon. Both men soundlessly drew their weapons as soon as they saw someone standing near the grave. Quietly, they worked their way down the hill and stopped behind a large tree about 40 yards from the unknown figure. Mancini used hand signals to inform Crawley to circle around a mausoleum to their right, while he took a more direct approach.

“NYPD! Don’t move!” Mancini yelled as he trained his weapon center mass on the shadowy figure’s back. The detective could see the gravesite was dug up, the empty coffin plainly visible within the hole.

The figure turned toward Jeff with hands raised. As she lifted her head, Mancini saw it was Yolanda Vasquez. She said in a quiet, steady voice, “This is where you promised to get justice for my Ava, Detective Mancini. You were standing right where you are now when you swore you would bring peace to her soul.”

“Mrs. Vazquez? What are you doing here?” Mancini asked, dumbfounded.

“Do you remember your promise?” Yolanda asked calmly.

“Of course I do. I’m trying to do that right now,” Jeff said. “Now tell me why you’re here and where is Kurt Sheppard?”

“I’m right here, Jeff” came a voice from behind the detective. He twirled around and there, standing in the shadows of a large oak tree, was his oldest friend in the world, Kurt Sheppard.

So relieved he was okay, Mancini rushed to his friend and hugged him. “Kurt! Thank God. I’ve been looking for you all day. What happened to you?” It was then that Jeff noticed Kurt wasn’t hugging him back, simply standing there motionless with his arms at his side. That’s when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him.

“Drop your weapon and move away from Mr. Sheppard, Detective Mancini,” Yolanda Vazquez said, calmly but firmly.

Jeff did as he was instructed, “Why are you doing this, Yolanda? This is insane.”

“No, Detective. Insanity is putting your trust in someone who pretends to care. Insanity is believing the false promises of a man like you,” Mrs. Vazquez replied with no hint of emotion in her voice. “Isn’t that right, Kurt?”

Jeff looked into the eyes of his friend and saw the same mixture of pain and anger he’d seen at the bar the other night. There was no sign of grief this time. He had the same eerie calmness to him that Yolanda did.

Kurt looked right through Mancini, “I told you I’d do anything to get Emily back, Jeff. Yolanda helped show me the way.”

“A way to do what? Dig up coffins in graveyards?” Jeff asked impatiently. “That’s not going to bring her back, Kurt. Nothing is. She’s gone, buddy.”

“Don’t say that.” Kurt said quietly. “She’s not gone. She’s just...different.”

“Wha –” was all Mancini got out before Yolanda interrupted him.

She put the barrel of her revolver against the back of his neck. “Enough talk, Kurt. He’ll never understand as we do. Now do what we talked about.”

Kurt Sheppard slowly picked up Jeff’s Beretta and walked to the open grave. He tossed it into the open coffin. Then he used the officer’s handcuffs to bind his hands in front of his body. When he’d completed his assigned tasks, Kurt took his place back under the oak tree. The whole time Mancini kept thinking to himself, Where the hell is Crawley?

“Move over to the grave,” Yolanda said.

Jeff walked slowly over to the edge of the open grave. He looked down into the coffin, staring at the pink satin interior he remembered from Ava’s wake.

“If you’re going to kill me, you’ll never get away with it,” Mancini said.

“Kill you? Why would I kill you?” said a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “It took so long to get you here. Ever since I saw you at Ava’s funeral I knew an introduction was in order. After all this time, I am eager to meet the real Jeff Mancini.”

Jeff looked around trying to find the source of the voice. He looked everywhere, searching the darkness for a figure or silhouette. He looked past the headstone, to his left and right before craning his neck behind him. When he turned his gaze back to Ava’s headstone, there was a tall, thin, man standing behind it. He wore a simple black suit, black shirt and black tie. His face was covered with an executioner’s hood, with large eye holes cut out. Those eyes bore into Jeff as he stood there silently. How the hell did he get there? He wasn’t there a few seconds ago, the detective thought. Despite his confusion, Jeff understood beyond any doubt that this was Emily’s killer; the man responsible for all the insanity of the past few days.

“Who are you?” Mancini demanded.

The man tilted his head slightly to the left the way a dog would. He didn’t seem to move at all, seemingly not even to blink. Those eyes never looked away, laser focused on Mancini. He exuded a confidence and tranquility Jeff had never experienced before. “I am Mikhail, Detective Mancini,” the man said, slightly extending his hands in front of him.

Suddenly, Jeff became aware they weren’t alone. He peered into the darkness and saw dozens of figures moving closer, surrounding them.

“Don’t be alarmed, Detective.” Mikhail said. “It is simply my coterie, my flock, my children.”

“What do you want? What’s this all about?” Mancini said, trying that control his rising panic.

“What does any man want, my dear Jeff? To learn, to understand, to leave a lasting legacy, of course,” the hooded man replied.

“And where do I fit in?” Jeff asked, attempting to get him to reveal something.

“You are a man of lasting character, Jeff Mancini. A rare commodity in this age,” Mikhail said, with a slight bow as a gesture of praise. “Excuse me a moment, Detective.” He turned to the right and said, “You can come out now, Kevin. The time for subterfuge has passed.”

Crawley came walking out from behind the mausoleum with his gun still drawn. He was sweating profusely and his hands were shaking badly. “Where is she? Where’s Maggie?” he said slowly before shouting, “What have you done to her?”

“Calm yourself, Kevin Crawley. I promised Margaret would be yours and so she shall,” Mikhail stated. “Captain?”

Mancini felt the air leave his body as Captain Mulvaney appeared from behind a large Angel of Hope statue. He was holding Maggie Brelan in front of him, his service revolver pointed at her skull. “Try an’ keep it together, Kevin. There’s a good lad,” Mulvaney said. “You know, none of this would be necessary if you’d done your part from the get-go.”

“Don’t hurt her, Cap,” Crawley said crying, tears running down his face. He turned to Mikhail. “Please, I did everything you asked! There is no way he would’ve ever connected the dots if it wasn’t for that fucking broken spring and that pain in the ass, Montgomery! It’s not my fault.” He fell to his knees sobbing. After a few moments he pointed at Jeff, “I got him here alone tonight, didn’t I? And I even told you about that bitch scientist from Gene-Tech!”

“Crawly, you bastard!” Mancini yelled, his anger rising at the never- ending betrayals unfolding before him. Mulvaney, Kurt, Yolanda and now Crawley apparently all part of some cult following this hooded madman? How was any of this possible?

The hooded man spoke again, “Please, Detective. Such outbursts do you a disservice.”

He walked to where Crawley was kneeling and said to him, “Once you complete your given task, Margaret will be yours, Kevin. All will be as I promised once you bring your erstwhile partner to my room.”

“Yes. I will, Mikhail. I will,” Kevin said, kissing the hooded man’s hand.

Mancini realized his chances of surviving this situation were getting worse by the second. He had no friends, no back-up, no one to depend on anymore, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. As soon as Mikhail had turned his attention to Crawley, Jeff fished the key to his handcuffs out of his belt. He was working on freeing his hands when he saw the hooded man looking at him. Jeff met his gaze with a steely, calm demeanor.

“I already feel a sense of resignation from you, Jeff Mancini. Acceptance is key. Perhaps you will understand what I have to offer sooner than most. I would expect nothing less from a man of your caliber. I look forward to our conversation,” Mikhail said before turning and walking slowly away. “Bring Margaret. Captain. Kevin will almost certainly need a continued amount of...motivation.” The dozens of others surrounding the gravesite, including Yolanda Vazquez and Kurt Sheppard, began to move almost imperceptibly in the same direction.

Crawley watched Mulvaney drag Maggie away before standing. He raised his Glock 22, turned and moved toward Mancini, “I’m sorry, partner. I really am, but you yourself said when you love someone, you do whatever it takes. That’s all I’m doing.” Despite his rationalization, Crawley was unable to look Jeff in the eye, which played into Mancini’s hand.

When his partner was close enough, Jeff unleashed a vicious uppercut to Crawley’s jaw, having freed his left hand from the cuffs. The Judas detective fell back, his weapon flying through the air. It landed 15 feet away as Crawley hit the ground hard, his head ringing from the blow. The surrounding figures turned at the sound and began to return to the gravesite. Mancini pressed the advantage and kicked Crawley in the ribs causing him to reflexively grab Jeff’s leg. Kevin twisted his partner’s leg until he fell, slamming his left side on the ground. Both men lay there breathing heavily and holding their heads.

“Damn it, Jeff!” Crawley yelled. “Look around you! Where do you think you’re going?”

Jeff could see the multitude of shadowy figures coming closer and it unnerved him. By sheer instinct, he kicked Kevin in the face, shattering his nose as blood spurted out in a stream. Crawley fell back in enormous pain, holding his face as Jeff scrambled to find the fallen Glock. After a few moments of panicked searching, he remembered Kurt had tossed his gun into the coffin. As quickly as possible, he crawled over to the open grave and dropped in. Mancini tried not to think of poor Ava as he frantically looked for his Beretta 9mm in her coffin. In his peripheral vision, he could see someone coming closer.

“Got it!” Jeff exclaimed as he raised his weapon and pointed it upward, out of the grave. What he saw shocked him so much that he dropped his arms to his sides, stunned. At the edge of the grave stood Ava Vazquez and Emily Sheppard looking down at him quizzically. “How?” Mancini asked in a quiet voice.

From between the two women appeared Kevin Crawley, Glock 22 in hand. He pointed it at Jeff Mancini’s head and pulled the trigger.

“Jeff!” Rebecca Miller screamed as she awoke from a nightmare.

Her body was soaked in sweat, her head pounding like jungle drums. She felt nauseated. Somehow she knew Jeff was dead, shot in the head by his own partner on the orders of a hooded psychopath. Her eyes began to tear up as her heart ached for him but how could she know this? How? It was as if she was at the scene, seeing through the eyes of another. It all felt so visceral, so real, as if she was actually standing in that graveyard. She could smell the trees; feel the cold of the night on her skin. Instinctually, she knew what she’d seen was real, that it all had actually just happened. Her lips quivered and her hands shook as she clutched herself tightly in the darkness, trying to will the image of Jeff being killed out of her mind.

“Mmmmfff?” came a voice from nearby, startling her. She jumped up and searched for a light, suddenly aware that she wasn’t in her own home, in her own bed. She found the light switch and turned it on, quickly closing her eyes from the sudden light. She held her hands up and blinked rapidly to adjust to the illumination.

“Oh...my.” Rebecca said, as she opened her eyes completely.

She was in a high end hotel suite, with two double beds, a hot tub, and full kitchen. She felt weak in the knees so she absentmindedly sat on the edge of the bed where she’d apparently been sleeping. On the other bed was a very attractive, muscular and obviously very excited nude male lying spread eagle, gagged with a red handkerchief and tied to the bed frame by his wrists and ankles. His chest was caked with congealed candle wax and his upper arms and thighs were covered in scratch marks. The man tried to speak again, his attempts coming out as grunts and incomprehensible noises. He looked at Rebecca with desire and she had to turn away, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror atop the dresser across from her bed. She looked like a total stranger to herself: her hair wild and untamed, her eyes dark and foreboding while her skin was white as new fallen snow. Rebecca stood once more to look at herself in the full-length mirrors that doubled as the closet doors, gasping when she saw her attire. She wore a leather bustier with round silver studs adorning it, thigh-high fishnet stockings attached to the bustier with garters, a tiny leather thong, arm length black latex gloves and a large studded neck collar. Near the other bed, she saw knee-high black leather boots with stiletto heels, a whip, paddle and various other bondage toys.

The room began to spin; she felt faint. Somehow she made it to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Thankfully, there were no surprises in this room. It was just an ordinary bathroom except for the reflection staring back at her. She splashed water on her face in an attempt to remember how she got here, what she’d done.

Suddenly, the shaken hematologist remembered being in her lab, working on the samples of the foreign catalyst she’d isolated in the Emily Sheppard blood sample. Without a second sample yet, she decided to use her own blood as a baseline for comparison, hoping the differences would enable her to determine the biological markers of the catalyst. However, when she analyzed her own blood sample she discovered something incredibly disturbing, something absolutely impossible. The catalyst was already in her blood. She remembered her realization that it could only mean one thing. She’d been a victim of the hooded madman as well!

It all started coming back to her. The way he’d entered her lab under cover of night. The way he mesmerized her into doing his bidding. She knew he was the cause of the strange metamorphosis she was going through. Without a doubt, in some strange way, she was Mikhail’s latest victim.

“What is happening to me?” Rebecca pleaded into the mirror, suddenly feeling choked by the collar around her neck.

With shaking hands, she began to remove it, but fear gripped her heart. She was paralyzed with terror for a moment, but then she thought of Jeff. She focused on his kindness, his courage, and his caring; he gave her the strength to continue. Once she took off the collar, her mouth went dry, the room began to spin even faster and the world seemed to fall away. Everything became clear. Everything made sense now. As fantastic as it was, as ludicrous as it seemed to her scientific sensibilities, she could no longer deny the reality of it all when she saw the puncture marks in her neck.

“Mikhail is a vampire!”

 

 

 

THE END