 
# Other Books by Mitch Goth

#### The Brigio Series

##### Parabellum

Parabellum: Part II

Matanzas

Sins of My Brother

The Man from Montenegro

The Protectorate Chronicles

Unlikely Angels

The Antioch Adventures

Welcome to Antioch College

Timid New World

The Street Fair

Powerless

Stand-alone novels

##### The Longest Night Ever Lived

The Sinking of The Pattison Glory

Delicate Rain

Shattered Glass

Collections

The Brigio Three

The Antioch Adventures Collection #1

#

# To Catch A Killer

### Book one of The Monello/Grazer Series

##

By:

### Mitch Goth

To Catch A Killer

Copyright: 2014 Mitch Goth

No portion of this book may be reproduced or reprinted in any medium, or by electronic, mechanical or any other means without the express written consent of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references or uses to real world events, people, products or places are used in a fictitious manner. Other characters, events, or places are products of imagination and any resemblance to actual people, places or happenings is purely coincidental.

Edited by Robin Littell

Cover Design by Katie Olson

### 1

The Texas summer morning was warm and dry; the dawn air meandered around, shuffling throughout the tall countryside grasses. The landscape glowed in the tone of the rising sun. This portion of the world, fresh into the new day, was still dormant and restful. All except for one small sliver.

Across this expansive southern countryside, cars stacked themselves up beside the road and in a field of the gold-hued grasses. Atop each of these cars flashed the universally known red and blue siren lights. Yellow tape cut through the serenity and interrupted the wind's delicate dance through the plains.

Suits and uniforms shuffled all around the field. Many were quiet, some looked around, others paid close attention to the scene. All those who were talking spoke of the same thing. The group's focus on this day was new to them, but at the same time repetitive.

Stuck in the center of this field sat a disrupted patch of golden grass. The blades were weighed down by a red and metallic smelling substance all too familiar to everyone at the scene. Blood stained the grass all around the body nestled deep in the field grass. It had only been there a few hours; some spots of blood were still wet enough to be dripping off the tall blades. Despite this, there was no rush in the minds of the living souls there. There was no gritty race against time to collect all the evidence and get someone into custody. Everyone at the scene knew the drill for this now, and its code was slow.

The body fit the description of a disappearance that had occurred in a nearby town two weeks prior. A high school aged girl, popular among her peers and adults alike. It was a typical filler piece for the news crews. Nobody could see any reason why she would run away, nor why anyone would foster enough ill will against her to steal her away. But the police knew better.

Two weeks gone, two weeks of tireless searching, all turned up nothing. But after those two weeks, the girl turned up in a field outside her town, throat cut from ear-to-ear. Blood covered the scene. But there were not any telling marks, no evidence left behind. In any other place, the killing would be a grizzly homicide worthy of the front page. To the police and investigators in this area of Texas however, it was nothing more than another one down.

This body made eleven in two years. Young teenage girls, aging from thirteen to eighteen, all disappeared without a trace, all from different towns across the state. Searches would go on, people's hope would remain high. But two weeks, always two weeks, after the disappearance, a body would show up. Throat cut, deep and long, bruising and burns spotted each corpse, but never any signs of major physical or sexual violence. Sometimes they'd turn up in fields, sometimes in ditches or wooded areas, never over twenty miles away from the point of disappearance. Not hidden, they were meant to be found, and to be found fast. No weapon would be found, no witnesses would be available. The case would go cold until another body would arrive.

Investigators were already versed in these killings. They knew that after a disappearance they'd have a precise search area and the time when a body would show up. But the perpetrator always eluded law enforcement. Without fail, the killer would fade off and away from the scene without so much as a hair left behind.

"The people in town are gonna make a fuss about this," a uniformed officer said.

"She was one of the cute, popular ones." A detective beside the officer shrugged, looking down at the bloody mess of a body. "They always throw a tantrum over the cute ones."

"Evidence team turnin' up anythin'?"

"What the hell do you think, son? We ain't gonna get lucky here, it's another notch in this guy's knife handle and we're all gonna have to move on and try to forget this guy ever struck here."

"Tell that to the family."

"The family is gonna keep hoping, that's what they always do. They'll hope for justice, swift and sure, but they'll be lucky if we find this guy twenty or thirty years from now, if ever. For all we can tell we've got another Zodiac on our hands."

"So what are we supposed to do now? Keep lookin'?" The officer looked around, watching evidence team members wading through the tall grasses.

"That's about all we can do." The detective nodded. "We'll let the feds know what happened, maybe they can do more about it. But other than that all we've got here is a bloody crime scene, a family without a daughter, and not a single person to pin any blame on." He peered over to the officer. "Now all we can do is hunker down and wait for number twelve."

### 2

Kellen Monello sat in the same place she always sat on her Wednesday afternoons. The room was bland, rather neutral and tasteless. The seating was beige, the walls were white, the only things that graced the walls were several large college degrees. Kellen had looked this room over from top to bottom over the course of her visits, and it never got any more interesting. Despite the disinterest the room brought her, Kellen could always count on the conversations being engaging. But like the room, the talks were only that way because they had to be.

Sitting across from Kellen in a tall armchair was her therapist, Dr. Remi Fromholt. Remi was a tall, slender woman, who's build spoke of power. It wasn't a power she flaunted, Kellen doubted she was even aware of it. It didn't show so much while Remi was sitting down, but the moment she stood, the good doctor grew far more foreboding. Kellen admired this woman's look. Even through her middle age, Remi was nothing short of flawless. Her long black hair was darker than the next great oil spill, but in the best way possible. All over, Dr. Fromholt was a strong contrast to the simple, often disheveled look Kellen gave off.

From her shoulder length, undone brown hair and faded blue-green eyes, to her naturally unsure expression, Kellen Monello was her doctor's opposite. She figured that was why she trusted Remi so much. Kellen didn't trust herself most of the time, and could only deduce that she wouldn't be so trusting of anyone who resembled her either.

"So," Remi said after a few moments of silence, "tell me about the nightmares."

"Take your pick," Kellen replied, eyes towards the floor.

"The ones you called me about, the flashbacks."

"It's always the same damn thing." Kellen chewed at her finger nails as she spoke. "I'm back to being young, a careless girl, a stupid girl."

"Go on," Remi eased Kellen through the story.

"I wake up, in my old bed, in my old house and hear something down stairs." Kellen bit at her fingers with more ferocity. "I go to check it out. I hear my parents. I figure it's gotta be them, it's gotta be them. But I take the steps down anyway. I go downstairs, and that's when I hear commotion from the living room." She put a hand over her mouth.

"Do you want to go on?"

"Yes I do, but can you give me a damn minute. If you had a story like this, would you be able to let it fall out of you all at once?"

"No." Remi shook her head. "Take all the time you need."

Kellen continued, "There are sounds in the living room and before I can reach the bottom of the stairs a gun goes off, two shots. That's when my dad falls into the front hallway, blood just pouring out of him. There's a huge ruckus in the kitchen, like a damn bomb went off. Then nothing but our back door slamming. I ran to my dad, but he was gone. My mom was in the living room, she'd died before he had. And that was that. You've heard this story about a million fucking times already, Remi. I don't understand why the hell I need to say it all over again. Can't you understand that it's natural for me to be in duress for the rest of my life?"

"I understand that something like that is a lifelong ordeal, Kellen. But you haven't had a flashback dream in over six months. I just want to know the cause."

"There's this case I've been working on. Some serial killer down in Texas, killing girls and dumping them in fields and ditches. I'm not sure why they keep sending me shit about it from down there. I'm all the way in Washington, what the hell am I supposed to do about it? But hell, it's my job, it's what I went to school for, it's what I want to do. But they just keep piling shit on top of shit and still, no one has an ounce of evidence. Not so much as a tire track or foot print, it's mind boggling. The locals can't find shit, the state troops can't find shit. What makes any of them think the FBI is gonna find anything, from my little cubicle a thousand miles away? What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Is all the stress getting to you?"

"Wow, Remi, you are a goddamn sorceress. I sit here, eating away my cuticles, talking about my parent's murder and some hick jackass slasher and you come to the ground breaking conclusion that I'm stressed? You're really showing that doctorate off, let me tell you. I should pay an extra arm and leg per hour for you."

Kellen felt bad for being so harsh. Although she knew it made little sense to take it back. For one, she knew that trying to take back what was already said was about as useful as trying to unshoot a deer. Along with that, she was certain Remi had thick skin. Kellen's words never seemed to bother her in the slightest. So despite knowing she'd overstepped, Kellen didn't speak a word of apology.

"No need to be defensive, I'm just trying to pinpoint the cause of your backsliding," Remi remained calm. "The reason I asked is that you wouldn't bring up the case unless it had something to do with why you're having your dreams. Does it?"

"Well, not the case itself."

"What then?"

"I got a letter from someone, about the case. It was something I'd never gotten before."

"What?"

"A tip. I mean, I've gotten tips before, but nothing like this. I got this note on my desk a few days ago, telling me to check surveillance footage from camp grounds and parking lots in the area."

"Has that shown anything?" Remi inquired.

"No conclusive evidence yet. But that's not the odd part. I mean, it's odd to get a tip that isn't eyewitness testimony, much less someone telling me how to do my job. It's all about the source. The letter came from the Texas Maximum Security Penitentiary."

"A prison?" Remi cocked her head in confusion.

"Yeah, it came from an inmate named Ezra Grazer. I looked him up, and he's in for twenty five to life for killing twenty-seven people in Dallas five years ago."

"Jesus, why did he send something to you?"

"Couldn't tell you." Kellen shrugged. "But I don't even know how he was aware I was in charge of the investigation of this guy. I have no clue how he knew anything about the murders from inside a prison. It's got me thinking about a lot of things, and the more I go over what this guy has done in my head, the more I return to that night. I talk to killers all the time, but I never dwell on them like this. I need to know more about this guy, but I can't just go to Texas and he sure as shit can't come to me. The more I think about it, the worse I am, and I just can't stop."

"Have you thought of taking a few days off?" Remi asked. "Someone in your position takes an extra toll in a job like that and you ought to account for it, Kellen. You'll burn yourself down if you don't."

"I can't take time off now. Not with that piece of shit still out there killing people. This Ezra guy is just making my job all the more terrible. I can't get that damn tip out of my head. How does he know anything?"

"Does your boss know about the tip?"

"Not yet, I just told some techs to go over footage, nobody else knows anything. Once I can get a yes or no on whether the tip means anything, I'll tell the higher ups, they'll probably be in contact with Grazer soon after that. But, until the scanning all ends, I can't be sure of anything, and I can't control anything."

"What if the tip comes out positive?" Remi inquired.

"Someone will have to pay Ezra Grazer a visit." Kellen chewed at her fingers again. "And it will end up being me."

"Why shouldn't it be? He sent the letter to you after all."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of, Remi." Kellen looked back to the ground and gave a muttering repetition to herself. "That's what I'm afraid of."

### 3

The following day was just an extension of Kellen's recent routine. Without a lead to go on and with no substantial evidence compiled, she had nothing to do besides sit at her desk and feel hopeless until something new turned up. Time would pass slowly, and every moment was spent waiting for something to come in. Maybe someone had gotten a spatter of new blood, maybe someone found a tire track. But as much as she waited, nothing new ever came. As it stood now, she had just one thing to go on.

The technicians she'd put on the job of going over all the video tapes Ezra Grazer had told her to go through gave her an estimated completion date of that day. Still, she didn't want to rush them through it, and so she sat and burned away a few hours of her morning until she no longer felt guilty about going to bother them about it.

She went through her paperwork, scrawled her way through it all, and browsed past killings that had similarities to the Texas one. It was all just an attempt to buy time. Finally, just short of eleven o'clock, she couldn't stand waiting around any longer. The thought of what might come up in the video, and the thought of this Ezra Grazer never left her mind. She knew if her head would ever be cleared, she had to find out just what story those tapes told.

Hopping out of her desk, Kellen moved fast. She needed to make it seem like she was dying to be somewhere, which wasn't all that difficult a task. She didn't want to be bogged down in any kind of hallway conversation. The faster she walked, the less chance of there was that happening.

The technician's room was far down the hall, which gave Kellen plenty of time to reflect on what exactly was going on. In her mind, the situation wasn't a bright one. These tapes were the only thing anyone had to go on, the only thing that had a small chance of bringing up a lead on the killer. Even still, she did not understand why they were of any importance. She felt kind of stupid just giving them the time of day. For all she knew, this Ezra Grazer could be just another psycho with a tin foil hat. He was in a Texas super-max prison after all.

Still, no matter the source, Kellen needed something, anything, to make her feel less hopeless. Something that could help her do a bit more than just tread water. And so, despite all her apprehensions and reluctance, Kellen kept her gait quick and strong towards the tech's room. She wasn't sure what would be on the other side of that door but she needed to find out. She needed to be sure.

Arriving at the door, she gave it a soft double knock. After a moment, she heard someone mumble for her to come in. She entered into a room rife with large computers, bright monitors, and an army of long, tangled wires. The man behind the screen, a technician named Raymond, turned to look at her through his thick spectacles.

"I wasn't expecting you yet." He smiled through his beard at her.

"Well, you know, I'm just looking to get things done quickly." Kellen shrugged, attempting to hide her anxiety away. "So how far have you gotten through all the videos?"

Raymond sighed, turning back to his screens, "It was quite the task you gave me. I don't know if you know this, but Texas isn't exactly known for its lack of parking lots and campgrounds."

"Sorry. Is there still a lot to go?"

"Not really, I've gone through a lot so far, it was just difficult."

"Anything?" Kellen's hopes were high.

"Well, trying to spot an RV in a campground is like trying a particular piece of hay in a hay stack. It kinda makes you long for the needle." Raymond joked. "The campgrounds were kind of a stupid idea, to be honest, you'd never be able to tell one thing from another unless you knew what you were looking for."

"What about the parking lots?"

"Well now, those are another story." Raymond clicked and typing through several programs.

"You found something? What'd you find?"

"Take a look at this." Raymond pulled up a section of surveillance footage and played it at increased speed. "This is a Wal-Mart lot about fifteen miles from the dumpsite." He pointed his finger at the top of the screen, where all the motor homes parked in a tight, chaotic conglomeration. "Watch this guy." he took aim at a particular RV.

For several moments, Kellen watched the time race by with no changes. The door to the RV wasn't facing the camera, so no one could be seen coming or going. It wasn't ever lit up with lights. No one ever stopped to look at it or pay it any mind. Then, almost out of nowhere, it pulls off from the lot.

"Where'd it go?" Kellen asked.

"No clue, but it doesn't come back. And from what I've seen, it doesn't stop at any other Wal-Mart or campground in the area. And get this, the day this mobile roach factory leaves the lot, is the same day as the disappearance."

"Oh my God." Kellen grew a bright smile. "This is amazing. Do a check on the past disappearances. See if there's anything like this for any of them."

"Already did." Raymond nodded. "Well, two of them so far anyway. Both disappearances were marked by a few days of this RV sitting at a Wal-Mart no further than twenty miles from the pick up spot or the dumpsites. Never is it there over three days at a time. Meanwhile, all the other RV's in the lot are either there for a night, or they stick around for a week or more, most likely living there. Three days is quite an outlier."

"Yes!" Kellen banged a fist on the table in excitement, shaking several computers and knocking a few small electronics over. She sent an apologetic smile to Raymond. "Sorry."

"Here's another thing." Raymond backed up the video again and played it at the high speed. "The thing leaves two or three times." He points to it again as it comes and goes through the video. "All the other RV's in the lot stick around until they leave for good, if they ever do. This guy is the only one that comes and goes throughout the days."

"Staking out a victim."

Raymond nodded. "So there you have it, what's you plan of action now?"

"I'm not sure, but I've got something to go on now. I'll let the local and state authorities down there know. Do we know what kind of RV it is?"

"Well, the video is black and white and grainy as hell, so not really. I can't even tell for sure what color it is. It looks like a mid-eighties one, but I'm no expert."

"Thanks Raymond." She patted him on the back and headed out of the room. "Email me those videos."

Kellen felt her heart beat faster. She had a lead, and a hell of one at that. As she walked back to her desk, she wasn't sure what to do with herself. She wanted to call the Texans about it, she wanted to get that email so she could play the footage again, she wanted to tell her boss the good news. There was so much to do.

Still, one thought lingered in her mind, now more potent than ever. Who exactly was this Ezra Grazer, and how on earth did he knew where to look? She knew that someone would have to go and talk to him about it, find out what he knows and how he knows it. This man, this murderer, broke open one of the biggest serial killer cases in recent Texas history, all from inside a prison. He could have been the reason the motor home driving killer would be caught, and Kellen needed to know why.

### 4

After contacting the Texan authorities about what was found, an excited yet still idled Kellen knew what she had to do next. She would more than likely be knocked down a few pegs for not doing it sooner. But no matter what, she was running on too much success to be brought down very far. She took the few step journey from her desk to the open doorway of her boss's office.

She gave the doorframe a few small knocks and a grumbling voice told her to enter. Kellen went into the office to see her boss, ASAC Don Koltzer, leaning over his desk scribbling his way though paperwork. He looked up at her with his familiar indifferent, graying, mustachioed face and gave a rumbling sigh.

"What's the story, Kellen?" he inquired. He took an opportunity to lean back in his chair and rub at his balding scalp. "Anything new with the hick killer?"

"Actually, sir," Kellen sat down across from him, small smile drawn on her face, "we just got a big break."

"Oh really?" Don leaned back over his desk. "Did the cops down there muster up enough skill to produce some evidence?"

"Well, actually, it was all us. I had the tech department down the hall scour through all the security footage from parking lots and campground cameras. We came across an RV that was parked at a Wal-Mart not far from the kidnapping site. It hung around for three days before the disappearance, and just vanished within hours of the estimated time of kidnapping."

"How can we be one hundred percent that this wasn't just some rather unlucky Wal-Mart hopper?"

"They checked back to footage around previous murder sites. Two so far had the same thing. This one RV hung around for only a few days before the kidnappings, then it just vanishes. Two weeks after that, a body pops up. Sir, I think this is it."

"Normally I would tell you to slow down, and pace this before anything happens too quickly. But this sounds promising. What's your next plan of action?"

"There's a lot of steps now, I'm just taking them one at a time, I guess."

"Well I'm proud of you." Don congratulated in his gruff tone, leaning back in his chair. "I just want to know how you came up with that? Who would've thought about campgrounds and parking lots? Especially with nothing else around to go on."

"Actually..." Kellen mumbled. "It wasn't my idea. We got a tip about it."

"A tip? Like from a witness? Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"Not a witness, sir." Kellen took another moment of pause. "It was someone rather odd."

"We're not in the business beating around the bush, Kellen. Where'd this tip come in from?"

"It was a letter from Texas Maximum Security Penitentiary."

"A prison?" Don scoffed. "This tip came from a prison? Who the hell sent it in?"

"A man named Ezra Grazer. Our databases say he's been locked up there for five years."

"Jesus Christ." Don hissed. She could see it in his face that he recalled the name. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you tell me about this sooner? This is something I need to be informed of. What does he know anyway? Was he a cellmate of the killer or something?"

"Already ran that, sir. Ezra Grazer has had a single cell for his entire sentence."

"Well we need to figure out what he knows, and why he knows it."

"The Texan authorities will be looking into it soon."

"I don't think so." Don shook that off right away. "We're not leaving that shit up to those people. I want you to go down there and look into it yourself."

"Are you kidding me?" Kellen feared this would happen all along, but she was still struck when it came to fruition. "Why?"

"Let me ask you a question." Don leaned as far over the desk as he could. "How did that letter get to you? Was it sent through the grapevine, or was it addressed to you?"

"Addressed to me."

"Go to Texas," Don ordered. "Leave tomorrow. Figure this out. Find Ezra Grazer. Find out everything he knows and how he knows it all."

"Okay." Kellen nodded. "I told the Texans to keep it away from the press for now."

"Good. I don't want anyone to know that some psychopath was the one to catch this killer. It will be law enforcement, not him, whoever he is."

"All right." Kellen let out a groan. "I suppose I should pack then."

"Damn right, and don't take too long down there. We need you here too."

"I'm trying my best to be in two places at once. It's not working well."

"Oh, and Kellen," Don called to her before she departed. "If I know prolific serial killers like I think I do, don't get too close."

"I'll take that under advisement." Kellen sighed before heading out of the room.

### 5

Several days later, Kellen had made her way to Texas, and now sat idly in her car outside the Texan prison that held the mysteriously helpful serial killer. The building was just as foreboding as any other maximum security prison she had seen across her tenure with the FBI. Tall, razor wire fences obstructed the view of a massive, brick and cement complex that was almost devoid of windows. The windows the building sported were nothing more than small slits in the otherwise impenetrable fortress, not much wider than the average person's wrist.

Although she had been apprehensive about the meeting before today, Kellen hadn't been scared Now, as she sat in her car and looked at this structure used to contain Ezra Grazer, Kellen could feel the realness of the moment setting in. Somewhere in that monstrosity filled with monstrosities was the person she had traveled all the way to Texas to see. But the question still lingered in her mind if she wanted to see him at all.

Kellen looked away from the building for a moment and stared down at her cell phone, which she clutched tightly in her hand. On its screen was the number for Remi. She had debated calling her ever since the prison came into view. But she continued to fight the urge to do so. She could do this on her own, she was sure she could.

After several moments of looking down at the phone, her mind blank, Kellen took a gauge of the time. Her meeting was already two minutes behind her. Without another moment of thought, she got out of the car and started towards the prison gates. Fear and reluctance still filled her mind, more and more with every step, but she kept going. Kellen needed to do this. To put another killer behind razor wire fences like these, she needed to do this.

As she approached the gate, two figures came out of a small door on a guard tower beside the main entrance. One man was a pudgy middle-aged fellow dressed in blue with a cluttered belt, obviously a guard. The other man, however, was a well-aged, tall drink of water, dressed in a very expensive looking suit, with a well-done haircut and a stoic posture to match. She wasn't sure what to think of the second man.

"Welcome to the Texas Maximum Security Penitentiary," the guard welcomed with an outstretched hand as Kellen approached.

She shook his hand once she'd gotten close enough. "Nice to meet you," she said quietly before turning to the other man. Kellen said nothing to him, he looked like the kind of man who always liked speaking first in conversations.

"I'm William Carlton," the well-dressed man greeted her, but never gave out a hand to shake.

"What is your job here, Mr. Carlton?" Kellen asked forwardly.

"I'm a lawyer. I worked the prosecution for Mr. Grazer's case. I know everything about him and the crimes he committed. The prison wanted me here to help explain things to you."

"Well take me to him." Kellen walked towards the door the other two had just came through, with the guard holding it open for her. "You can explain while we walk. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to be."

"Fair enough," Carlton agreed, catching up to her.

The trio continued through the guard tower, only to be spat out the other direction and inside the gates of the prison. As they walked, Carlton talked specifics about his prosecution for the case, not a topic that interested Kellen in any way. Instead she focused on her surroundings.

This prison was like most others of its kind. The fences were tall, the towers were taller, and guards could be seen in every direction. Most of them carried large, deadly weapons. But despite the prison's lack of uniqueness, she felt different as she strode through it. Perhaps it was the situation at hand, and the fact that she was here to see someone that was helpful, rather than just another murderer that had been put away. She feared for her safety, for her all over security. Despite all the precautions, Kellen figured she wouldn't feel safe anywhere in the compound.

Once they reached the front door of the prison, the guard swiped a card he had on him, the door let out a loud buzz, and the guard let them in. The security checkpoint, despite Kellen's federal jurisdiction, was something she couldn't escape. All the while, Carlton kept droning on about his case against Ezra. She didn't want to hear about his case, she wanted to hear about _him_. Her patience was wearing thin, but she figured she ought to wait it out for a few moments longer to see if her lack of communication would be enough of a hint. It wasn't.

By the time they'd gotten through security and were working their way through the innards of the prison, Kellen had finally had it. She stopped and turned to Carlton, still going on and on about the days in court. A single stern gaze from her quieted him down.

"The prison brought you here to fill me in, right?"

"Right." He nodded.

"Well, I don't give a shit about your prosecution strategy. What I care about is who this person is, not who you are. So I suggest you say things I want to hear, or just stop speaking all together."

"Damn," the guard quipped. "Come on, the meeting room is still a ways off." He led them further down the hall.

Kellen always seemed to be that headstrong and powerful when it came to working in the field. She just wished that would translate into her office work. Unfortunately it never did, and she never figured out why. Perhaps it was the high-risk situations she found herself in while in the field, or maybe it was the people she came in contact with. But no matter what the cause, Kellen could tell that while she was out in the field, she was a stronger person. To her, that was a good thing.

Even now, as she strode through a maximum-security prison, she saw prisoners ogling her and staring through bulletproof glass as she walked. She paid them no mind. They couldn't bother her. No one was able to bother her. Although, she wasn't sure if that was true. Ezra Grazer could be just the person to shake her confidence.

"Okay." Carlton fumbled with his words. "Ezra Grazer killed twenty-seven people over the course of several years in Dallas. Or, at least that's our estimation of the number. Born in New York City, raised there, most of his family lives there."

"Tell me something new, please," Kellen brushed off this information.

"Well, were you aware that before he spent his time killing people for sport he was an Army Ranger?"

"I didn't." Kellen smiled. She was glad this tall, powerful-looking man now had something of interest to say.

"He was a Ranger for four years, beginning at the onset of the Iraq War. Throughout that time he gained several awards, including a bronze star. After his tour overseas ended, he came back here and became a rather successful MMA fighter."

"Jesus Christ." Kellen was overtaken by this. She pictured someone deadly but not quite to that extent. "So he's a lethal weapon?"

"The deadliest in this prison, I'm confident to say."

"I'll vouch for that," the guard said. "I watched the guy break another man's legs without getting out of his seat."

Kellen had apprehensions bubbling up inside her. "You don't say?"

"But don't worry about that," the guard assured. "The man doesn't hurt anyone who doesn't antagonize him. Grazer's only problems in here came from when people came after him, either with fists, or shanks, or a whole lotta shanks. He came out without a bruise every time."

"Either way, his ability to fight and kill should not be your worry," Carlton explained. "It's his mind that should worry you."

"Why's that?" Kellen inquired.

"After all the work my firm and I did to build a solid case, we didn't even come close to the death penalty." Carlton went back to court talk.

"Who was representing him?"

"He was. Son of a bitch represented himself. He wiped the floor with us. It was like he was able to tell what the jury wanted to hear, and in what context. He fed them everything he had, and they ate it up like starved dogs. The guy knew everything he wasn't supposed to know, all the law tips and tricks, like he was just waiting to pull them out." Carlton paused and grew a hateful grimace. "We had a strong closing argument. Something we were sure would sway the jury."

"What happened?"

"He declined to give one."

"Holy shit." Kellen snickered. She was aware what that meant. Law states that if one party declines their right to give a closing argument, neither party can give one.

"Like I said, he knew everything we never expected him to."

"So why didn't he go free? It sounds like he did a good enough job."

"That's the funny part." Carlton grew a subtle smile. "After the sentence was passed down, twenty five to life, I went and saw him. He said that he could've gotten off completely if he wanted to, and I believed him. He laid out his whole strategy, and he would've won it. But he said that twenty-seven souls was rather excessive. He claimed he was never one to show off many of his skills when it didn't call for it."

"This guy is either a genius or insane." Kellen let out another laugh, this one made up of pure disbelief.

"Ma'am, let me tell you something." Carlton shook his head. "In all my years doing what I do, Ezra Grazer is the only man I have ever met that has the capacity and the willingness to be both."

### 6

Sitting down in the meeting room created an uneasiness all its own in Kellen's mind. The room was poorly lit, windowless, with nothing more than a metal table and a set of chairs. She had seen these rooms countless times before, but this one seemed different.

She sat down quietly and waited for Ezra to be lead into the room. Her mind raced as the seconds ticked by. Kellen knew that it wouldn't be long before she would be face-to-face with this man for the first time. It caused every nerve in her body to shiver. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts for the few moments she had, but standing right behind her were the guard and the lawyer.

"Could you please step outside?" she asked the both of them.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Carlton said.

"Agreed." The guard nodded. "Even if this guy isn't known for violence, we can't be too safe."

"I didn't become an FBI agent by not being safe. It's fine, I can handle it. Just stand right outside if it makes you feel better. I want to speak with him alone."

"All right," The guard said. "We'll be right outside." He herded the lawyer out with him.

"This is extremely unorthodox," Carlton protested as the guard led him out. But his objections didn't matter. In a few seconds, the door shut behind him and he was silenced to the ears of Kellen Monello.

Once alone, Kellen let out a deep sigh. It felt much better in the room knowing that she could have solitude for a few moments before the meeting to collect her thoughts. Despite this, her mind still darted around, with no end in sight. She felt in her pocket for her phone. Although it was far too late to make a call to Remi, she couldn't deny the temptation.

A noise from a door on the opposite side of the room grabbed her attention. The door swung open, and a guard let a tall, clean-shaven, silver-haired and man in an orange jumpsuit into the room. The man dragged many shackles with him as he walked. This was Ezra Grazer.

The guards that let him in watched cautiously as he sat down, at which point they shut the door and left the meeting alone. For a moment, the room was dead silent. Kellen didn't speak, Ezra didn't speak, all they did was stare at each other.

Kellen couldn't pinpoint what was on this mysterious man's mind, but was puzzled by his intriguing look. His skin was untouched by tattoos. He looked cleaner than the lawyer did in some respects. His eyes were a deep brown, almost passing for black, and throughout the quiet, they stared back into hers. But perhaps most interesting to Kellen was this man's well-groomed, silvery hair, nearly resplendent in its reflection. It rivaled the alloy itself in color.

"That's not natural, is it?" She pointed at his head.

"Really?" Ezra grinned. "That's what you came here to ask me?"

"Never mind." Kellen shook back into work mode and put on a stern expression. "Tell me what that tip you sent me was all about?"

"Now we're getting somewhere. I saw the news about it from a TV in here, and I just took something off the top. The tip was a guess. I suppose, based on your presence here, that it was a lucky one?"

"Don't bullshit me, Ezra. I've been in this field long enough to know an out of the blue guess, and that wasn't one. So spill something worth hearing."

"Your personality is rather abrasive, are you aware of that?"

"I'm not here to make small talk with you. Tell me what I came here to know." Kellen kept on her strong exterior, but inside she was puzzled and still nervous. This man was not at all like she had expected. He wasn't ragged, he wasn't muscular, and he spoke with a certain eloquence she didn't expect. He seemed smart, just like the lawyer had said. But what struck her more than anything was his attitude. This man didn't appear crazy, he didn't show sadness or remorse, nor did he appear angry or agitated in any way. His expression seemed outgoing and personable. He was calm, he was collected, and he seemed happy. Even as she thought all this over, he sat without a word, a small smile drawn across him.

"All right, you seem like a nice enough person, even if you won't show it." Ezra nodded. "I watched the news about it from in here, almost compulsively. I wanted to know everything about it. I can see why you people on the outside do this for a living. Hunting these psychos is quite a good way to pass the time actually."

"You do it for fun?"

"What else is a convict to do? What people around here see as fun is stabbing people and lifting weights. I'm not partial to killing anyone who doesn't have it coming to them, and I am far stronger than anyone around here who finds it entertaining to lift pieces of metal up to their chest. It turns monotonous rather quickly."

"So what else do you know?" Kellen pressed for more answers.

"Well, I deduced from the news that these killings are state-wide, not something often seen," Ezra went on. "There's no way this guy, or girl for that matter, would get away with this if he or she stayed in one place for the entire duration between the kidnapping and the death. Two weeks is far too long to not arouse any suspicion, especially in some of the small towns where they occurred. So this person has to have some mode of transport that can carry himself, his victim, and probably a host of other things with him. I guessed an RV, and so I tipped you off to places where RV's usually inhabit. Like I said, I just got a little lucky."

"Doesn't sound like luck to me," Kellen hid her astonishment. This man was an analyst, and a hell of one at that. "That brings up another question. How'd you find me?"

"Good behavior around here gained me access to a computer. After that, finding out who was in charge of this at the highest level and drafting a letter was child's play."

"Can I be honest for a second?" she inquired, thoughts poking at her from the back of her mind.

"I don't seem like the average convict, do I?"

"Not really, no."

"That's because I'm not. I don't harbor ill will against the police forces of this nation, or any nation. I fought to keep peace for a long time, I was rewarded for it overseas, and jailed for it here. Quite the odd turn of events."

"You knew you'd go to prison. So why do it?"

"It's not about me. It never has been. I did not do what I did for me. Not for pleasure, not for a hobby. It was time consuming, it was hard labor, it was the definition of a pain in the ass. The last thing anyone wants to do is die, but sometimes they just get the short end of the stick. Although everyone who went out by my hand got that stick rightfully, I assure you. It's hard work, and although this is a debated point, someone has to do it."

"I don't think anyone really has to," Kellen disagreed.

"You'd be surprised." Ezra looked at a clock on the wall. "Do you have any more questions for me? Dinner is coming up soon, and I'd like to get some before someone gets knifed in line. The whole process always goes slower after that happens."

"Fine, but is there anything you know that you're not saying?" Kellen grilled further.

"No." Ezra shook his head. "Not yet anyway. No guarantees are sent from the future."

"Okay, thank you for your time." Kellen got up and started towards the door.

"One more thing, Agent Monello," he called to her as the guards came in to lead him out. "It is natural." He pointed to his hair. After a moment, he shrugged. "Well, kind of, it's a rare genetic disorder."

"Thanks, that would've bothered me." She nodded before heading out her own door.

"Did you get what you wanted from him?" Carlton was there right away to throw questions at her.

"He didn't give you trouble, did he?" the guard added in a question.

"No," she answered the guard first, "and I think I got everything, yes." She recalled what he said about the future. "But that's not to say he might have something else later."

"With a man like that, you can never be sure," Carlton said. "He's a very intriguing specimen, you're never sure what he'll tell you next."

"You're damn right." Kellen had already seen enough to tell how true that was.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Get back to DC to follow leads. I've got a killer in an RV to catch."

### 7

Outside of a high school in a small town on the outskirts of Waco, Texas, a crowd of kids poured jovially out into the streets and parking lots. Celebration was in the air.

To any other person, the late afternoon of this day wasn't much worth remembering. But for eighteen-year-old Megan Mickelson, it was a day to be lauded. It was her last day; it was everyone's last day. She had just walked out of the doors of her high school as a student for the final time.

Megan was always a popular girl in her school, the blonde hair, blue-eyed, all-American type. Despite her sought after looks and high standing at the school, she was happy to be leaving. To her, it was far from the end of any world. It was just a turn of a single page in a rather lengthy book.

As she strode away from her school, breaking away from larger thickets of departing students, Megan looked back at them all and knew that this wasn't the end of anything spectacular. Sure, she'd made some friends, but the joy of true friends is that they always seemed to stay in touch, so it wasn't much of a bother to her. The rest she would see come reunion time. Besides, there were more important things on this young girl's mind besides who she would miss when she went off to college.

Megan had been publicizing a party she was having at her house for several weeks, and that night was the night. All the planning had been done. The rest of her day was full of jobs to do. She had to call in all of her close friends to help set up, she had to make sure her parents truly were going out for the weekend still, and she had to pick up all the various party favors she promised to everyone in her advertising. Her mind was alive with all the things she had to get done.

"Hey, Megan." One of her friends jogged up to her. "The party still goin' down tonight?"

"Hell yeah!" Megan exclaimed in a joyful southern drawl. "Be there 'round five if you're still lookin' to help set things up."

The friend gave a nod and headed off towards her car. Everyone had places to be right after school. All the kids had to go home to their happy-faced parents, get the long speeches about pride and the future. But all that would be worth it, because it was all leading up to Megan's party.

Her house was a considerable distance into the Texan countryside. There weren't any neighbors for over a mile, no cops doing nighttime drive-bys. It was the perfect place. Her large, open backyard was open to anyone's imagination. It would be the blowout of the year, just as long as she got the final pieces put together soon.

"Megan," another voice called to her.

The joyful teen spun around to see a tall, football star boy approaching with a wide smile on his face. She sent a smile back.

"What's up?" she asked coyly.

"I heard through the vine you're havin' a helluva party tonight?"

"You heard it right." She nodded, playing through her long blonde locks as she spoke. "Come 'round nine or ten. It'll be runnin' hard by then."

"Cool, see ya around." The tall footballer walked off to meet a group of his friends down the sidewalk.

It would be the night to remember, Megan was sure it would be. But, as fast as her heart was racing over her recent encounter, her head was racing faster. So much to do, and no time. It was anxiety inducing. By the time she reached her car down the block from the school, Megan was nearly shaking with anticipation and nervousness. The night was all up to her. It couldn't fail, and nothing was getting in her way.

A mind-numbing headache hit Megan. She hopped in her car and raced off to avoid the stress. It was in this rush that she looked over a detail of her surroundings. If she had noticed, it might have saved more than just the party. For, as this young, ambitious, and highly pressured teenager drove off toward home, a large RV parked down the way was witness to every move she made.

### 8

As the afternoon wore down to dusk, Megan tore through her to-do list. Her parents left early, her friends stopped by to help set things up. Everything was going well. Then, just a half hour shy of the party's onset, there was one thing left on her mind. She had to stop over to a friend's house and pick up all the alcohol.

She had collected money from people several days prior and had enough to buy out any sizeable liquor store. The friend had done all the buying and was ready for her to pick it up. So through the light of the fleeting sun, Megan rushed away from the house to reach her friend in time. By the time she got there and got all the liquor stocked into her passenger seat, the sun had gone and only its reddened remnants remained in the sky.

Megan was quick yet cautious on the drive back. The last thing she wanted was to get pulled over for speeding with all the alcohol in her car, much less have to stop suddenly and have any of it break open on her seats or floor. And so, despite her desire to get back home fast, Megan took it slow and steady. Sure enough, she was unimpeded by both law enforcement and fellow drivers through most of her journey. It wasn't until she was on the home stretch did anything get in her way. Unfortunately for her, it was a big thing blocking her path.

"You've gotta be shittin' me." Megan groaned as she slowed down her car to avoid getting too close to an RV parked in the road, hazards blazing. As she drew closer, the driver came out waving a road flare at her. She shielded her eyes from the brightness. "As if I can't see you well enough, God."

In a matter of moments, Megan found that she had to stop, as the driver with the flare had paused right in front of her car. She prayed that he didn't expect help from her. Megan had neither the expertise nor the time to do anything more than drive past this man. But to be courteous, she rolled down her window as he walked up to her door.

"Hey there," a lanky, bald, bespectacled man greeted her through her window, "sorry about this."

His smile seemed inviting to her, but his voice struck her as odd. It was soft, and rather shaky, as if he were speaking not only to her, but to a massive crowd.

"It's fine." she nodded. "What's the issue?"

"I'm not sure." the man shifted his tiny, gold-rimmed glasses up his face. "You think you can give me a hand or two?"

"I don't think so, sir." Megan shook her head. "I don't know about cars, much less any kind of RV or somethin' like that."

"Well, I'm not asking for much, just someone to hold a flashlight for a bit. It's getting kinda dark out here."

"Sorry, but I really gotta get going." Megan saw the light of her house in the distance, and yet she was held up by this odd talking man and his RV trouble.

"Where are you off to?" The man leaned in closer to her, speaking suspiciously. "It can't be anywhere too important for you to avoid helping a fellow human, can it?"

"My family told me never to talk to strangers anyway," Megan retorted, getting annoyed.

"I'm sure they did." The man peered to her passenger seat. "Did they also tell you not to drink alcohol?"

"I don't have to sit here and listen to this shit." Megan put her car in drive.

"Actually, you do." He stopped her before she could do anything by pulling out a familiar piece of metal with the city PD stamp on it, the last thing she wanted to see.

"Oh, shit," Megan got a lump in her throat.

"Step outta the car, kid," the man demanded.

"Can't you give me a break? I'm only tryin' to have a little fun."

"I said get out, now!"

Without another word, Megan put the car back in park and got out. Before she was able to move out of the way or shut her door, the tall man shoved her aside and delved into the vehicle, pulling out a large bottle of whiskey.

"Can't you let me out of this one?" she was mortified. If there wasn't any alcohol, her party would be ruined, and all her friends were out a hefty amount of money.

"I'm not in the business of letting people go," the man retorted, looking down at the bottle for a moment. It seemed like he was weighing it in his hand. He down the road both ways.

Megan, confused by this man's gaze, did the same out of pure curiosity. She looked the way she came. There was no one. Down towards her house, there was no one. She returned from the scan more confused than she'd gone into it. What was he looking for?

Before she could ask him about it, the man swung the large bottle of alcohol and shattered it against her head. Megan dropped to the hard, hot concrete in an instant. For a moment she was dazed; her vision was blurry and she was numb. The first thing that came to her was a massive throbbing in her skull, followed by a much subtler feeling. It was a warm wetness on her forehead. The sensation ran down her cheek and across her lips. It wasn't until she tasted the familiar thick, iron-flavored ooze did she know what it was.

"Oh God." She groaned, lifting herself a few inches off the asphalt. "Fuck. What kind of cop are you?"

She got a rough tug on her hair. Megan let out a yelp as she was lifted upright and thrown against the fender of her car. Now she was staring her attacker in the face through the one eye that wasn't obstructed by blood.

"Do you still think I'm a fucking cop?" the man asked. Even in his harshest tone, she could still tell that his nervousness was there, as if he were excited to the point of tremors. "I'm sure this looks real." He held up the badge. "But it's the farthest thing from it."

Megan took a few moments to look at the badge. It still looked real to her. But then she took notice of something else, something far more frightening. The bottoms of each of the man's fingers were scarred horribly. At first, she wasn't sure what to make of it, but it didn't take long for her to understand it. This man had no fingerprints left. His hands were as bald as his head. There was no evidence to leave behind. The man was not a cop, and this was not a game. She was in far deeper than a tough blow to the head.

"What the hell do you want?" she asked, trying to hide her fears.

"So eager." He pulled her up by her hair once more, forcing another shriek out of her. Once she was off of the fender, the man opened up her car and put it in drive, sending it idling away from them. For a moment, he kept her held in the air, pain in her face and tears in her eyes, as he watched the small car roll towards the ditch. It scraped across the back of the RV before falling into the ditch, causing him to cringe. "Look what your car did." He pointed to the scratches on his paint job. She kept her eyes closed, in both pain and defiance of the man's rules. Fed up with waiting, he lifted her further, only to throw her back down to the pavement, head first.

At first, Megan only heard a loud crack as her head struck the ground. Once more, she spent a moment in a daze. When she came out of it, all Megan heard the man's yell.

"Look at it!" he commanded.

She opened her eyes and looked at the RV. Her vision was too hazy for her to comprehend any damage on it, but she was willing to fake it to avoid another toss to the concrete.

"I'm sorry," she said, spitting out blood. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry. Please just let me be."

"Oh, honey." He yanked her up by her long blonde hair once more. "If I did that there wouldn't be anything fun about it." He giggled like a child.

She felt him turn away from her. Once more, she opened her eyes. Although her vision hadn't come all the way back, she was able to make out bright headlights in the distance. She knew that he saw them too, so whatever would happen would happen quickly.

Before she could act, she felt a massive tug backwards as he dragged her towards the motor home. But as she was pulled and bounced around, she kept her eyes on the approaching car. Megan screamed to anything in earshot. Most of it wasn't in the realm of comprehension; she had no time for that. She just needed to be found, and quick. Her throat burned with the intensity of the yells, but still nothing came to her aid. While the headlights were still far in the distance, Megan was pulled up into the RV and shuttered off from the outside world.

### 9

After returning from her meeting with Ezra, Kellen found herself once again painfully idled. She had all that Ezra knew, or at least everything he wanted to give, and still she wasn't sure what to do next. They had no other pieces of evidence to go on, no ID on what kind of RV it was. All they had was the footage. There was a trail to walk through, but she still didn't have a single leg to hobble through it on.

As she sat at her desk, burning time away, trying to find something to do, the familiar face of Don approached her. At first, she didn't acknowledge him. She wanted to spend all her time in her mind, waiting for her "a-ha!" moment to strike. All her energy had to be focused on awaiting that one fateful click.

"Kellen," Don grumbled to her as he stopped at the foot of her desk, "how is the investigation on that Texan going?"

"It's not going." Kellen groaned. "Just like it was before, the whole thing is dead in the water again. We don't know what kind of RV we've got, we don't know license plates, we don't even know the damn color for God's sake! Like, really, what in the hell am I supposed to do?"

"With that attitude, you made me more regretful," Don confessed, laying a file down on her desk.

"What is this?" she picked it up, but was apprehensive to open it.

"A file on Megan Mickelson, of Waco."

"Oh, shit." Kellen knew what this meant. "When did they find the body?" she inquired. But then, she thought about this. The last kill still wasn't two weeks old, either the killer was changing up his M.O., or there was something she wasn't being told. Finally, she flipped open the file.

"No body," Don went on. "It's a disappearance."

"Are you serious?" Kellen's nerves went wild. They had never gotten a victim in the time before the killing. Now they had something to hunt, something to work towards. She looked over the files and her eyes landed on surveillance footage of another parking lot, the same RV sitting dead center. "How long ago?"

"RV disappeared from the lot three days ago, with Megan most likely in tow. You've got a chance here, Kellen. This girl has a week and some change left on her. Play your cards just right and you might get to her on time."

"Oh, God." Kellen felt overwhelmed. She had a ticking clock over her head now, someone's life was hanging in the balance of her job and her judgment. But this addition did her no good. There still wasn't anything to follow. No prints, no unidentified blood, no nothing. She was at a dead stop, and now there was someone down the line she had to save.

"What's your plan of action here, kid?" her boss inquired. "You're running against time now."

"I just need some time to think about this," Kellen replied. "I just need a little bit of time."

"If it makes any difference, I suggest heading down there. Those local cops need someone to lead them around if they're gonna find this guy in time to save that girl. Just a suggestion for now, but that may change later. Don't get too comfortable around here. You might be back down with the hicks before you know it." He patted her on the back and headed back for his office.

Kellen was lost in the wilderness. Cries for help came in the distance, somewhere deep in the darkness. She couldn't see, she couldn't touch, she could barely move, but she could still listen. Kellen could hear everything, every pointing voice, every little piece of information. But now, more than anything, she heard those cries. Still, there wasn't a thing she could do to reach them. Listening to them, being constantly reminded that they were there was agonizing.

She'd hadn't felt lost in a long time. Not since she was young, not since the murder of her parents. There was no aim then, nothing to pull her in any direction she saw as correct. Everything was in slow motion. Now, just the same as then, she hoped for a voice to come through the darkness and uncertainty and drag her through. The last time around, her grandparents, her counselors and therapists all drug her through the thicket of darkness. There was no one to do that for her now.

The only person speaking anything positive about it was the same kind of person she was working against, the same type of person who took her family away. She had to listen to that murderous, oddly joyful voice echoing through her mind. The advice Ezra Grazer gave her was the only rope tossed to her through this darkness, but she still wasn't ready to grab it.

"This is horrible," she slumped over her desk.

### 10

"This is fantastic." Ezra grinned, looking at the news story of Megan's disappearance at the hands of the RV killer on the small TV sitting in the prison commons. It wasn't quite the news anyone on the outside expected or wanted. But to Ezra, this was like winning the greatest lottery in the land.

Not many inmates were interested in the news, but not one of them spoke a word about changing the channel. Ezra saw it in their faces; they were all scared of doing anything. To Ezra, it felt good to be feared. The more the bastards of the world avoided him and ducked away when he came around, the more successful he felt. In the army, all they ever did was shoot back at him, now they dropped their guards to him and cowered away.

"Grazer," a guard said as he walked into the commons, "your visitor is here."

"Splendid." Ezra got up and followed the guard out of the room and down the hall.

"I'm sure you're aware of all the private meeting rules."

"You are correct in that assumption." Ezra paused outside the door to the meeting room and held out his hands so they could be shackled to his person. It was quite the annoying routine in his mind, but he understood the necessity for it. To the world, he was a dangerous man, and the public ought to be protected from dangerous people.

As the guard swung the door open, Ezra sprouted a sunny smile. He knew what he wanted, how to get it, and how much leverage he had now. His smile was met with a deep scowl from across the table as he entered the room, but that didn't waver the joy in Ezra's face.

Sitting down on the other side of the table was the suave lawyer that had accompanied Kellen, Carlton. Ezra had called him there. He saw in the lawyer's face he wasn't happy, but Ezra wasn't sure why.

"Why'd you bring me here?" Carlton snarled.

Ezra sat down across from him. "I would've come to you, but that is easier said than done."

"Enough jokes. I'm not staying here unless you talk seriously."

"You'll stay."

"Why is that?" Carlton inquired, feigning curiosity.

"Because a life is riding on you staying and listening to what I have to say."

Carlton was silenced by this. It puzzled Ezra that Carlton would even feign leverage, but Ezra didn't dwell on it. There were more important issues.

Ezra nodded, continuing on. "I am aware of Megan Mickelson as much as you are. Now, and you ought to trust me on this, if you want that girl returned to her family alive and well, or at least alive, I would suggest doing what I say."

"You have said nothing," Carlton sneered. He wore a defensive face, like a cat backed into a corner by a playful dog. "If her life truly depends on what you say, I would suggest you talk. What is it you want from this?"

"You know what I want. I can see it in your face. That uneasiness, hoping that what you're thinking isn't the case. I will do you a favor now and alleviate your worries. It is exactly what you're thinking."

"What am I thinking?"

"I wouldn't ask for any reduction in sentencing, because no politician would go for that in exchange for some advice, and I don't want to be exonerated. That would just be preposterous. So that would just leave one thing on the plate I would enjoy having, that would help this situation, that isn't outside the realm of reality."

"Yes it is," the lawyer hissed. "You won't get it, not while I have anything to say about it."

"I'll will get it, and you will be the one to say it." Ezra cocked a smart smile. "You ought to know when to put your weapons down. This girl will not survive unless I get what I want. You've got less than two weeks, hop to it."

"Fuck you."

"Come now, Carlton. You're close with the governor, I know you are. You can get it quickly if you tried. But more than I know that, I know you're a family man." Ezra recalled seeing the prosecutor's wife and children at his high-profile trial. "I can only imagine what Megan's family is going through, much less her. Beaten down, held in some deep, dark trench of this state. Cold, alone, weeping every second of the day. It must be a horror for her." He saw the lawyer's blood boiling. "It's in your hands, my friend. Don't turn this girl's horror into her death. Don't make that grieving family live on without their daughter. It's all on you now. Make the right choice."

"You're a psychopath," Carlton said through a ruby-red face and shaking hands.

Ezra pondered for a moment. "I think you're still sore over the way I wiped down the court room with your pride that half-decade ago. So I'll give you this chance to make it all better. If you give me what I want, I do what I want to do with it, and she still dies at the hands of this killer. You can let the governor give me that death penalty you wanted."

"That's against the law."

"Yes, yes, double jeopardy and such. But I'm sure that big lawyer brain of yours can come up with a reason for a mistrial, especially with my odd defensive actions. A killer without a defender, winning so much, so easily. Sounds like jury tampering or bias to me." Ezra raised an eyebrow to the lawyer. "That's my offer, Carlton. This is your chance to either save a good life or take a bad one. A true win-win."

He watched Carlton's demeanor change. The redness in the man's face faded. In just a few moments it was all back to normal. His glare of hatred melted down into a stare of intrigue. This was not just some feigning interest either. The lawyer was in deep thought. This was good in Ezra's mind. If he could sway the counselor's mind he would get what he wanted.

"Any thoughts, counselor?" Ezra inquired.

Carlton rubbed his forehead. "Let's talk about it."

Ezra grinned. "Splendid."

### 11

During another long, monotonous morning at the office, a distraught Kellen sat behind her desk, fingers tangled in her unruly brown locks. It was all falling apart all over again. For a second, nothing more than a fleeting moment, every gear was in motion. It seemed like she was on the road to catching this guy before anything else happened. Then it all stopped. Just as suddenly as it started. All those well-oiled gears came to an abrupt stop and had stayed stationary ever since.

Like all the other days since then, she sat in front of her computer, trying to piece it all together. She needed to fix it all up. She needed to get those mechanics turning again. A young girl's life was in the balance, and the hourglass was pouring its sand all the while she sat. And all Kellen could do was sit and watch it now, wait for the knife to come down when the last grain of salt passed through the threshold of Megan Mickelson's hourglass.

The day had just started, but it felt like a full week had gone by. All the time spent just sitting at her desk, staring into the few clues that they had, trying to bring something useful out of it, something new that they could use. But no matter how long she sat, no matter how numb she got sitting in that desk chair, nothing ever came to her. It was all just the same stuff. They'd dug every bit of information possible out of it.

"Kellen, goddamn it!" Don boomed as he entered the room. "My office, right now!" Don trudged passed her and into his quarters.

"Shit." She grumbled to herself as she lifted her limp body up and shuffled her way to the office, eyes to the floor.

What did he have to say now? Did this Megan girl die already? Was that all there was? Did another life disappear while Kellen sat helpless at her desk? So many questions filled her mind, but at that point she wanted no answers.

"You are not gonna believe this." Don groaned, sitting down behind his desk as she entered. She went to sit across from him but he held up a hand to stop her. "Don't sit, you won't be here long."

"Megan's dead, isn't she?" Kellen figured.

"No, worse."

"Another disappearance?" Kellen found that odd. It wouldn't fit this killer to take more than one at a time.

"Worse."

Kellen was out of ideas. It had to be about this RV killer, it just had to be. So what was it? What was worse than what was in her mind? She looked to her boss, who let out a long sigh. What he was about to tell her was painful to him, which bolstered fear into her soul.

"Grazer got furlough," he said lowly.

Kellen's world stopped shifting. Her heart raced. She felt sweat accumulating on her brow. It couldn't possibly have been real.

"How? When?" Kellen couldn't speak fast enough. There was no time in the world for her to do anything anymore. It was fast forward and there was no possible way to keep up with it all.

"He got his old prosecutor to do it up for him a two days ago. It just got passed through the governor today. He's heading out the doors of that prison in a few hours."

"Carlton." Kellen growled. He was the last person she would expect to be helping out Ezra in any way. "How could this happen? How did the governor of any place, much less _Texas,_ think this was okay?"

"It's happening on one condition. If Grazer can't find this girl before she dies, the state will find him liable for her death, and he'll have another go at getting the needle for it."

"Jesus Christ," Kellen couldn't fight herself anymore. Despite her boss's instruction, she tumbled back into the chair across the desk, floundering in disbelief. "What the hell happens now? He's got over a week before she dies. Are they just gonna let this fucking serial killer loose for that long?"

"No, he'll have an escort."

"Who?" Kellen inquired. "No." She shook her head, the answer coming to her head. "Don, you can't do this."

"I'm not doing it, the state of Texas is. Ezra asked for you as an escort, so that's what's gonna happen. They want this girl back alive, Kellen. No matter what."

"This is a nightmare," Kellen muttered. "This is a fever dream. I'm back at my desk with a case of avian flu or something. None of this is real. This is just my brain shutting down from stress. That's all it is."

"This is real, Kellen." Don raised his voice to snap her out of it. "There's a private plane waiting for you at the airport courtesy of the governor. I want you on it ASAP. Don't put up a fight against this. This is happening, and the more time you waste, the less time Mickelson has. Got it?"

Kellen's mind took over. She still wasn't quite convinced any of this was real. But she looked around and it all seemed solid, all seemed legitimate. Still, what was she supposed to do with him? Where were they supposed to go? She had a hard enough time encountering killers they had captured and put away. What on earth was she supposed to do with a killer let loose by the government, that she needed to watch? It was worse than babysitting. At least if she left a child alone they would only eat paste and draw on the walls. If she slipped up, Ezra Grazer could take another life, and it would be on her. She tried convincing herself further that it was all just a horrid dream.

"Got it?" her boss repeated, louder this time.

"Yeah, yeah." She nodded. "I got it."

"Get going. If you need anything, call me." He said as she left his office.

Kellen knew who to call, but it would not be Don, not by a long shot. She gathered some things from her desk and thought over what she needed from her apartment before heading to the airport. As she walked out of the office, she pulled out her phone and looked at the contact for Remi. It was at the ready and once she had a free moment to think and talk with her, that would be the first person she would call. This was a real life nightmare, and there was no waking up.

### 12

Kellen tried to do everything fast, knowing it wouldn't be much longer until Ezra was out on the streets again. She rushed to her apartment and gathered random clothes, most of them just basic work attire. Other than clothes, Kellen ignored most things. The only thing of importance was getting to Texas, no matter how much her mind and heart both screamed at her to turn around and just fall into herself forever.

It wasn't until she reached the airport that she could have a moment to make the call to Remi. The moment was short lived, as several men in dark suits and uniformed Texas State Police troopers found her and lead her out across the busy, loud tarmac and onto a small, yet rather luxurious private jet. It was no doubt something the governor owned privately rather than anything the state would acquire. But, she had no time nor mind space to absorb much else about the plane other than the fine leather seat she was sitting in and the spotless mahogany table in front of her.

Once the troopers and suited men had gone up to the front to talk with the pilots, Kellen found her chance. For a moment she waited to ensure no one would come back to interrupt her. As soon as she was certain all was clear, she pulled out her phone and made the call, praying her therapist was by her phone.

_"Hello?"_ Remi answered, sounding puzzled.

"Remi," Kellen spoke in a loud, gruff whisper, trying to make sure no one else on the plane overheard her anguish. "I've got a problem, and I'm not sure what to do."

_"What's wrong, Kellen?"_ Remi's tone turned from confused to concerned. _"Are you okay?"_

"I'm on a private jet, on my way to Texas." Kellen paused and thought over her next sentence, shutting as the words passed through her brain. "I'm on my way to pick up Ezra Grazer."

_"I'm sorry, did you say, 'pick up'? What does that mean?"_

"It means the fucking psycho got furlough. He's out to the world, and it's my job to watch him!"

_"What? Why on earth would they put you in charge of that?"_

"Ezra asked for me to be his escort, by name. And right now, the state is in no mood or position to spend time arguing with him. So that's my situation. My job has evolved from catching killers to babysitting them, and I'm not sure what to do. I can't get out of this, so how am I supposed to get through it?"

_"Most of my patients don't have issues like this. Most call and tell me they're feeling bad or depressed, not that they're about to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with a serial killer. I need to think about this for a second."_

"Please, Remi, you've gotta give me something. The plane is gonna leave soon." Kellen noticed a new sound filling the cabin. The familiar high-pitch of an engine coming to life. "Please, tell me something."

_"I've taught you a lot of ways to stay calm during our time together. Use everything I taught you and don't lose the center of your mind. Keep yourself focused and calm, no matter what. Okay?"_

"Easier said than done, but okay," Kellen said. She wasn't sure how much longer the plane would be stationary, so she was glad Remi was giving her something to work on.

_"If you need anything, call me. We'll get you through this."_

Remi's soothing tones always calmed Kellen down. "Okay, thank you, Remi."

_"Just remember all the techniques I taught you, Kellen. Focus on breathing, shut out the stressors, bring your focus_ _into_ _you, not on anything outside. Remember it all, you'll get through this just fine."_

"I guess I just needed some reassurance."

_"Well, at least I'm at least an over-paid source of assurance."_

This managed a small, quiet laugh out of Kellen. "Thank you, Remi, really. Expect a few calls, if I'm not too busy or having a massive mental breakdown."

_"Call me if you have the latter. And no need to thank me, Kellen, it's my job to keep you collected and safe."_ There was a short pause. _"Safe from your mind anyway. You'll get through this just fine. It's a short span I'm sure, and then he'll go back to prison and you never have to see him again."_

"Right, never again," Kellen muttered to herself, but she figured Remi would overhear it anyway.

_"You be safe, understand?"_

"Yeah, thanks," Kellen hung up and leaned back in her seat. It was comfortable, but it didn't soothe her. The only thing that could do that was the voice of her therapist.

One of the dark-suited men poked his head back into the passenger cabin. "We're about ready to head down. You ready?"

"Not really, but I'm here," Kellen said. The man nodded at her and she nodded back as he disappeared back up into the front of the plane. This was it. In a few minutes they'd be on their way to Texas. She'd be on her way to a free and unbridled Ezra Grazer.

### 13

Outside the Texas Maximum Security Penitentiary, Kellen sat in her car, awaiting Ezra's departure. She sat in a dull, bare-bones government sedan, given to her by the governor. With a plane ride as luxurious as the one she had just experienced, she expected something flashier car-wise. But the beauty of the car she got was the furthest thing from her mind.

The brain of Kellen Monello was clouded. Clouded by painful recollections, clouded by the confusing and stressful present, and clouded by the hazy future. All the things racing through her head caused her to tremble. It was all getting to her, coming down like far more than any ton of bricks she had ever encountered.

It had been so long since she had come in contact with a killer she wasn't either arresting or speaking to within the walls of a prison. The last time this had happened she was still a girl, freshly traumatized and brought into the harsh reality of the world. Although, in the past, he didn't speak to her. All she saw of him was a shadow as he departed. Now it was more, and far worse. Kellen would be right next to one of the monsters, but even still it seemed worse. She wouldn't just be beside one, she would be working with one.

Flustered, shaking, and breaking a sweat, Kellen wasn't sure how to hide her apprehensions. She knew they would show, and they would bring her weakness out into the world. All of this swirling in her body made her feel dizzy.

Not sure what to do or what to focus on, Kellen pulled out her phone and looked at Remi's number. She couldn't call. It would interrupt everything that was set in place. It would take more time out of the search for a desperate and scared girl. She couldn't make another call, but all she wanted to do was shut out those thoughts and hit the button.

Before she could fall even further into the black oblivion of her psyche, Kellen was shaken out of her trance by a loud creaking and shifting sound from outside the car. She looked towards the noise, unsure of what it was.

The sound was coming from the front gate of the prison as it yanked itself open to let free a tall, silver-haired man, who was wearing a slight smirk and relaxed demeanor. The sight of Ezra Grazer walking out of the prison fences stabbed at Kellen's soul and multiplied her anxiety ten-fold. She had to use every ounce of her restraint to keep from losing it and throwing up her insides and her dignity out the car door.

Ezra was dressed in a wrinkled black dress shirt, which was rolled up halfway at the sleeves and unbuttoned to reveal a loose white t-shirt. In addition to this, he had slick black slacks with shoes to match. It wasn't anyone's Sunday best, but it was more than Kellen expected. His odd wardrobe for this first day of temporary freedom alleviated some worry from her mind. Although, as he inched closer to the car, all the nervousness returned.

Her heart nearly stopped as she heard the passenger door open. She kept a constant eye on him as he sat down beside her and shut the door, sealing the two of them in the tight metal cabin. It was strange, Kellen didn't seem to find the space in the car so small before. Now, no matter how big it could be, it wouldn't be enough for her to not feel smothered by her own emotions.

"Kellen." Ezra greeted, still wearing his cocked smile. "Surprised to see me, I suppose?"

She didn't reply. Kellen had no clue what to say to this man. She wasn't asking him questions over a table while he sat in shackles. No, she was talking one-on-one with a peer, not a prisoner. Her mind was blank.

"I think the first step in any good manhunt is to go somewhere." He pointed out towards the road.

"Please don't talk," she reprimanded him in the softest voice she had as she started the car and they rolled their way away from the prison.

"I could have some useful information for you. Information you could lose out on by giving me that gag order."

"Did you hear what I said? You might be free from that prison but you're not free from the law. You will do as I tell you."

"Do you know what color the RV is?" he ignored her.

"Did I fucking stutter?"

"It would seem rather important to be aware of the color if you're going to find it."

"I told you to be quiet." She looked in the rearview mirror. The prison was already out of sight.

"It's also a piece of information I happen to know."

"Damn it, Ezra, shut up!" Kellen paused for a moment. "Wait, what'd you just say?"

"I said I know what color the RV is. This is the point where rude people usually give helpful people apologies."

"I'm not apologizing, now talk. How do you know what color it is?"

"Thank good behavior for that," he explained, observing the surroundings of the outside world as they drove. "I get access to a computer with semi-restricted internet. Once I got that, it wasn't hard to hack through. I found the photos of our dear Megan's car in only a few minutes. After that, a quick look around the photos showed off the color. I'm surprised you weren't aware of it. The cops around here must have kept it from you, or at least stalling for a while before they hand over evidence."

"Son of a bitch," Kellen hissed. She figured there was a delay, but was never sure of it until now.

"It's sand colored, in case you're wondering. There were scratches on her car with pieces of that color paint. Rather straightforward if people aren't spinning you in circles."

"Goddamn it. Well, if you're so good at this whole solving crimes thing, what do we do next?"

At that moment, a soft sound filled the car, barely audible over the engine. It was a subtle rumbling. Kellen knew what it was. Since that morning she hadn't had a single crumb to eat. She had no appetite. Now it was catching up to her.

Ezra replied, "Perhaps something to eat might be in order?"

"You've got your life riding on this girl being found, and you want to waste time?" Kellen was shocked by this. She figured a man in a situation like his would be down to the wire and stressed. But Ezra was calm. He showed no worry or care for his future.

"We're not wasting time. We're keeping ourselves alive and active for another day. How is that a waste?"

"I suppose it isn't," she huffed. Unlike him, wasting time _bothered_ her. "Let's just make it quick."

### 14

Only a few miles into the heart of Dallas, Kellen pulled the car to the roadside in front of a small sandwich shop. Overtaken by her hunger, and more than likely not wanting to expose anyone in public to the face or mannerisms of Ezra Grazer, she left him in the car. This gave him time to think and absorb the situation he found himself in.

Was she truly lacking that much judgment? The woman seemed so on top of things before, so in charge of the situation. But as he was noticing, leading the situation did not mean leading one's own mind. Her urge to feed brought her to the point of leaving a convicted serial killer unattended in downtown Dallas.

There were no shackles pinning him down, no concrete walls or iron bars separating him from the rest of the world. No, there was nothing, aside from an unlocked car door. He could watch the world go by, all the innocent souls. It would not have been outside the realm in which the government saw him to get out of the car and take a life or two. But no matter how the state perceived him, it wasn't like him to do such a thing. His talents were not to be spent on bystanders.

As Ezra observed the world through the glass and metal encasement in which he found himself, an odd recollection returned to him. Throughout this maze of short, brick buildings and tattered telephone wires, memories returned. He had seen this place before, many times actually. The sandwich shop was new. It used to be a dry cleaning service. One he used often. They weren't the best, nor were they the cheapest. But they never asked questions when a minor slip up left a spot of crimson or two on his collar. In addition, they were close enough to home for comfort.

At that, it all hit him. How could he have been so dumb? How could he forget a place such as this? Ezra stifled a chuckle at himself. Sometimes he couldn't quite believe the ignorance his own mind was guilty of.

The rules would be broken, but he had talked his way through rule breaking enough times in his day to make this a minor hiccup up in both his and Kellen's plan for the near future. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. Just as he shut the door behind him, Kellen came walking out of the shop. Immediately, she set the sandwiches she'd gotten on a table beside the entrance and put her hand on her gun, staring him down with the intensity of a raging inferno.

"I told you to stay put," she said, caressing the grip of her weapon. "Get back in the car."

"Or what? You're going to shoot me?" Ezra replied in a stern monotone.

"Damn right."

"You won't shoot me. You need me. Stop playing tough when the situation doesn't call for it. It makes your head seem too large for your shoulders. If you don't mind me saying, that is."

"Get back in the fucking car, now!"

"No promises," he replied with the oddest response to that question he could think of. Right away, he saw the fruits of that minute labor. Her grip on the gun loosened, her head cocked, and an eyebrow raised a few millimeters above the other. She was confused. And it was in this haze he had his chance to act.

Ezra wasted no time. He darted down the sidewalk. It wasn't until almost half a dozen long, fast strides in he heard Kellen start her pursuit. She yelled at him, but he paid no mind to the noise. It wouldn't be anything he hadn't heard before. He didn't want to bother looking back either. He knew she wouldn't catch up. She wasn't out of shape, she seemed to take good care of herself actually. But even with his lack of proper work behind prison walls, Ezra had never forgotten his Army training, his martial arts agility. No matter how fast she ran, he could always go faster.

The further he ran, the more the surrounding setting morphed. The short, commercial buildings melted into residential space. It wasn't the same way he had left it but it was, for all intents and purposes, similar. The homes were more unkept, some were even burnt out and boarded up. Quite the opposite outcome he had hoped for throughout all this work and effort. But at least he delayed the inevitable, which was all he could hope to do.

In his temporary trance, Ezra didn't notice the sound of Kellen's yelling getting closer. But, one sharp call to him brought his reality crashing back. She was gaining inches and he needed to act. On impulse he turned a sharp right, directly into a chain-link fence. With a one arm lift, he was over the fence and running through someone's backyard. He wasn't far now, only a block.

The fence rattled once more. It sounded like she had trouble with it. That bought him time. He hopped over the other side. Ezra continued this throughout all the chain-link fences of these homes. Each time, he could hear less and less of Kellen's calls. For the first time in a long while, his training in the Army, the best strategies for a quick getaway, were coming in handy.

At the end of the block came a taller, wood-paneled fence. Even with its extra height, Ezra hopped over it without even touching his foot to the top. After that, he made another sharp turn and out the home's side gate. It spat him out where he wanted to be, the old corner that seemed so familiar, and so different.

The road he once lived on was now lined with cars that either looked broken down or paid up with drug and pimping money. The homes were sagging and gray, like an unwise elder who, even in crippling age, continued to smoke several packs a day. It was a bitter sweet sight, and the longer he looked at it, the more noticeable the bitter became.

Kellen was getting closer again. Ezra darted off once more. Halfway down the block was all he had to go. Then it was there, right before his eyes. His only wish then was that it could have been something easier to look at. Ezra's old home wasn't one of the burnt out kind, but every opening was covered in plywood, which was itself coated in thick globs of spray paint. Some designs spoke of different gang affiliations, while some showed knowledge of his identity, and contempt at that knowledge.

Not wanting to waste another moment, Ezra rushed up to the front door and kicked it in with one swift blow. Another helpful piece of Army training he was glad to be using once again. It was at this point where the rush stopped, nothing could keep him going, because he was where he wanted to be.

Ezra entered his old foyer. It was dark, dusted, decorated with sloppy spray paint designs just like the exterior. It was hardly the same home, but he recognized it all the same. All the furniture was gone, either seized by the police or stolen away long ago. But he could piece it all back together in his head and no matter how it looked now, it was all still the same to him.

As he strolled into his former living room, loud stomps came into the entryway. He knew that his tour was coming to an abrupt end, but he didn't care. Ezra kept on his recollections.

"Ezra." Kellen panted. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Ezra turned around. He was surprised to see Kellen had her gun drawn and pointed at him. "Kellen, I meant no harm by it."

"Shut the fuck up. You're going back to prison, right now."

"If I go back to prison that girl dies. That blood will be on your hands if you force me back."

"Stop it," Kellen's anger was intertwining with another, far different emotion. "Stop doing that shit."

"What shit?" he wondered, knowing the answer.

"Stop using that girl's life as a pawn in your game to stay out of prison." Kellen's eyes misted. Although he could tell it wasn't from any kind of sadness.

"Why all the bother?" this was a legitimate question from him, but he knew it didn't sound like it. He could see just how overwhelmed she was in that moment, he could see everything she didn't want anyone to notice. Every bit of her was showing through. Even in the dim light of the boarded up house, he could see it all.

"I just want to save this girl. I want to stop this son of a bitch from taking another innocent life. There's time now. There's a lot of it. But I can't help. Instead, I'm babysitting you. I should be out stopping him from hurting someone, but I'm stuck with you. This isn't how my job is supposed to work. This isn't how _life_ is supposed to work. I need to stop this person, this fucking serial killer. But instead of stopping one, I'm setting one free."

"Kellen-" he started.

"Stop that." she cut him off. "Stop talking to me like I'm a peer. I am Agent Monello. You are a criminal, a lower form of life. Stop talking like we're equals. You will never be my equal."

"No need to lash out at me. I apologize for my action, but I had to get back to this place."

She took a moment to look around, even more confused than she was before. "Your home?"

"It was. If it is of any interest to you, every crime I committed, was committed on this house's foundation. In the basement actually. I'm surprised they didn't raze it."

"They should have." She looked at it with a grimace.

"Don't be mean. This was my mother's home, my home ever since I was twelve. I took a break from it for my tours overseas, but I always came back here."

"What about before you were twelve?" Kellen inquired. She looked to be genuine in her interest.

"What does it matter to you?"

"If I'm spending all this damn time with you, I should get to know you, shouldn't I? Whether you're a killer or not, I'm forced to drag you around, which means I'm forced to know you."

He shrugged. "I was raised in New York City. As far as I know my father and brother still live there. But I haven't heard much from them. They were far too busy for me before I went away, I'm certain nothing has changed since then."

"What makes them so busy?"

"Wall Street. It keeps them busy and keeps them rich. Too rich to bother with me or my mother." Ezra paused, peering around the room. " _Our_ mother. He was never much for paying any support. But we did just fine. The house used to look rather nice. Even when she passed, I still kept it nice."

"What the hell happened so fast?" Kellen took another once over. "It looks like it's been abandoned for decades."

"The thing I was trying to stop came flooding in upon my absence."

"What do you mean?"

"They didn't tell you my motive?"

" _They_ haven't told me shit."

"My goal was to erase the problem before it all came through. The only problem was, I could only fix the issues once they leaked in. First came the drugs, and there was nothing to do about the kids who did it. Druggies are not criminals, merely victims. But when the dealers came soon after, I saw a chance to act."

"You killed them?"

"With ease. The first four were dealers. Then the pimps slithered in too. At first I paid no mind, until the neighbor girl got sucked in by one. Some skinny little punk. She was so nice, so smart. He got her hooked on coke, and she'd do anything and everything for him after that, no matter how he beat her. So one day, I beat him back, and dumped his corpse into a blast furnace. Of course, I was stupid enough to keep a memento of that one. Gold teeth, the grills they all wore then. Still had DNA of him after all that time. Silly me, I suppose."

"You beat a man to death?" Kellen wondered. He saw her tensing up again. Her gun was still in her hand, but had lowered.

"Simply expression, I'm far more surgical than that. Brutality is for the weak, who must show strength in force rather than in power. There was a difference, and many around here didn't see it. That's why they got caught. Me, well, I knew when enough was enough, and left a trail of crumbs after a while. It became apparent that, try as I might, no matter how scared they all were of the disappearances, nothing would stop them. Now here it all is. A destroyed, crime-filled ghetto."

"Sorry," Kellen said.

"Why the hell are you apologizing? I am a serial killer who ran away from you. Although it's nice to see that I still have the power to persuade an audience. I was always quite the manipulator. From what I hear, I get it from my father."

"Shut the hell up." Kellen's apologetic attitude faded.

"We should get you back to those sandwiches anyhow. Your hunger is making you irritable. Besides, I've got a new goal. All of this is in the past."

"And what goal do you have now?"

"Catch a serial killer. Someone just like me, only far different. In his own ways worse."

"Who's saying I'm still not taking you back to prison after that?" Kellen asked with a smirk.

"You won't do that. No matter the tears you shed, you know that I am the key to that girl's survival. Just be happy I'm smart enough to only run off once." He walked by her and out the door. She followed quickly.

"How do you do that?" she asked as they stepped off the stoop.

"Do what?"

"Turn people's minds around like that?"

"It's simple when you know what buttons they have and how to press them just right. Luckily, I am observant enough to catch everyone's buttons all the time. I just don't always press them. Be happy about that, Kellen." He betrayed her previous order, knowing it wouldn't cause much of a stir out of her now.

"What are you going to do next, guess my weight?" she grumbled.

"One hundred and thirty-six," he replied, looking her over as he spoke. She glared at him and he was certain he'd gotten it. "Don't test me, you'll lose."

"To answer the question, no you're not going back. Not until this all gets done. You got your furlough, use it for good or you'll get the needle. It's simple as that. If you run off again, I'll put a bullet in you. Either way, if you keep fucking around, you'll die. And that's fine by me."

"So fiery." He smile. "There needs to be more people like you. But, my death shouldn't worry you. It should be Megan Mickelson's death that plagues your mind."

He watched Kellen's expression change. She cared heavily for the girl, and he was unsure why. There was something off about this FBI agent escort he had chosen, and Ezra was determined to find out what it was.

### 15

"Coffee?" Kellen mumbled as she sat down across from Ezra. Between them was a table cluttered with files, photos, pens, and notepads. They'd been working for hours on trying to find a viable lead or connection through the paperwork. But now, even as the clock was inching by midnight, nothing new or worthwhile had come up.

"What?" Ezra looked up, confused. It was the first word she'd spoken to him in over an hour. Besides, the work was more interesting than anything else around him. The police-appointed safe house was a tiny apartment, hidden beside a small grocery store. The walls were bare, the paint was bland, there was hardly any furniture anywhere other than the bedrooms and bathroom, save for the table and a couch. It made a doctor's office look like a luxurious resort on the sandy beaches of heaven itself. Or, Ezra thought so anyway, he wasn't sure how Kellen took their surroundings. For all he knew, it was home to her.

"Coffee?" she repeated, setting the pot on the corner of the table and placing down two mugs. "I hope you don't like it with any shit added in because we don't have any."

"Black is fine, my preferred kind anyway." He nodded, taking a cup. It was the first sip of it they had all night, and the first he'd gotten since being put away. As big of a moment as it should have been for him, it was non-monumental. Perhaps it was due to his busy mind, or that it was far from the best coffee in the world. Either way, his focus should have been elsewhere anyway.

As he scanned through documents and sipped at his coffee, Ezra also kept his eyes on Kellen as she worked. All he did with two hands, she managed to do with one. Ever since they'd come into the confines of the safe house, she'd kept her gun around her waist and her hand around her gun. He wasn't sure what she was expecting him to do, but it certainly kept him completely aware of everything the entire time. Just another thing that his life depended on.

"What kind of RV is in the videos?" Ezra squinted at grainy stills taken from various video sources of the mobile home.

Kellen shrugged, sipping at her coffee. "It looks eighties to me, and obviously it's sand colored, as you've said. But there's way too many people in this state with old, sand colored RV's. Not only that, but who's to say it even comes from Texas? The damn thing could be from Oklahoma or even Mexico. There's just not enough known about the RV to really do or say anything."

"I suppose not." Ezra pulled out another large piece of paper from the pile. "But what about this?" he looked over the sheet. It was a map of Texas, a rather detailed one at that, marking each dump site with a red dot, while every location of disappearance was marked with blue.

"What are you hoping to find from that?" Kellen inquired. "If your plan is to wait for the next dump site, you'll be looking a bit too far into the future to save yourself."

"Attempting humor, I see," he said

"Trying not to laugh, I see," she mimicked.

"I said 'attempting', not succeeding. But no matter, finding the next site is not my goal. My goal here is connection."

"Connection? Connection to what? We've had people stare at it for hours on end, experts, and they don't have anything to go on."

"That's because experts think like experts, in their little boxes of expertise, when there's a whole world of possibilities they're not factoring in or trying to piece together because it doesn't seem probable to them."

"You're insane if you think you'll find anything. If the guy is careful enough to not let cameras catch the license plate of his RV, what makes you think he'll leave us a pattern to go on now? Is he that dumb? I don't think so."

"He doesn't have to be dumb to have an oversight," Ezra corrected, studying the map with almost all of his mind. "He only needs to be a human being. His misstep is here, on this paper, I just need to find out what it is. He spends so much time on the pick ups, on the dump sites, on making sure he leaves no evidence on the bodies, and making sure he's not seen during his time out or the time spent with his victims. I promise you, the secret misstep is here."

"Any guesses?" Kellen raised a brow at him. With a quick glance in her direction he saw her thoughts. She was skeptical yet still intrigued.

"Travel. To do this, he needs to drive for hours and anyone who drives at least a few miles a day, begins to-"

"Do it without thinking," Kellen completed his thought. "You think that he left us a clue in how he travels? How?"

"No idea. But it's here, I just have to find it. I _need_ to find it. Once I find it it'll lead to at least a general area of where he goes when he's not kidnapping or dumping. Because for two weeks at a time, this guy is somewhere with a human being who wants nothing more than to escape. He's gonna be hidden, and hidden well, but this will be the portion of himself left out in the open, his inadvertent bread crumbs."

Kellen paused for a moment. "That's actually a good idea."

"Thank you," he said. After a moment, he handed the map off to her. She looked down at it, then back at him in confusion as he got up from his seat.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving this to you," he said through a yawn, wandering towards a bedroom. "I've gotten rather exhausted from all of this, and coffee isn't the best upper right now. Besides, I'm a man who needs a fair share of beauty sleep. We'll pick this up in the morning."

"No!" Kellen objected. "There's a girl out there, scared, in pain, and alone. We need to find her. I'm sick of you wasting time."

Ezra sighed. "Everybody found was hours fresh. We've got eight days left before her body turns up, so I'm not worried." He went back to inching his way towards the bedroom.

"You can't just leave me out here. With a new lead, I can't sleep."

"Good, I didn't expect you to." He gave her a tired wink before disappearing into his room.

### 16

Before the morning dew had dried off the countless blades of grass, the dull beams of the morning sun caused a stir through bleak surroundings. A body shifted and contorted, attempting to prepare itself for a new day. The cot it sat on was not ideal, but this body preferred the cot over the old, hole-filled bed that the recreational vehicle provided.

This body, known to himself only as Michael, rose up from his cot and slid his small spectacles over his eyes. He rubbed his bald head as he stretched his back, caused a few audible cracks to come from his bones. He hated the cot, but it was still a step higher than any jail cell.

As Michael stood up and slipped on his shoes, grogginess set in. He needed a pick up if he would get through another day. But while most people drank coffee or energy drinks to help them maneuver through their day-to-day lives, Michael had something different and all the better.

For a moment, Michael looked around the large, empty room. Some time before then, this room was a production floor. The tattered and worn sign dangling off a single chain above the main door said cookware was produced in the building. Support pillars and his cot were all that filled the space now, aside from the spare bolts and cookware pieces left behind.

This floor was much like the rest of the large, five-story industrial hub. Emptiness, cut through by building supports and the single freight elevator at the far end. The only exception to this was the first floor where the loading docks and offices were, but that was all empty too, sans the loading bay and its mobile home inhabitant. Not even mice stirred in the building anymore. Only two souls resided in the structure.

Michael strode across the open space, his footsteps echoing through the room as he walked. He imagined what it must've been like when the factory operated, all the sounds that must have come. Now the only worker that remained was him, and he wasn't partial to making much noise when he worked. Noise level was more than just an annoyance to him. It was the difference between freedom and lethal injection.

Once he reached the stairwell beside the large, rusted up freight elevator, he picked a short pole out of an umbrella stand beside the stairs and began his ascent. Michael never liked the freight elevator. The building wasn't that tall and the elevator made a hellish amount of noise. The walls of the structure were thick enough to hold in all the noise of an abuzz factory, but he still didn't like the sound. It was shrill, like a suffocating cat. Far from the first thing he wanted to hear in the morning.

Michael reached the next floor and entered the large, open room, eyes focused on one thing. Upon entering the space, his gaze turned left. Beyond the freight elevator, towards a small space between the wall cordoning off the elevator shaft and the wall that kept the outside air where it belonged. This was the only modification he made to the building. A simple one, yet effective.

In its old age and years of disuse, the exterior of the factory was hemorrhaging its red brick. There was still a base foundation of solid concrete, and the majority of the bricks stayed stuck on the walls. But, around the perimeter of the building, hundreds of broken down bricks sat in the overgrown grass. He'd gotten all he needed.

He used the old bricks to block off the cell-like space between the elevator shaft and the perimeter wall. The only opening was a thin, short entranceway, sealed by a rusted portion of the large iron fence that used to run around the factory property. A few hinges and locks later, Michael had an operational holding cell.

Michael knelt down in front of the gated opening and peered inside. There was hardly any light in there now. There was about a half hour window of time throughout the day where the sun would shine into the cell through the small entrance. Outside of that, the tiny room was pitch dark all day. Despite this, he could still see a shadow shifting listlessly around

That was one good thing he liked about the freight elevator. The ruckus made always awoke his prisoners and let them know that he was coming up to see them. It was fun to do in the beginning because they would make a big fuss about it then. Now though, it was less intense. The girl had been his for almost a week, her power had faded.

Michael hoped for an element of surprise as he slipped the pole in his hand through the gate. As soon as the end touched the shifting body in the cell, the pole let out a small burst of light and a low buzz and crack. In an instant, the screaming restarted. After the moment of screaming all she did was push herself into the far corner and hyperventilate.

The pole inched further in and Michael touched it to her again and she yelled again. That time she wept afterward. In the darkness, she didn't move away from the pole, she couldn't see it. That was what made the process so easy, and so wonderful. She never saw it coming. None of them ever did.

He zapped her once again and she moved into the other corner, just to be touched twice more. The cries became more and more audible with each touch of the short prod. She tried to swat it in the air. She was successful once, but only hit the tip and was electrocuted further.

"Please leave me alone," Megan Mickelson's soft voice came through her tears. "Please, leave me alone."

Michael didn't say a word. The only thing he was there for was to send her short bursts of electrical pain. Talking took time away from that, and Michael was not one to waste any time. He touched her with the pole again and she jolted and yelped just like before.

"Please." Her small cries transformed to sobs. "Kill me if you're going to, stop fucking around with me!"

This response raised one of Michael's eyebrows. This girl was slightly different from the others he had worked with. Most of them took another day or two, or even three days more before they asked for death. He wasn't sure whether this meant the girl wasn't much of a fan of life to begin with, or that she was just weak-willed. Either way, Michael had gotten what he needed from her.

As he stood up and walked away from the cell, Michael felt an invigoration. The same invigoration he had experienced with all the previous girls Outside in life, it was just monotonous and murderous to him. Now he felt alive, able to take on his days.

It had been that way since the beginning. He had always needed something to get adrenaline surging through him. Coffee was useless, life was useless, he needed something to make him become truly alive. It started with animals, strays in the neighborhood. When it began, he knew it would lead somewhere, but never here. Never to this degree. But now he was here, taking lives to feel alive, and he wouldn't do it any other way. This was something no stray cat or dog could ever give. It was holding onto a life, taking it in small doses. And once the life and the fervor that came with it depleted, he would be able to take the ultimate invigoration, confident he had squeezed the last wills of life out of his forbidden fruit.

As Michael deposited the prod back in the umbrella stand he chuckled to himself. He think of himself as a sadist and found no humor in his actions. But he did find something rather comical about the motive. To kill and feel alive, it was so odd it always brought a smile to his face.

### 17

Ezra awoke early in the morning, something he got used to in prison. He rolled out of bed and was ready to take on another day of drawing on maps and drawing closer to conclusions. Before he walked out of the small, bland, and sparsely furnished bedroom, he stopped to look into a face-sized mirror on the wall. It was the only mirror in the entire place. His fingers nimbly whisked his hair around to get rid of his bed head. A few tugs and twists later and he had something that resembled a poorly done haircut.

He wandered out of the bedroom and was astounded by the sight before him. Kellen was in the exact spot he had left her several nighttime hours earlier. She was bent over the dining table, staring into three different maps. The only thing that had changed from his perspective since he'd gone to bed was her vocal pattern. Through hard work and utter lack of sleep, Kellen had begun to mutter in a hush. It sounded insane, almost demonic in tone and pitch. In that moment, Ezra felt bad for his new counterpart. If he knew she would have actually stayed up all night with an obsession, he would have at least done the liberty of making her another pot of coffee.

"Morning, Kellen," he spoke restfully.

"What?" She spun around in an instant, bearing down on him with bloodshot eyes and a rabid brain behind them. "Well, good to know that you've gotten your lazy ass outta bed. Now you want to make your stupid fucking furlough worth it? Help me out over here."

"Why the bitterness this morning?"

"Why the bitterness? You did not just ask me that. I'm bitter because the fucking serial killer I'm forced to tote around like a handbag just left me all night to stress and worry about finding some kidnapped, suffering teen by drawing random lines on maps and hoping that something in my mind would click!"

"When you say it like that it doesn't sound particularly nice."

"I'm not trying to be nice!"

"Okay, here's what to do. You're going to lie down on the couch and sleep for a few hours...or days. After that, we'll figure all this out together. Sound good enough to you?"

He watched her mind tick away through her symphony of facial expressions. It started with anger, then confusion, then more anger, then what looked vaguely of melancholy, and lastly an exhausted acceptance. It seemed like quite the emotional roller coaster for her, but Ezra was happy Kellen took his advice and got up out of the dining chair and walked over to the couch. As soon as she was within reach, she toppled down onto it and fell away from consciousness.

"I'll take that as a yes," Ezra said.

After Kellen had fallen asleep, Ezra took a moment to walk over to the couch and looked at her. A lot of thoughts ran through his mind at that moment. She was intriguingly attractive, even through her exhaustion and overall disheveled look. Despite that, he could see that there was much more potential in her physicality than a basic form of beauty. Not like he much cared about looks and things of that sort, but it could have been something worth telling her at some point, once all of her worrisome situations had subsided.

Thinking beyond her looks, another idea took over Ezra's head. It was an amazing opportunity. As he looked down at her, he recalled the kitchen utensils. There were knives of all kinds in that collection. He could plunge one into her neck while she slept and she would be gone in seconds, it probably wouldn't even hurt. After that, he could run off and have some good fun as a fugitive. Maybe even land on America's Most Wanted once or twice before he went down.

Ezra laughed at that thought. For one, it was preposterousness. America's Most Wanted did an entire episode about him after his capture. What reason would he have to want to be on it again? In addition, a fugitive is always running around and Ezra wasn't much for running unless he had someplace special to go. And most importantly, he was not someone who would kill a person who didn't have it coming to them. Kellen was overworked, stressed, annoying, and overbearing, but far from murder worthy.

A few more moments of thought passed, and then Ezra stepped away from the couch. His babysitter needed her beauty sleep. Besides, he had work to do. Walking over to the maps on the table, he noticed Kellen's patterns. She called them random, he figured anything but. By the time he got out of bed, she had gotten far closer to their answer. Now that she had done so much of the work, the least he could do was put all the pieces she had found together. And so as Kellen slept, Ezra sat down and took over the meticulous job of staring at maps.

### 18

Kellen awoke in a daze. She could hardly remember how she had landed on the couch, or what she was done before then. For a moment, she sat still and tried to bring it all back together in her head. Maps. It was all about the maps. She sat around all night looking at them and analyzing patterns. She had no idea how close she was, or how far off even. But after a full night of work she had to have gotten somewhere. After the night passed through, she recalled Ezra waking up and ushering her to bed.

She shot up from the couch, praying he hadn't run off anywhere. Kellen saw him across the room, standing over the table. At first she was ready to breathe a sigh of relief, but then she saw a gleam of metal in his hand. A knife. Instinctually, she lunged down to the coffee table where her gun sat. She spun back up just as he took notice of her and held the gun high and aimed it at his head.

"What the hell are you're doing?" she asked. "Drop the knife, now!"

"I see your sleep has made you more level headed," Ezra replied in a dry sarcasm.

"Shut up." She stared down the sight of her weapon. "Put the knife down, now."

"If I may explain for a moment." Ezra shifted himself to reveal his other hand to her, and the yet to be sliced apple it held. "This was all that the knife was for, nothing more than that."

"Why?"

It was obvious that she had made a massive misstep at this point. But despite that, Kellen kept the gun up and ready. This had nothing to do with him anymore. This was about her. That gun stayed up and ready to end a life because of her own mind taking complete control over her body. This was the stance she used to take in the mirror, a long time ago. She would stand there with a block of wood or something gun-like and aim it just like this. Wide, balanced stance, strong arms, heavy gaze, every ounce of her ready to shoot.

Back then she didn't think about where she would go or how she would do. All she knew was that she wanted to catch killers. If she wasn't able to catch them she would take this stance and gun them down. But ever since joining the FBI, she had never taken this stance, never taken a life, never fired a bullet in the line of duty. Today wouldn't be that day either. But no matter how much she told herself to stop, all Kellen did was keep the gun up and straight.

"Why?" Ezra repeated the question with a scoff. "Because people usually eat food to live for longer than a few days. Besides, I needed to celebrate somehow, but this was all this odd safe house place had." He looked around the bland room with a slight grimace. "Can't say I expected anything greater though."

"Celebrate what?" Kellen was breaking herself out of the kill mode she had caught herself in.

Ezra grinned. "I found our pattern."

"Wait, what?" Kellen shook off the thoughts in an instant, although she only lowered her weapon a few inches.

"Come here and I'll show you."

Still not lowering her gun much further, Kellen approached the dining table where all the maps were spread out. Looking down at all of them, she saw all the markings she'd made during the night. Now they were brought together in the final pattern.

"What the hell," she muttered in amazement. "What all did you find?"

"Well, honestly, you performed much of the work, making the main lines," Ezra explained. "All I had to do was connect them in just the right fashion, and I found out everything."

"What'd you find out?" Kellen let her weapon go to her side, but she never lost consciousness of its presence in her grasp.

"Well, as your genius friends in the Texas State Patrol and your even more genius friends in Washington so smartly deduced, each body was dumped only twenty miles from the pick up spot."

"So?"

"So it was a ploy." Ezra replied. He didn't sound it out with his usual smart, cocky tone though. He said the words darkly, as if he had been at the wrong end of an evil trick and all he wanted was revenge.

"What in the hell do you mean by that?" Kellen picked that statement apart in a million different ways. A lot of the thoughts were meaningless and absurd. Anything was possible.

"This guy wanted the authorities to think he didn't go far from the pick up point during his two week spans, but it was a trick."

"From the beginning?"

He nodded. "Consider, if he would have stuck around the area of the first disappearance, a search party would have come across him, wherever he was, within the two weeks. That is unless he hid astoundingly well. For once or twice, anyone would see that occurrence, but this many times is ludicrous. No one person hides themselves nearly a dozen times. He had to be gone, long gone, and stay gone until they were dead. After that, it would be nothing more than a fleeting pass through to dump the body someplace someone would see it. Always careful to make sure of that."

"He wanted to toy with us there. He wanted us to know the exact time it would be until another body showed up, only for us to still fail at stopping it every time." Kellen felt her fists clench.

"This person played with you in so many other ways. No one saw any of the other tricks though. He had to travel far, no doubt there had to have been an average, some kind of focal point in the middle ground of all these places. Once you reach the number that this guy is at, a pattern will form. But without a massive sample size, you either need to guess or look hard. And, what can I say, we're not in any business to guess."

"You found that pattern?" she inquired, stifling her hope for a moment. "Is there an average distance?"

"One hundred and eighty to two hundred miles, give or take a handful here or there."

"Are you serious? You found it?" Kellen asked. Another massive break in her case. She felt the bust coming. Although a lot of work still needed to be done, she was ready.

"More than that, my fair captor." He smiled, his dark voice fading off. "I looked even deeper still, at where that focal point in all these places landed."

"Anything good?"

He pointed a long index finger into a circle in middle Texas. "This is that point, noticing anything?"

"Jesus, it's remote as hell." She chuckled. "There's nothing more than a village or two in here."

"Except one place." He shifted his finger up, off from the center of the circle. A tiny black dot. The map key told that to be a larger population, a real town.

"Sun City." She read off from the map. "What the fuck is Sun City?"

"A town of twelve thousand people in the middle of this nowhere land in the center of Texas. Not big enough to create any congestion or for people to be snooping where they shouldn't be."

"And not small enough to arouse any major talk over some small suspicious activities," Kellen finished the thought. "Holy shit."

"Congratulations, Agent Monello, You have the nest of your crow."

"Jesus, I need to send units there."

"No. If I'm wrong about Sun City, and he's near there, you'll spook him and he'll run, then you'll never find him."

"Right, we should head there ourselves first."

"Exactly. But first, can we celebrate with something other than old apples?"

"Like what?"

"What about donuts?"

"Donuts?" Kellen cocked her head in confusion.

"Yeah, there's a place right down the road." He took a few steps towards the door. "Besides, cops like donuts."

"Whatever." She shook off his playful jab as she followed him out the door. They needed to celebrate, even if it was just at some gross corner donut place.

As they walked down the street. She contemplated telling him about her previous mind state, about just how close she had come to shooting him down for trying to cut an apple. But she kept her lips tight. It didn't seem to bother him any, he didn't even ask about it now as they walked down the road. Besides, trouble was the last thing she wanted to stir up between them, although it seemed unlikely that Ezra Grazer would get heated or hold any grudge. Still, Kellen wanted to play it safe. There were far more important things to deal with. They had to catch a serial killer before he could kill again.

### 19

The donut shop down the street from the safe house was a bland, almost cliché affair. The building looked a lot like a stylized semi-trailer, with long, dirtied up windows and artistically corrugated fifties-style sheet metal siding. The interior wasn't much better. There was a diner counter with half a dozen stools in front of it, and many booths lining the windowed walls. It looked like the place served a lot more than donuts, but based on the large pastry cases full of their wide variety of flavors and variations, it appeared to be their main attraction.

Kellen and Ezra sat at a booth near the door. She sipped at black coffee and ate a bear claw while he drank from a cup of ice water and indulged himself in a honey glaze donut. As they sat, she observed him. Her suspicions of him had only heightened through all his help. What made him so good at it? Was he better at catching killers than she was? How could she let her skills fall behind those of an actual killer?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Ezra inquired, noticing her noticing him.

Kellen took in a deep breath. "What are you?"

"When will people stop asking that?"

"Sorry, but it's got me in a bunch right now. How the hell are you so good at this?" Kellen asked. "And don't brush off the question. Give me a real answer."

"Well in all honesty, and trust me this isn't brushing it off, it just took practice." Ezra shrugged. "I spent much of my childhood in book learning. In middle school I was reading dictionaries and encyclopedias, hoping to understand the word in its entirety. But all I learned from that was how to understand people. After all, they're the ones who wrote all those tomes."

"What kind of middle school kid reads encyclopedias for fun?" Kellen was almost certain that Ezra was lying his way through the explanation.

"The nerd kid with the giant brain, absurd chess skills, and the silvery hair."

"You played chess? You must've been a nerd."

"Could beat anyone in the school in ten moves or less," Ezra said with a prideful smile. "Same with high school. In college the number moved up to about twelve moves."

"Where'd you go to college?" Kellen didn't expect to hear that a serial killer had gone to any institution of higher learning. But based on Ezra's mind and keen skill set, she was now kicking herself for not deducing that fact before.

"I got my Masters in Public Administration from a school in California. But a degree like that mixed with past time in the military put me right next to big politicians, quite the place to be for wanting to observe the nature of human beings."

"That just sounds hellish."

"I suppose it was watching these political types operate that made me the cynical person I was before prison. If those people could behave so badly and lie so well to the public, wasn't everyone capable of that power? My political job lead me to the conclusion that all people are inherently bad, but it also taught me that no one deserves to be deceived or hurt by the destructive nature of others. I saw politicians all around take bribes and deals that wrecked people's homes, their jobs, their entire lives. To this day, I feel rather poor for killing the criminals tainting my neighborhood instead of the men in suits who forced them with crooked policy and corrupt bargains into that life to begin with. So what am I then? I'm a college-educated man who knows the innards of how humans operate. It is this knowledge, along with my firsthand experience as one of the crazy killers of the world, that makes me so valuable for things like this. Don't feel too bad if I disgrace you." He spoke with no ego behind his words. Ezra was speaking to Kellen in the utmost sincerity. "The only reason I'm good at this is because I am what you are hunting, and I took the time to note down how I would think, and what I would do, and why. So that's what I am, more or less, a critical thinking killer."

Kellen pondered this response. This was no brush off. Ezra wasn't weaseling his way out of an explanation. She could tell in his voice and in his stern expression that this was the best attempt at the truth he could make towards the answer to that question. A critical thinking killer. He observed his movements, saw the wrong in them, but continued anyway. To her, that fact made him far more dangerous.

Slowly, Kellen was forming the words to reply to him. But before she could utter a single syllable, an unfamiliar face approached their booth. A tall woman, brunette, dressed well and impeccably put together.

"Excuse me." She tapped on Ezra's shoulder. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, but I love your hair. How'd you get it like that?"

"What, the color?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, it's fantastic," the woman exclaimed.

"Well, the color comes from genetic deficiency, nothing of my doing. But the shine and style comes from my artist."

"Do they have a name? I'd love to go get my hair done by them."

"It's Ron something."

Kellen watched this interaction cautiously. This woman had no clue who she was speaking to, and it was rather incredible. To this woman, Ezra was just a normal person with some well done hair, despite the fact his head look rather disheveled from sleep still.

"Where does he do his work?" the brunette wondered. "Does he have a shop?"

"No." Ezra shook his head. "He does it on our off time at the prison."

"Wait? What prison?" The woman's complete lack of fear melted away. Kellen observed her facial expression. It was confusion, but fear was definitely in the mix.

"The maximum security one down the road."

"Do you work there?"

"Nah," Ezra shook his head and smiled. Kellen was already letting out a groaning sigh. She knew what was coming. He was about to ruin it. "I kill people."

The woman snorted. "Funny joke."

"It's not a joke." Kellen cut off the talk before it could go any further. She pulled out her FBI badge and flashed it, verifying her statement. "He's under control and not dangerous, but I suggest you move along."

Without another word, the woman darted off. The lack of fear seemed so foreign now. It was a disappointment to Kellen, who took interest in seeing a natural interaction between a person and a murderer. But, she knew they had business to take care of. They had a girl that desperately needed saving, so they needed to get back on track as soon as possible.

"Come now," Ezra said. "I was having a nice conversation with someone who didn't know I was a monster."

"I don't care." Kellen was swift to turn the conversation towards her point of interest. "We've got work to do."

"What work would that be?"

"Sun City."

"What about it?"

"How are we sure that that's the place our guy is holed up. If we're wrong, then we've lost a lot of valuable time chasing a useless lead."

"Think about it like this: how many of these kidnappings happened in big cities, like around here?"

Kellen thought it over for a moment. "None."

"Precisely. When I looked over the files, I came to notice that all these disappearances happened from small towns. Not villages either though. The lowest population was five thousand while the highest was about forty thousand. This guy didn't want to be seen around a really tiny town."

"But he didn't want the disappearance to fall through the cracks either. He wanted people to see. He wanted people to notice. Why?"

"Hell if I know." Ezra shrugged. "There's so many reasons someone could want to see their work in the news, or want people to catch onto him. They could be crazy, they could get a real rush out of it, they could just want their ego taken care of. Until you find the guy and talk about it with him, there's no sure way to tell. But, there is one thing I can tell, this guy is a creature of severe habit. Same amount of time between kidnapping and dump every time, he makes sure the body is seen within a few hours each time, and each time he makes sure the dump site isn't more than a couple miles from the kidnapping site. He's methodical, and I assure you that will be his downfall. You just need to dig deeper into his methods. All of this stuff stays constant throughout. Why wouldn't the distance he drives each time stay the same too? It would only make sense. And the only place where all of these sites connect with any equality is Sun City."

"So you're sure this is where he'll be found?"

"Sure enough, yes. Besides, we don't have much else to go on anyhow."

"Okay then." Kellen got out of the booth. "Let's go."

"Now?"

"Yes, Ezra, now."

"All right." He sighed and followed her out of the shop.

As they walked down the sidewalk back towards the safe house, they didn't speak. Kellen was too deep into thought to say much, nor hear what was said  around her. She seemed to get this way every time she got close to catching a killer she was working on. So close she could taste it, it brought excitement to her mind, but it drug anxiety along for the ride. Her mind wandered deeper and wanted to run faster. What would happen? Would they get him? Would he escape? Was it too late to save Megan? So many questions sped through her head, and each one of them made her heart beat faster. She didn't want to let this become another failure in her life.

Kellen reached into her pocket and felt at her phone. She knew she couldn't call Remi. There wasn't time. Remi wouldn't be that much help either. She was always better in person than she was over the phone. But still Kellen held onto the device.

"Something upsetting you?" Ezra's voice came through her haze.

"What?" She inched out of the cave of her mind.

"You look rather distressed. Shouldn't you be happy? It appears as if we're closer to catching your sought after bad guy."

"It's nothing," She shook her head and walked faster.

"You think you can run some 'it's nothing' shit by me? I'm not going to let you up from this without an explanation. This should be exciting for you, so why the long, depressive face?"

"Confronting killers, or even just the thought of confronting them, just brings me a lot of stress."

"Why's that? And why choose this line of work if that's the case?"

"I have a history dealing with killers."

"And what might that be?"

Kellen thought for a moment. She didn't want to tell him anything about her life, anything he could use against her later on. He was a dangerous man even if his only weapon was his words.

"I don't bite," he said.

"I've gone through some bad things in my past." Kellen was purposefully vague. She only shared the story of her parents with a few important people in her life, and Ezra would never be one of those people. "For a long time I wanted to catch killers. I've gotten a lot of them, a lot of real sick fucks. But that doesn't mean I'm not still nervous when I get up close and personal with one."

"That seems like quite the issue in your field."

"I'm dealing with it. It's getting better."

"Are you positive about that?"

"Trust me, it's getting better. When I started, I needed days off every time we caught one. Now, I don't need that. Some butterflies is all. That's what you can call them anyway, butterflies. I'm fine, don't worry." Kellen felt uncomfortable sharing that much with Ezra.

"You know, you remind me of myself."

"How do you figure?" Kellen couldn't see any similarity between herself and the serial killer walking beside her.

"When I took care of my own business, it startled me to be so close to such bad people. Mix that with actually doing the deed, well, it wasn't something even the army could prepare me for. That work was simple. It was all methodology and faceless attacks. I didn't know the people I was attacking. All I knew was if I wanted to live, they had to die. This was different. I saw them everyday in my neighborhood. They weren't faceless. I knew about them, they weren't shooting at me, they weren't harming me in any direct way. After the first time, I was so paranoid, so scared. I didn't leave my house for days afterwards. I was just waiting for a squad car to pull in front of my house and take me away. It took a lot of time to get over that. I know, you're thinking about just how wildly different our experiences were, how opposite spectrum they are. I can see why you would think that, but don't let that make the message fuzzy, it gets easier. You stop worrying. That's something I promise you. Doesn't matter what side of the law you're on or what you're doing, anxiety passes, that's the only tolerable thing about it. In no time, you will be the confident killer catcher I know you can be, and _you_ know you can be."

"Thanks." Kellen gave a small nod.

She thought about what he told her. It seemed to make sense, and that scared her even more. This man was a killer. _A killer_. He was the kind of person she set out to stop, set out to eliminate from the outside world. Now she was identifying with him, as one normal person does to another. That thought made her skin crawl. Ezra was the last person she wanted to relate to.

### 20

As morning came through the large, dust caked windows of the old factory, Michael was working on another day of his morning routine. While he poked and prodded at Megan with his electrical pole, she hopped, jolted, and cried out as she always did. When it was over, he walked away from the cell, whistling with his steps.

After Michael left every day, Megan was alone, with only her whimpers as company. Throughout every hour of the day and night, she had nothing more than her mind and her slumber to take up time. Sleep was hardly enjoyable. The concrete made her whole body ache, but the cage wasn't tall enough to stand in. The dreams she had ripped apart her mentality. If she wasn't suffering from this man's brutality in real life, Megan was subject to far worse horrors within her subconscious. And sleeping always risked being woken up by the body-shaking feeling of that prod stabbing into her and sending its hateful energy through her whole being.

However horrid sleeping was, lying down and thinking wasn't much of an improvement. Everything she could think about brought her pain and sadness. The thought of the room that contained her brought claustrophobia, and the last time it crossed her mind she nearly had a complete breakdown. Nothing was pleasant about where she was. Besides the tight space, the whole building stank of rat poison and severe water damage.

Every attempt at thinking of anything other than her predicament failed. As hard as Megan tried, everything in her mind led right back to the horrific life she was living. Thoughts of family always brought her to tears if not full-fledged weeping. They must have been searching tirelessly for her and cried themselves to sleep just like she did. All she wanted was to see them again, to hold them again, to speak with them. Her family, her friends, even people she had only spoken to fleetingly once or twice, she'd kill to hold in that moment and let them know just how much she appreciated them. But she couldn't. Megan was trapped in that room, in everlasting pain, and it seemed like there was no escape.

Throughout the tremendous amount of woe and dread, there was one thing that kept Megan's melancholic mind melded in reality. Despite all the darkness and hell in which she found herself, there was a single spot of light to be seen through all of it. In her cell, there sat a tiny pin hole in the wall. From what she could tell, it didn't lead to any other portion of the factory, or whatever the building was. It lead outside. The slim hole was no wider than a pencil, but everyday it shed a whole life's worth of light onto Megan's bleak and bottomless world.

The hole was at crouching height for Megan, and whenever her mind overwhelmed her and she was still too afraid or too uncomfortable to fall asleep, she would get herself up and peek out of it. With her malnourishment and aching joints, muscles, and bones, it caused Megan great pain. But for the light it was worth it. Sometimes it was blinding, but she never looked away. It was best on cloudy days when the sun was beneath a thin haze or two. On those days she could almost make out certain aspects of the surrounding nature if she tried hard enough. Trees were in the distance, and if she angled right she could catch glimpses of the ground. It was like a dream, looking through that hole, only far better than the kind that plagued her mind every time her eyes shut.

The pain in her body made looking through the hole possible for only a few moments at a time before she had to collapse back to the floor. It wouldn't be long before she would get back up again. The light rejuvenated her. Every day, whenever she could, Megan would stare out into the world, waiting for her chance to be free again, to see the world through more than just a pencil-sized hole. It was a pinhole of optimism in her otherwise miserable and unforgiving reality.

As Megan sat in her cell, shifting between staring out into the world and lying back down to regain energy, she could feel her mind charging. Hope bubbled up, that somehow she would make it out alive; all the horrors in her brain melted away while they had a chance to, and her mind cleared. She wanted to see her family again, she wanted to see her friends, and she wanted to see the piece of shit who put her in a cage put in prison. While she was in the darkness, that was her only focus, but once the light came all the hope came with it. For hours Megan stared through the hole and into the light of the world, hungry for the hope she might survive. It was desperate and far-fetched, she knew it, but it wasn't something she would ever be willing to let go of.

### 21

Kellen parked the car on the side of the main street of Sun City. There were many parking spots lining both sides of the road, without many cars to fill them. Under the shining, early afternoon sun, every inch of the town was illuminated. While she got out and scanned the main street, Ezra stepped out and gazed at something far different.

There weren't many people on the streets. It wasn't a weekend, most of the town's inhabitants were at work. Still, there was a person here or there, and he observed all of them. There were a few elderly folks sashaying out of a small corner restaurant and shuffling their feet towards nearby quilting and craft shops. The old corner diner and craft shops were just the start. There was a pre-framed art seller, something marketed only by a "Authentic Country Store" sign, whatever that meant, and a drug store that still sold ice cream and fountain soda. There wasn't much to do in Sun City for the non-geriatrics of the world. A perfect place for a serial killer to hide.

Above every shop was what looked like apartment space, or what used to be apartment space anyhow. Most of the upper floor windows to these stores looked dark and desolate, the perfect place to keep someone captive for two weeks before killing them. Along with that, all the seniors probably had RV's or something of the sort, ingenious camouflage when Ezra thought about it. The killer wouldn't stick out at all. In fact, the only people who did seemed to stand out were him and Kellen. They stuck out like sore thumbs in this town.

"Why are you wearing that thing?" Ezra inquired as he saw pedestrians taking ganders at Kellen's FBI jacket. With its bright yellow lettering on the front and back, it was easy to notice. "It's quite telling, and besides, it's summer. It's a _Texan_ summer."

"Heat doesn't bother me. And I can't walk around this place like a pedestrian. I know you haven't dealt with small town cops before, but you need something to let them know that you're of greater authority. Badges rarely do it, badge and a jacket might though."

"If you insist. But if you die of heat stroke, I won't help you."

"I wouldn't want to be helped by you."

Ezra returned to observing everything around him. He knew they had hit a road block. He and Kellen were out-of-towners, obviously cops looking for someone, or at least Kellen was. Meanwhile, the killer no doubt blended in. It would be worse than finding a needle in a haystack, more like finding a specific piece of hay in that stack while avoiding getting stuck by the needle.

"Where the hell do we start?" Ezra asked.

"I'll say there." Kellen pointed a block down the road to two story brick structure that would fit in well with the rest of downtown if not for its much wider build.

For a moment, Ezra wasn't sure what the building was. There weren't any clues in the architecture. Nothing hung from the exterior walls and there was nothing to be seen in the windows. It wasn't until he looked at the parking spaces outside the building did he realize what the bland brick structure was.

"A cop shop?" he looked at the numerous police cars parked in front. "Are you crazy?"

"Why would that make me crazy? Come on." She walked towards the building.

"Because in case you've forgotten, you're toting around a serial killer on furlough. A rather famous serial killer in these parts, to law enforcement anyway."

"They'll understand."

"I don't think they will."

"This is FBI business, they'll have to deal with it whether they like it or not."

"As much as I enjoy your forward style, these officers might be more trouble than they're worth."

"I wish I could just leave you in the car."

"Why don't you? I'd prefer it in there."

"The last time I left you in the car, you made me chase you across Dallas. Not happening again."

With a groan, Ezra continued beside Kellen into the police station. As soon as they entered the lobby, he surveyed all aspects of the location. There was a large, dark wood front desk in the otherwise empty foyer. There were a multitude of thin corridors leading away from the lobby and into other parts of the station. The walls were a dull robin's egg blue color, and the floors had matching blue and white tile. The design looked like a hospital that existed in the days of lobotomies and hydrotherapy.

Kellen approached the counter to speak with the receptionist. "Hi, I need to speak to the person in charge." She flashed her ID.

The stick-thin, unkempt woman behind the desk stared at her for a moment. "You wanna see tha Chief of Police?"

"That would be preferable, yes."

Ezra walked up to the counter. He didn't want to stand too close to anyone who might recognize him, and in a station of law enforcement, everyone was a risk. Even as the talking between Kellen and the receptionist went on, Ezra was careful not to show too much of his face.

"Well, ma'am, he ain't here," the receptionist said.

"What? Well where is he?"

"He goes all sorts of places, I'll check for you." She typed into her computer, but was soon taken off subject. "Hey there, mister, I like your hair." She smiled at Ezra, who backed up a few more inches.

"Why thank you." He gave a confident smile. "The color runs in my family."

"Well it sure is nice." She twirled a lock of hair in her fingers.

"It holds no merit to yours." Ezra flashed a stare that matched his smile. He wasn't sure why he bothered flirting with this woman, based on her vocabulary choices he doubted she understood half of what he said. But anything he could do to not arouse any suspicion was helpful.

The receptionist stroked her frizzed hair gently. "Ain't you a charmer!"

Just then, an open hand struck the top of the wooden desk. The force behind the blow shook up papers, shifted computers, and knocked over a cup full of pens. The forceful hand belonged to Kellen Monello.

She pointed a finger at Ezra. "Stop being a distraction." She turned her attention to the receptionist. "And you, tell me where to find your Chief of Police, now."

The woman behind the desk was quick to get back to work at her computer. Ezra, however, took a different approach to Kellen's fury. With a suave smile still painted on his face, he took a few cautious steps closer to Kellen and the front desk. "No need to be upset." He feigned a Texan accent. "I was being gracious to our generous southern host." He shot the receptionist another confident look as he wrapped a comforting arm around Kellen.

"Nope." Kellen shrugged off Ezra's arm and took a step sideways. "Don't touch me...ever. Don't ever touch me. You think you can handle that?"

"Based on our mutual circumstance, understandable."

"Good," Kellen said before looking back to the receptionist. "You got an answer for me yet?"

"Well it looks like our Chief is at meetings all day at the county seat 'cross town. He ain't gonna be available 'til tomorrow," the woman replied.

"Who's the highest up on the ladder who is here right now?"

"Well, I thought I saw Captain McCullough come in today. His office is just down the way." The receptionist pointed a thin finger towards one hall. "Would you like to make an appointment?"

"I'll make one myself, thanks." Kellen walked off from the desk and towards the hall the woman had pointed to.

Ezra followed quickly. The woman called back to them, but Ezra couldn't hear what she had said, and he figured Kellen couldn't either.

On the other end of the slim hall, there was a large, open room filled with desks and lined with doors into other offices. There was no sign which department of the station they had landed in, but Ezra didn't care. He didn't even want to be there. But Kellen didn't appear to care either. It just looked like she wanted someone in the station to listen to what she had to say, no matter who it ended up being.

"Can somebody help you?" a young officer approached the two of them.

"I'm looking for Captain McCullough," Kellen said, showing off her ID once more. "Federal business."

"Who is looking for me?" A raspy tone came from the other side of the room.

Kellen and Ezra turned to see a tall, astute man with a wrinkled face and full head of bleach-white hair. No doubt Captain McCullough.

"That would be me," Kellen said. "Kellen Monello, FBI."

"FBI? What business do you have here, with me?"

"I believe a serial killer that the FBI has been after is based out of this town. I would like to have the cooperation of the local police department to help me find him before he kills again."

"Serial killer, in Sun City?" McCullough scoffed. "How the hell did you come to that conclusion?" He looked at Kellen in confusion for a moment before turning to Ezra for an answer. But at that moment he paused and his wrinkles grew deeper as he squinted at Ezra. "Who might your friend be, agent?"

"Not important," she replied.

"No, no, it's important. I know that ridiculous hair style anywhere. I saw enough of it on the news," his tone became dark and full of hate. "Officer," he called to the young man they'd just spoken with, "detain this man!"

"Detain?" Ezra laughed. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," McCullough said as the young officer approached.

"Sir, put your hands on your head," the young officer commanded as sternly as he could muster.

Ezra looked around the room for a moment. Everyone was on edge now. Everyone was looking. Kellen was trying to figure out what to say. The whole place was waiting for Ezra's next move. He was determined to make it a good one.

"On my head?" Ezra asked the officer politely.

"Yes, now," the officer replied.

"How about this?" Ezra shoved both hands deep into his pockets.

"Sir!" The officer pulled his gun and aimed it at Ezra's head. Other officers in the room stood up and glued their hands to their weapons. "Take your hands out of your pockets slowly!"

"Ezra, don't exacerbate!" Kellen implored.

"So I was right," McCullough said. "Ezra Grazer, Dallas's Angel of Death, vigilante serial killer."

"I was never a fan of that nickname." Ezra kept his eyes on the gun in his face.

"Sir, hands out of the pockets!" the officer yelled.

"If you insist." Ezra nodded. He took his hands out of his pockets and shifted his weight away from the front of the gun. Before the officer behind it could act, Ezra wrapped his fingers around the slide of the pistol and yanked it back, sending the round in the chamber flying. The officer started to tug back and away. Using the backwards force of the officer and the force he put in pulling the slide back forward, Ezra pulled the top of the weapon clean off with brute force alone. Once the gun was disabled, he raised his hands in the air, the slide still in hand, as other weapons in the room were drawn.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Kellen got in front of him. "I have documentation." She waved a paper. "Signed by the Governor of Texas. This man has been granted furlough and is within legal right to be in this building and to be by my side while I conduct my investigation."

"Bullshit, bring it here," McCullough snapped.

Kellen walked over to McCullough and the group of cops now surrounding him. It didn't take long for the conversation to swell into nothing more than a heated argument. All the while, Ezra just hung back and lowered his arms back to his sides. As he did, the young officer approached, bottom half of his gun still in his grip.

"How the hell did you do that?" the officer asked.

"Something I picked up from some Israelis in the war." Ezra handed the officer the other half of his gun. "Don't try putting it back together, I wrecked the insides doing that. Sorry."

"I'd say sorry to whoever gave you furlough, they're gonna hate this."

"Yeah." Ezra nodded, not caring all that much.

"You said you were in the war?"

"For a few years, a Ranger."

"I was almost a Marine. I got injured in basic though, honorable discharge."

"At that point I suppose it is the thought that counts," Ezra put no effort into trying to sound convincing. His mind was elsewhere.

Glancing over the young man before him, Ezra began picking apart every aspect of this interested conversationalist. His badge and small nametag were each spotless. He took good care of his things, like a Marine would be taught to on the first day. That seemed to be the case with everything on the officer's person, everything besides his flashlight. The massive Maglite was covered in dings, scratches, and dirt. This wasn't any kind of normal dirt or potting soil even. It was an odd mixture of mud and what looked like pebbles or minute scraps of rubble.

Just then, Ezra's brain came alive with activity. He peered at the officer's fingernails. They hardly looked like those of a neat and disciplined almost-Marine. Each of them were caked with dirt, the same interesting consistency as that on the flashlight.

"Been exploring where you shouldn't have been?" Ezra inquired, still looking at the officer's nails.

"Why do you say that?"

"Your nails, mostly, and your beat up flashlight. My first interpretation is either caving or urban exploration, and my personal guess would be towards the latter."

"It's a little hobby, sure."

"Well, perhaps you could let me in on the most remote places around here."

"Somewhere your killer might hide?"

"Precisely."

"I don't know." The officer sighed. "There's a few abandoned barns on the outskirts of town that are far away from anything other than road."

"Go on."

"There's an old gas station down Walnut Way. It's small, but they had a big body shop in it, so the walls are all thick and soundproof. There's also an old grocery store not too far from there. It's just a big empty space though."

"Anything else?" Ezra took note of every word.

"Down on the south end of town there's an abandoned cookware factory, it used to be accessible pretty easily but for the past few years it's been locked up tight."

"Thanks." Ezra turned away from the officer and grabbed Kellen's arms to pull her away from her heated exchange.

"What the fuck are you doing? Let go of me!"

"You take that psycho out of my town!" McCullough called to them as they departed back down the thin hall towards the lobby.

"What the fuck is your problem? Now what the hell are we supposed to do?" she asked Ezra.

"I've got our leads, don't worry." Ezra waved to the receptionist before they walked out the door.

"Wait, you've got leads?"

"A few, yes. After I tore his gun apart, that nice young law enforcer we met started up a conversation with me. He's some kind of urban explorer."

"Urban explorer?"

"Someone who goes into abandoned buildings, or old sewer pipes, subway lines, wherever they want to go, places people have forgotten about. Places that would be perfect to kill someone in."

"And?"

"He gave me a few things to go on."

"Well shit, let's go."

### 22

"This looks promising." Ezra grinned, looking at their first stop.

Kellen stared at the building before her, and her thoughts were not the same. It was old, abandoned, filthy, and it didn't seem like a place that anyone wanted to go out of there way to be in or around. It was a perfect hideout, but there still stood one problem. This run down gas station was in the middle of the unsuspecting town. While this old fuel stop seemed like a good place for a one-hitter, it didn't fit the forte of their RV killer.

"It's small," she noticed, finding that much of the station was taken up by the two-garage body shop on one side.

"That's what the cop said back at the station. It was small, but because of the body shop, all the walls are thick and sound proof."

"The garage doors don't have any windows either," Kellen noticed. The body shop had no windows. It would make a perfect, rather spacious kill room.

"Should we check it out?" Ezra asked.

Kellen nodded and got out of the car. She didn't get far at first. She was waiting to hear Ezra follow her. Even now, he was her main concern. There was no way he was getting too far out of her sight again.

As they walked up to the station, Kellen got an even more vivid view of the decrepit building. All the pumps were gone, leaving only rusted fixtures in their place. The roof above the pumps leaned heavily to one side, and sheets of browned metal hung off it like gauze off an injured appendage. Graffiti art covered the white exterior walls. Even the windows were painted over.

They approached the door and Kellen kept one hand on her pistol as she reached for the handle. With the horrid state that the station was in, she partially expected it to break off the door when she twisted it. As luck would have it, the mechanism stayed together, although so did the lock.

Once the door failed, she turned her attention to the windows. She could tell by how they were designed that they wouldn't open, but she tried her best to see in through them. Nothing was seen through the chips in the dark paint that covered them.

"Shit." She groaned, taking a step away from the building. "We'll never get a warrant to search this place. Maybe we should just try the barns you talked about. Those would probably have holes in the sides anyway."

"The barns aren't a good idea. Barns are almost too rickety for anyone when they're new, much less after a few years or decades of disrepair. And you're right, they probably have holes in the sides, which is why it would be a damn terrible kill site. Holes for escapes, for people to see out, and worst of all, for people to see _in_." He stared at the door. "Besides, warrants are for cops." He lifted his leg and hammered it against the door. After a massive crack, the door swung open, pieces of the lock and frame fell to the ground.

"What the hell, Ezra?" Kellen looked around, seeing no witnesses. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Unless you have forgotten, there is the life of a teenager riding on this, and my life at the hands of the justice system. I have no time for due process. _Megan_ has no time for due process. Nobody has time for due process. Let's go, the door's already open."

He disappeared into the station. She was quick to follow. If there was anyone in there, she didn't want him going in alone. Even if there wasn't, he was right, the damage was done.

The innards of the gas station were just as bad as the exterior. A counter was all that remained of the old business. Kellen pulled out a small flashlight. Ezra disappeared and through a thin corridor and into the body shop. She was at his heels as they went into the darkness.

The shop was less vacant than the front of the store. The hydraulic lifts were gone, but a lot of tools and boxes still remained. Even with all the possibilities for the room, it didn't appear that any crimes had been committed. Every tool was caked with just as much dust as everything else in the building. It seemed as if nothing had been touched since the place closed.

Kellen's light surveyed all the tools. She took notice of anything and everything that would fit the bill for the weapon or weapons used. There were a few handsaws, those didn't fit the cut style. Circular saw blades didn't fit either, nor did any of the many bludgeoning tools scattered around the shop. It all wasn't right.

"Kellen, you wouldn't happen to know what weapon killed all these girls, would you?" Ezra asked. She looked back and saw he was taking notice of all the tools as well.

"None of this stuff," she said.

"But still, anything specific?"

"Our lab techs said that, with the smooth cutting pattern, it was definitely a knife. But they said it probably wasn't sharp enough to be any hunting or bowie type knife. It was duller, like a kitchen knife or something."

"A kitchen knife?" Ezra's tone carried an odd inflection.

Kellen glanced at him. His expression was that of confusion mixed with realization. It seemed as if all the gears in his head were turning, but a few were still getting up to speed.

"Yeah." She nodded, puzzled. She tried to think about what would cause this reaction in him. Why would the kind of knife be important? What difference does a _kitchen knife_ make. Then it hit her. Cookware. "Fuck, the factory." She turned her light towards the door.

### 23

Kellen weaved through what little traffic Sun City had during the middle afternoon hours. She wasted no time getting to the other end of the Texas town. As she drove, she could hear Ezra speaking, although she couldn't comprehend a word. Her own thoughts dominated her senses.

Once she hit a stretch of clear road, Kellen's eyes shot down to her pocket. She wanted to call Remi. After a few moments of deliberation, Kellen reached into her pocket and collected her thoughts. She pulled out her phone and dialed. It was a hassle trying to hit the right keys while also keeping a watch on the road.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ezra inquired, she could finally hear what he was saying.

"Calling the local cops to back us up," she explained. She would have rather called her therapist, but Megan's life depended on her keeping it together.

"I would recommend otherwise."

"Why? We don't know what we're getting into with this. For all we know, this freak could have built a maze or something in that factory, or set up traps."

"Mazes? Traps? Kellen, you sound a bit off your rocker."

"I am just preparing for the worst over here!"

"Prepare for this: if this guy is in the area and we're wrong about this factory, sending the cops there will tip him off and send him fleeing, and our shot is gone, Megan dies, and I go back on trial, which isn't something I planned on doing."

"Are you honestly suggesting that we go in there alone?"

"If we want to catch him, yes."

Kellen pondered for a second before sliding her phone back into her pocket and focusing all her attention back on the road. "Look." She aimed into the distance, seeing the brick architecture of the factory just a few long blocks down.

"It's big. A place like that had to have quite the output during operation, which means a lot of large, rather noisy machinery around what is basically residential space."

Kellen scanned the area and saw he was right. This factory was surrounded by small houses. "If that place didn't want to be registered as a noise nuisance, it'd need some damn thick walls."

"Perfect place to house a screaming victim. Place is so big. Even if they escaped where they were held, it'd take forever to find a way out."

"That just means it'll be hard for us too, you know? Going through there blind will be dangerous, especially with no back up."

"It's the only way, trust me," Ezra said. After a moment he pointed to a spot on the curb. "Park here, we'll walk the rest of the way, we don't want him seeing a car pull up."

Kellen pulled to the side of the street just a block and a half from the factory. The structure seemed to loom over them, as if it were its own living, breathing monster. It seemed fitting that a beast would do well to house one of its own.

At first they tried to walk the rest of the way, but soon found it impossible to keep the pace slow. It was nothing more than a quick sprint to the building from where they had parked, and then they were stopped.

"What on earth do we do now?" Ezra looked up at the building, now close enough to touch it.

Kellen looked around, the only doors she could see had large, heavy locks on it and all the windows had both bars and thick metal screens. "Shit. I don't know."

"Let's look around back." Ezra kept close to the building's brick exterior as he walked around the perimeter.

Around the other side of the factory was a dense thicket of shrubs and vines, intermixed with years of garbage. Kellen was the first one to delve into the conglomeration, finding it difficult to maneuver around the vines enough to not get cut up by their sharp edges while also avoiding the piles of fly-infested trash.

"Here," she said, getting spat out of the greenery and onto a thin dirt track. She looked down one way to see it leading away from the factory property and off to what looked like abandoned train tracks. Down the other direction was the building itself, and a large garage door.

"That's promising." Ezra smiled, looking at the rusted up door once he got out of the vines. "This whole road is hidden by these bushes, it'd be the perfect place to hide. You can't even see this road from the outside."

"It's probably locked too."

"Yes it is." Ezra pointed to a small padlock near the bottom of the door. "But nothing that can't be handled."

"What the hell are we supposed to do? Shoot it?"

"No, no, that'd make too much ruckus. But it wouldn't hurt to have that gun of yours out right now. You never know what we'll find or run into here."

Kellen took that advice and drew her weapon as she watched Ezra approach the door. She still didn't have the slightest idea what his plan was, but she could tell he had one, and she stood still at a cautious distance. For a moment he looked around, then grabbed what looked like some kind of plumbing pipe. He stuck it into the bar of the lock and angled it. The whole door rattled as he pushed down on it. It wasn't until he turned around and let all his body weight fall onto the pole that they got results. The padlock snapped apart, the bar mechanism flying far into the thickets.

"How the hell do you know how to do that?" Kellen asked, walking up to the door herself.

"How did I pull a cop's gun apart earlier today? Practice," Ezra said as he reached down and lifted up the door. What was on the other end shook the smile from his expression and stopped Kellen's racing mind.

"Jesus Christ." Kellen raised her weapon, not sure what else lurked in the depths of the factory.

Ezra sighed and peeked his head into the garage space, staring at the tan RV sitting within it. "I think you should call those cops now."

### 24

"This place smells horrendous," Ezra said as he and Kellen worked their way through the ground floor of the factory. They had gone in through a door on the other side of the garage and gotten lost in the maze of the first floor. As they continued snaking through it all, Ezra hoped that the upper floors were a lot simpler.

"Be quiet and stay close," Kellen replied in a harsh whisper. She was in front with her pistol and a small flashlight drawn.

Ezra didn't speak in response because he was sure she didn't want him to, and the last thing he wanted to do was let whatever psychopath set up shop in the factory be aware of their presence. But either way, he made a valid point. The building smelled of water damage, mold, and ancient rat droppings. He figured if he had to spend two weeks entrapped in there, he would be begging for death when the time was up.

Just then, Kellen stopped at an open door and looked in. Ezra peek his head next to hers. Stairs. It was a dark, cold shaft, but it seemed to be the only way up. They both were careful while walking up the steps. Neither were certain what they might step on or run into in the pitch dark, nor what was awaiting them on the upper floors.

Upon reaching the next floor, the two of them were met with a thin hallway. For a moment, that seemed like that was on that floor. But, after Kellen led the way for a short distance, they came to an archway. The archway led into a massive, empty room. A former production floor. Ezra nudged her, pointing to a corner of the room not far from the archway. In that dank little corner was a cot and what looked like looted survival supplies.

"Someone's been here recently," he said.

Before Kellen could reply, a noise took their attention away from the sleeping area. Across the room, a figure came out of the darkness of another stairwell, dropping a short pole into an umbrella bin by the door. Ezra looked to the only armed person on his side, to find Kellen already had herself at the ready.

"Freeze!" she called out, her booming tone echoing through the large room.

The figure, tall, thin, and bald, did as he was told for only a moment. He looked back up at them, broke out of his frozen state and pulled an object from his waist. Ezra and Kellen both ducked for any kind of cover they could. Two shots rang out from the other end of the room, pieces of brick off the archway blew everywhere as bullets struck. Kellen returned three shots of her own before standing up from cover. Ezra looked up at the stairwell. The figure had vanished.

"Fuck!" Kellen rushed across the room, Ezra was swift to follow.

They stopped at the entrance to the stairs and Kellen cleared the corners. The man's footfalls sounded above them and slowly departing from earshot. This confused Ezra. Why would he go up and not down? Down was the only way out.

Flashlight and gun still up and ready, Kellen led the way up to the next floor. She was determined to keep going up until she caught the shooter. But out of pure curiosity Ezra stopped at the next landing and poked his head into the large, open space of the next level. It was then he heard a minute shuffling noise. He turned his head and noticed the crudely bricked section of space on the other side of the elevator.

"Shit." He raced into the room, leaving Kellen in the stairwell.

"Ezra, what the hell?" Kellen asked in fury.

"It's Megan." Ezra looked into the small space through the grate entrance. "I've got her, go get that son of a bitch." he pointed a finger upwards. She nodded and sprinted off up the stairs. Once her footsteps faded away, he turned his attention to the cell. "Megan?" he asked to no response. "Megan?" he hoped for her sake and his they weren't too late.

"What?" a weak and rough voice came through the darkness of the cell. It sounded like she hadn't spoken real words in a long time.

"I'm here to get you out of this place," Ezra explained, still only seeing a shadow through the darkness.

"What? Really?" an ounce of hope grew into the voice in the cage.

"Yes, really," Ezra spoke as calmly as he could. He was waiting for gunfire to echo through the building.

Ezra looked around the cell. The lock was nothing more than another simple padlock, easily broken from the outside. But he had no tools to do it with. He scanned the area for any pipes. There was nothing. Then he looked up and noticed a metallic glisten on a ledge built into the cell. Ezra stood up, he knew what he was looking at.

A knife, the common kitchen kind, although it didn't look like it got a lot of common use. The blade was dulled and covered in thick globs of dark red and brown. It was the killing knife, sitting in wait for the next victim. Now Ezra was here to ensure that it would never get the chance to find another throat.

Impatient now and needing some progress, Ezra lifted his leg and brought his foot down on the lock. It bent as did the locking mechanism on the door. He sent another swift kick downward. More progress. One final, much harder blow didn't break open the lock, but broke the lock mechanism off the cell door. He swung it open and knelt down to help her out, only to be tackled by Megan's body as she leapt out of the space.

It took a few moments for him to comprehend what was happening, but the whimpering sounds of Megan's weeps pieced it all together. Ezra wasn't sure what to do, he was never someone tuned into comforting others. The thought flashed in his mind that he could take the knife from atop the cell, kill Megan, and leave before Kellen knew what the hell had happened. A poor, tortured soul was not his normal victim, but his murderous mind never seemed to stop. It was only a moment of thought, but it passed through his mind nonetheless, and for the first time, he felt bad about thinking that way.

For several seconds, Ezra just sat on the ground, trying to comfort Megan as she clung to him and cried. There still were no gun shots, nothing to let him know what had happened between Kellen and the killer. He was in the dark. For all he knew, the killer had done her in and was on the way down to kill both of them. It was a long shot, but still, Ezra wasn't about to let any long shots happen.

"I need you to do something for me." He snaked out of Megan's grip. "I need you to stay here." He looked into her tear-filled eyes. It was a horrid sight. This girl was emaciated, shivering, dirty, bloody, and sobbing, but she was alive still. There was a sliver of him that didn't want to leave her side. But the rest of his mind won over, the portion that told him he needed to go find Kellen right now. "Stay right here. More police are on the way. I need to go find my friend."

Megan held onto him. "Please don't let him come back here," she said through her tears. "Please don't ever let him come near me again."

"I promise you, he's either leaving this building in cuffs or a bag. I will make sure of that."

At that, she let him loose and Ezra darted off and into the stairwell. A few jumps later and he was on the next floor. He peered in and saw nothing, heard nothing. It was the same on the next floor and the one after that, only that was the last of them. The only thing left was a small ladder to the roof. After some internal debate, Ezra ascended the ladder and lifted himself onto to the top of the building.

"Put down your fucking weapon!" Kellen's voice came through. Ezra found himself relieved when he heard her again.

Ezra walked around a small structure to see Kellen standing not more than a few feet away from him, gun aimed intently. A dozen yards off from her was the tall, bald man. The killer. His gun was up and aimed. The two of them had stuck themselves in a Mexican standoff.

"Who the hell are you?" the killer hissed at Ezra, but kept his gun at Kellen. "No fucking cop is gonna to take me out of here!"

"I'm not a cop," Ezra called back.

"Then what the hell are you? A bounty hunter?"

"A serial killer."

"Bullshit!"

"The name is Ezra Grazer. If you've lived here a while you probably heard all about me on the news."

"Wait, Ezra Grazer? You're Dallas's Angel of Death?"

"I really hate that name. It makes it seem like I did what I did for God or some other deity."

"You killed a lot of low life criminals, what was everyone supposed to think?" Kellen noted, keeping her eyes on the killer.

"What the hell are you doing on the cop's side?" the killer asked.

"It's a long story," Ezra replied. "Look, I think it would be easier if I could walk over and talk to you. Am I allowed to do that?"

The killer took a step back, but that was all he could take. He had reached the edge of the roof by then. "Fine. But no tricks, or I shoot your friend."

"She's really more of a temporary acquaintance, but okay." Ezra nodded, walking towards the killer.

"That's far enough," the killer instructed once Ezra had gotten within arm's reach. "What the hell did you wanna come over here for?"

"To ask why," Ezra explained.

"What?"

"Why'd you do it? Why kill all those girls, and why do it the way you did?"

"Because it was fun."

"Bullshit. It's way too much work to be fun. Why'd you do it?"

The killer paused for a moment. "Because it made me feel alive. Because the rush I got from doing it all was like nothing else. It's a goddamn addiction, I got dependent on it. Coffee never woke me up. Nice weather never made he happy. It was only this that brought any life to me. Kidnapping them always made my heart race, Hearing them scream while I drove back here kept it racing. Holding them and torturing the fucking life out of them was a euphoria, like a two-week fucking orgasm."

"Stop." Ezra cut him off. "So what you're telling me is that you juiced these people like fruit, took their emotions and will to live, just to feed yours?"

"Yeah." The killer nodded. "And I'd never take it back. Not a single thing. It was all too wonderful and watching the life go out of their eyes when I cut their neck was just a cherry on top."

"You sick fuck!" Kellen called out, hearing it all.

"Fuck you!" the killer yelled back. "I'm not letting any fucking bitch or fucking cop take me away from here! You're gonna to have to kill me. I don't give a fuck!"

"You don't give a fuck?" Ezra inquired, something brewing in his mind.

"No," the killer snapped. "Without this in my life, I'm just an empty shell. Some zombie nobody. So no, I don't give a flying fuck!"

Ezra turned and looked back at Kellen. Then he looked at the killer's gun and its angle for a moment. Finally he turned his attention back to the killer. "You don't give a flying fuck about your life?"

"No!"

"Me neither." Ezra raised his shoe and sent a strong kick into the killer's stomach. The hit made his gun go off, but it also caused the horrid soul to go tumbling off the end of the factory and down to the hard gravel below.

He spun back to Kellen and could tell that his internal estimations had been correct. The bullet fired out of the killer's gun had hit her. But based on her shifting, it seemed like the other half of his plan had been true as well.

"How do you feel." He approached her and offered a hand.

"I think my fucking rib is broken," Kellen spoke breathlessly.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Ezra replied. "But if it's any consolation, I think your murderous friend broke a lot more than a rib."

"What the hell did you do?" Kellen asked through her pain as she got to her feet without Ezra's helping hand.

"It was clear you were wearing a vest under all those clothes, and I could tell his gun was aimed for your heart, not your head. So I took a chance and booted him off the roof."

"You killed him?"

"He didn't deserve to live."

"The governor is going to be so pissed at you."

"I did what they would do, and I saved them a ton of money doing it. Any jury will buy what I'm selling if they even put me in front of another one again."

"Wait, where's Megan?"

"I told her to stay downstairs while I came up here, I figure she'd listen."

"Let's hope so."

The two of them returned downstairs to find Megan on almost the exact spot in which Ezra had left her. She had milled about as if she wasn't sure what else to do. Kellen was the first to approach her, and the teen girl broke down again into her arms.

Ezra watched this spectacle from a few feet away. They hadn't even told her the fate of her captor yet and she was already so overcome with joy. She was beaten, bruised, bloodied, violated, and forever scarred, but none of that seemed to matter. Megan Mickelson was a free girl. When she had collected herself enough to show an expression other than crying, it was the face of a liberated person, bearing the kind of overwhelming relief one can only experience a few times in life, if ever. Upon seeing that face, Ezra knew that whatever would happen to him because of his actions would be worth it. He had gotten so used to taking lives he had forgotten just how much it meant to save one.

### 25

The local police arrived at the scene several minutes later and took as much control as they could. Once Megan was in the safe hands of paramedics, Kellen took Ezra back into custody, as his furlough had ended and he was back off to prison.

Several weeks later, Ezra sat in the same meeting room he had first met Kellen in, awaiting a different, but all too familiar visitor. After several minutes of waiting, the well-dressed figure of William Carlton entered the room and sat down.

"Oh how nice it is to see you in those clothes again," Carlton grinned, looking at Ezra's orange scrubs.

"I'm sure you were chomping at every bit to get me back here, weren't you?" Ezra replied. "Although, I thought you would be down in the dumps seeing as you don't get to put that evasive little needle in my arm like I know you want to."

"Why would that be a shame? Megan Mickelson is alive and well, some thanks to you."

"So what do I get out of the deal now, Carlton? Reduced sentence? Perhaps satellite TV in my cell?"

"You don't get shit. I may be indifferent towards the ending of this ridiculous situation, but the governor is pissed. It was a low-key thing that you were out in the world, but it almost got out because of what you did. It would've been disastrous if it had. You know it, I know it, and lord knows that he does too. Not to mention he has to explain why one of the most sought after serial killers in Texas history, besides you, won't ever see the inside of a jail cell."

"Because a jail cell would spend useless tax dollars on a person not worth the effort. Besides, the governor is a God fearing man from what I know. He should see it as the killer rotting in hell."

"Whatever you want to think, Ezra. Either way, the governor isn't buying it, and there's no way in hell you'll be able to talk to him yourself, so just call this a wash and go back to your life of obscurity among the horde."

"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss, Carlton." Ezra grew a smug smile. "As you just said, it would be a great burden if the story of me being let out was made public, and lucky for me I have ways to make it public. If I so choose that is."

The lawyer leaned over the table and shot Ezra a dark stare. Ezra could tell it was the man's best effort at looking genuinely evil and terrifying. It was a rather laughable attempt in his eyes.

"Don't rock your boat, you piece of shit," Carlton said

"I was about to say the same to you." Ezra leaned in as far as his cuffs would let him go and shot off his own death stare out of his dark eyes. He could see the emotion within the lawyer shift. "What I want is simple: a transfer. I am not a fan of this Texas heat, nor the people I am stuck here with. I think I have proven with mostly decent and good-natured behavior that I am not a threat nor a flight risk."

"So what are you saying exactly?"

"I want out of this state, and out of the maximum security prison system. I want a normal prison and normal weather."

"Are you insane?" Carlton asked, sounding much like a cornered beast, unsure if it will cower or attack yet.

"No, I'm just a man who knows what he wants and knows how to get it. You give me what I want, or I will work my magic and get this little story painted on every news channel in the land. I think the former is the far easier option, but that's just me."

"You shifty prick. Where would you even want to go?"

In that moment, Ezra thought of Kellen. Back in DC again, working at her desk on some other, new case. A case she was probably knocking out of her own little park. But, Ezra figured a desk job had to be boring. He could see it in her eyes when he was with her, the field was where she belonged. A thought passed through his mind that speaking with him again might make her life at the desk more interesting, and being closer to that federal wasteland would make it easier. As much as she tried to hide it, Ezra could also tell that she didn't hate their experience together.

"I hear DC is nice this time of year. Middle of the US road, not too hot, not too cold." Ezra knew the latter wasn't exactly true, but weather was the furthest thing from his mind when he thought about Washington.

"Why DC?" Carlton asked suspiciously.

"No reason," Ezra replied. "Get it done."

### 26

Kellen sat in Remi's office and listened as her therapist explained all the answers to her problems, or at least all the possible outcomes. It'd been a few weeks since the happenings in Texas, and Remi wanted Kellen to talk about them. But Kellen stalled the talk until she could figure out all her thoughts on the matter. Whenever Kellen didn't have answers to something, Remi seemed disappointed, and she never wanted to disappoint Remi.

"So do you want to talk about Texas?" Remi inquired. It was the first time in two weeks.

Kellen paused. She still wasn't sure if she was ready. Her thoughts had been the same for several days, running like a finite reel through her head. Kellen figured if she was waiting for the perfect time to talk about it, the time would never come. "Sure," she said. "What do you want me to say about it?"

"I've heard a decent amount on the news and online about it." Remi admitted, tossing a black lock of hair from her eyes. "But I have heard nothing from you. How do you feel about it overall?"

"I'm fine." Kellen shrugged. "The whole thing won't be forgotten entirely, but I like to think most of it will go away soon enough."

"Do you want it to go away?"

"I don't know. Part of me says yes, like it's some kind of great trauma, something like..." Kellen trailed off, burdened by recollection.

"Like the death of your parents?"

"Yeah." Kellen nodded, looking down. "But another side says it's okay not to forget, you know? That it was a success, and we should always remember our successes. In a lot of ways, it is a success. Megan Mickelson is alive and well, reunited with her family, her friends, and can live her life again. It could've gone a lot worse than it did."

"So why perceive it as trauma?" Remi asked. Kellen was sure that Remi knew the answer already and merely asked to hear her say it. It was one of Remi's more common and most annoying traits, but, it always seemed to work the answers and the truth out of Kellen more often than not.

"I worked side-by-side with a killer," Kellen said. "I was aided by the very person I am out to catch and destroy."

"And to watch that person do what he was best at, right in front of you. What did that do to you?"

Kellen sighed. She didn't want to talk about the roof, but she had prepared for it to come up. "I wasn't much of a witness. All I saw was a split second of Ezra's kick, then I got a punch to the chest harder than I've ever felt before. When I came back to it, he was standing over me, offering a hand. I knew what'd happened, It was wrong, but in that moment I didn't care. That kinda sacred me. The man was a killer, but I always pay attention to death, always care about it. When Ezra kicked that man off the roof, I didn't care."

"What did you care about?"

"Mostly about helping Megan."

"Why do you think you didn't care for the killer?"

"Ezra. He must have gotten into my mind. I always care about death, always. Then, after working with him, someone gets kicked off a roof and I don't think twice about it. I can't tell how, but he got in mind, influenced my feelings." Kellen clasped her hands together. "The idea of letting that guy get into my head hurts worse than my chest ever did."

"How is that wound of yours now?"

"Fine," Kellen said. The shot had left a massive bruise on her chest, but that was gone now and only minor aches and pains remained. "Nothing broke, no permanent damage. I'd say I came out of it pretty well. I could tell that when I stood without Ezra's help."

"He offered it to you though?"

"Yeah," Kellen nodded, "he put down a hand expecting me to grab it. He'd been helpful throughout the investigation, in fact he was essential. As much as it pains me, as much as I hate it all, I have to say that Ezra Grazer is probably the only reason Megan is still alive. Without so much as visiting a single crime scene. He put pieces together than no one else could."

"Why do you think that is?" Remi inquired, looking intrigued.

"Because me and everyone I work with are the hunting dogs, put out by the hunter. The dogs are good, they catch prey more often than not, but there will always be something better than the dog at knowing where the prey is and how it will react: another piece of prey. Ezra could connect the dots of a killer because he _is_ a killer, plain and simple. We're all out here, looking into these bent minds and trying to put two and two together, while he has one of those minds."

"So what makes him different?"

Kellen shrugged, "Maybe it's because he knows that he has one of these minds. He's aware of it too, but his awareness doesn't stop him. It's that awareness of himself that sets him apart. He knows he's a monster while the others just don't. And so he can analyze the mind of a killer in complete objectivity, despite having a mind like that himself."

"You've told me how he works, now tell me what _you_ think. What is your opinion of this man?"

"He's not what he seems like on the news. The media makes him out as a darkened psycho, an evil genius, or an eccentric mind led astray by the world. Some people call him a saint or a worker of God for killing the people he did, while others, most cops, call him just another serial killer, and evil of the earth. But I only know one thing for sure. Ezra is dangerous. He's smart, manipulative, and highly trained. If he could make his way into my mind, he can do it again. I'm not sure what he's capable of, but I don't want to find out. He's a man who knows what he wants, knows how to get it, and will do damn near anything to get it."

"What do you think he wanted?"

"Ezra wanted to catch a killer. And that's exactly what he did. In his own twisted little way, he caught his killer, and given another opportunity, I'm sure he'd do it again."

"Do you think he wants another opportunity?"

Kellen mulled it over. She had learned that he had gotten no reward, large or small, for stopping the RV killer. But none of that seemed to matter to him at any point, not even a death sentence being passed down if he failed seem to phase him. As she'd said, Kellen was certain that Ezra was dangerous and determined to get what he wanted, no matter what. Ezra, from the beginning of his spree until then had always wanted to take care of the criminals and scum of the world, no matter the means. And so Kellen answered, "I have no doubt in my mind. But if I had it my way, he wouldn't get another chance."

"Why?"

"He's good at it, but he's volatile. Ezra is a serial murderer, and there are many reasons why he needs to stay behind bars."

She was sure it was true. Ezra was probably already waiting for another chance. A chance to prove himself further, and a chance to get back to doing what he wanted to do. If Kellen had a say, she would make sure he wouldn't get another opportunity. Ezra Grazer had done his good for the world. She didn't want him out in the world again, following her, tainting her mind.

The idea that Ezra had influenced Kellen's mind troubled her. She wanted to feel something for the man Ezra had kicked off that roof, but she didn't. If Ezra was able to do that to her mind in such a short time, Kellen didn't want to find out everything he would do to her head if he got the chance. Kellen was sure that, given enough time, Ezra would turn her into something like himself.

A shiver went down Kellen's spine. In the time she had spent with Ezra, she saw similarities between the two of them. Just like her, he was hell bent to catch a killer. When it came down to business, he was efficient and powerful, just like her. She hated having things in common with a murderer. Sharing traits with Ezra Grazer made her stomach turn.

"Are you afraid of what he could do to you?" Remi asked, as if reading Kellen's mind.

"I'm afraid of what that man can do to me, or anyone else around him if he's out in public again. It was an interesting experiment, but it won't happen again, not on my watch anyway."

"What if you need him like you did this time?"

Kellen sighed. "Remi, it'd take a lot more than a normal serial killer for me to want Ezra out again. It'll take something explosive for me to seek out his help and shit like that never happens."

"Never say never, Kellen."

"Yeah, right." Kellen chuckled. "Never say never."

### Book 2 'The Sunshine Spree' Available Now!

### Connect with the author:

To contact the author, you can email him here: mitchell.goth@yahoo.com

Twitter: @Mitchell_Goth

Facebook: <http://www.facebook.com/MitchellGothAuthor>

### About the Author

Mitch Goth currently resides in Yellow Springs, Ohio, where he attends Antioch College. When not writing, he spends his time investigating the paranormal and indulging in a good book or movie.

