Title: Shiver

Author/pseudonym: Snowee

Fandom: Due South.

Rating: R

Status: New/Complete

Archive: Please yes!

Disclaimers: Tisn't mine, neither are they.

Summary: RayK is haunted

Warnings: Little gore at first, there's one scene later that makes the whole thing R, but it can be skipped and will have a warning. Rape discussion present.

Notes: This was meant to be year 2000's HalloweenFic, but certain events sent me into a downward spiral and I didn't get the opportunity to finish it then. I pulled it out and dusted it off for this year, but there is a discrepancy. I didn't want to lose it, so please follow along as if it is last year -- when the month that held the spooky holiday Halloween also contained the ever superstitious Friday the 13th.

It's a bit of a mystery. Pull out your Scooby-Doo lunch box and thermos, pack it with a huge hoagie and Scooby Snacks so you'll be prepared, and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times.

Shiver
by Snowee

Ray Kowalski felt a cold shiver as he set the coffee mug beside the sink and grunted. Though he didn't take much note of it, he stared at the sink and knew it was time to wash some dishes before something started to grow.

Turning the handle to the warm position and lifting the lever, the cool water splashed into the sink. It warmed slowly and his hands felt warm as he reached into the sink and pulled a bowl from the bottom of the pile. Though wet, the grime stuck to the bowl and he took the dirty cloth from behind the faucet and began to rub. As he did, a pungent odor made its way to his nose. He sniffed at the bowl, then grunted and pulled a face. Too late. Something had started to grow. He dropped the bowl and the cloth before glancing at his watch. Just past 7:15. The sink, nearly full of water now, would have to wait. He turned off the water and a cold chill wafted through him again. He glanced at the window. Closed.

Ray stepped into the bathroom and reached for the toothbrush. Squirting a little paste onto it, he brought it up to his mouth. Lifting his head he couldn't avoid the glance at himself in the mirror with his peripheral vision. That wouldn't have been so odd except he didn't recognize himself. He froze, toothbrush hanging in his mouth, and looked back into the mirror. He furrowed his brow when he saw himself staring back. He looked for the dark, sunken eyes he'd seen on himself a moment ago; tugging on his cheek and turning toward the light. His hair was in perfectly soft spikes and his skin tones smooth. Giving his reflection a grunt, he brushed his teeth.

A few moments later, he rinsed his mouth. Spitting, he then straightened for one last look. The appearance he'd seen still bothered him so he spent a moment washing his face. Splashing water on his face, he squinted as he looked for a towel and caught another image. Throwing the towel at his face, he spun and, with dry eyes, looked out into the apartment. Nothing was there. He looked back at the mirror and examined the reflections of everything behind him.

Drying the rest of his face and neck, he couldn't figure out how a headboard and lamp had appeared in that moment like a person; a young, short, blonde-haired woman with blue eyes and a pixie face. Dropping the towel on the bed as he passed, Ray moved into the front room. He felt warm, suddenly, a relief as though a heater had blown directly on him for an instant. With a sigh, he picked up his coat and left.

Stepping into the hall, the temperature felt normal, if slightly cool, but then outside it was very cold. As he walked down the hall away from his apartment, Ray began to feel warm. He stopped just before the stairs and looked around, feeling uneasy. There was nothing out of place, but his cheeks and ears were beginning to burn. He shook his head and continued down the stairs.

Opening the door to the street he was confronted by the arctic air. A cold front was sweeping down through Chicago from Canada, the polite weatherman had said over the car radio the previous evening, and Ray slipped his arms into the sleeves of the coat. The GTO fussed a bit before starting, trying to tell Ray that it was just too damn cold. "It's going to get colder before winter's over," he said to the car as he waited for the engine to warm a bit before pulling into traffic.

As Ray stopped in front of the Consulate, he looked in the rearview mirror. He wasn't sure why he was paranoid. He told himself it had just been a trick of the lights. That bulb over the mirror had always been a bit too bright for his taste. Besides, he'd just acquired a new neon beer sign. He decided he'd left on the green glowing shamrock and reminded himself to turn it off when he got home.

Fraser stepped into the black car and turned to Ray. Pausing only a moment to examine, he shifted to face Ray a little more. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Ray broke from his trance and turned to Fraser. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he stated.

"Are you certain?" Fraser pushed. "Constable Turnbull said you had been out here waiting for nearly an hour. Why didn't you come inside and retrieve me?"

Stunned, Ray glanced at his watch. He realized he had read it incorrectly and took a moment to observe it more carefully. It had stopped at 3:35 and judging by the mechanism that gave him the date, it had happened that morning. Holding the watch to his ear, he listened. "Damn," he breathed and removed the watch, tossing it in the back seat.

"I suppose that might explain why you were early," Fraser said, glancing back at the watch. "It must have been cold out here for you. You are always welcome inside."

Ray shook his head. He hadn't realized so much time had passed. He honestly thought he'd only been there a few moments and he was about to walk inside when he saw Benton step through the front doors. He grunted and started the engine again. "I guess I was lost in my own thoughts," Ray said quietly. "Where's the wolf?" he asked after a moment.

Benton rolled his eyes. "He seems to believe it's too cold so he's chosen to remain at the Consulate."

Ray chuckled.

As the pair entered the Detective's department of the 27th precinct, Ray found Welsh speaking with Huey and Dewey. Welsh glanced at Ray and held up an apologetic hand to the Duck Boys. "Vecchio," he said quickly. "I need to speak with you as soon as I'm finished here."

Ray nodded and went to his desk, making himself comfortable before speaking. "Your eyes ever play tricks on you?" Ray asked Benton as the Mountie took the seat across from his partner.

Welsh finished with the other two Detectives and began walking toward Ray's desk.

"Many times," Fraser replied, then stopped himself from expounding when Welsh interrupted their conversation.

"The boys down in homicide are swamped," Welsh informed them. "Apparently something about Halloween approaching and the new moon. Anyway," he flipped open the folder he held in his hand and glanced over it. "They've asked for a little assistance from the other departments this time." He closed the file and held it out for Ray to take. "We have a young woman here who was brutally murdered. Doesn't fit any known MO's so you're to treat this as a new, open investigation."

Ray nodded. Murders. That meant the morgue on an intimate basis. He wanted to cringe, but pushed it aside and opened the folder. There was nothing inside except a sheet with a few statistics.

"The crime lab is still putting its report together so you should have pictures and the rest within an hour or so. I got a call from the morgue and they've already got a lot of information on the corpse so you may want to stop there first."

"Uh huh, the morgue, I see," Ray said, trying to convince himself as much as anyone that he knew what was going on and wasn't bothered by the thought. "Jack and Dewey?" he asked, praying he could convince Welsh to switch their duties.

"Are on another murder investigation," Welsh replied. "They've offered to help out as well."

Ray nodded. The boys were already on a case of their own. He wouldn't prefer one murder over the other, he decided, so he stood and put his coat back on.

Kowalski's eyes were closed when he stepped through the doors into the morgue, the cold, and the light opera. He opened them and looked at Mort. "What have you got?" he asked, dreading the answer, wishing against everything he knew that he didn't have to look at this particular body; that he could keep his eyes focused elsewhere, but no. This time every clue was too important to miss one.

Mort set down the victim's hand and touched the upper edge of the blanket. "I warn you," he said. "This one is particularly gruesome."

Ray braced himself, hugging himself tightly as he took a deep breath. "Go ahead," he said and Mort whipped back the blanket.

Confronted with a thousand images and a thousand thoughts, Ray turned deathly pale and took a step backward. Fraser reached for him. "Are you all right?" he found himself asking for the second time that day.

Ray nodded. He couldn't tell Fraser what he'd seen. He couldn't tell either of them that he recognized the face on the table. Her long blonde hair splayed around her pixie face. The detective steadied himself and stepped forward, intentionally avoiding anything above the neck, though finding it difficult considering the incredible state of the torso.

Mort began with minor details obvious to the crime scene. "The marks on the wrist and ankles indicate binding, of course," he began. "The condition of the skin and marks over the ears seem to tell me that she was blindfolded for an extended period previous. There is evidence that she was sexually assaulted, vaginal tearing, that sort of thing, but there were no organic traces of the assailant present. She was thoroughly cleaned prior to death. I retrieved internal traces of a lubricant which have been sent to the forensics lab for identification."

Moving now along the wound, Mort pointed out each thing he hoped they would find useful. "As you can see," he enunciated, "the assailant used a very sharp knife to pierce the skin at this point on the left side of her abdomen. The incision continues along here, skimming just above the navel, and ending here on her right side."

Horrified enough, Ray closed his eyes for several seconds before motioning Mort to continue his assessment. "Once that incision was completed, he began this one here just above the breastbone and continued it deeper past the sternum, stopping at the navel."

Ray nodded, rubbing over his mouth with his open hand. It sickened himself to ask, but with the body laying there, huge incisions running all over the torso and the created corners peeled back to reveal the entrails, he had to know. "Anything missing?"

"No," Mort replied simply.

"Anything else I need to know?"

"The contusions or bruises you can see all over her body range from just before death to perhaps three days. I am working on her fingernails to see if she scratched someone or something that you may find helpful."

"Thanks, Mort," Ray whispered as he turned to watch his partner move around the body. "What'd you find, Fraze?" he asked.

Fraser shook his head. "I'm afraid I cannot find much more than Mort has acquired," he stated. "I suspect from the type of cut that he may have used a hunting knife."

Mort concentrated on the Mountie. "That was perhaps my thought. I have yet to complete all calculations, but the blade width and size would seem to match a hunting instrument."

"It appears she was found in water? Perhaps some shrubbery nearby?" Fraser asked, taking in the details.

"Correct," Mort replied.

"Got a time of death yet?" Ray queried.

"Judging from the state of the organs and deterioration, between 3 and 4 this morning. I'll know more specifically after I've collected all samples and begun the process of testing."

Ray nodded, now avoiding the body altogether. He opened the file in his hand and began to read. There was very little information. In fact, it had little more than a case number assignment. He scribbled the word ‘blonde' beside hair colour and ‘Caucasian' where it asked for race. "Blue eyes?" Ray asked.

"Yes," Mort replied, uncertain what bearing that had on the case and how Ray knew.

Fraser was also curious. Looking over Ray's shoulder, he began to ask, "Is there something….?" He let the question trail when he saw that no eye colour was listed. Neither was a height. He looked down to judge the body as Ray made a note on the file. "I'd estimate her height to be approximately…"

"Five foot three," Ray interrupted.

Fraser nodded. "Perhaps," he responded slowly, surprised at the correct assessment. "Within less than two centimeters," he added.

"Yeah," Ray said, browsing the rest of the file. "Mort, I need you to call me as soon as you come up with anything," Ray demanded. "Come on, Fraze," he requested, leading the way out of the morgue, up the stairs, and through the precinct to his desk. Stopping before it, he looked around, then glanced up at Francesca. "Frannie!" he said, before sitting at the desk and opening his meager findings.

"Yeah," she replied half-heartedly.

"Crime lab bring up the 411 on this case yet?"

Francesca turned and saw that he wasn't looking at her. "Not sure, Ray," she replied, irritated. "They just brought me a few."

"Case number 2393474. Does that help?"

Frannie turned back to her desk for several seconds, going through the files. She picked one up and brought it to him. "You said it ended with 74, right?"

Ray compared the number on the folder she set before him and nodded. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"Mhmm," she replied, then looked up at Fraser. "Hi, Fraser," she said, smiling broadly.

"Francesca," Fraser replied politely, then looked down at Ray. "Is there much information?" he asked as he moved around to look over Ray's shoulder.

Ray opened it and was greeted first by crime scene photographs. "Enough," he choked, confronted with black and white images as well as several colour images whose main theme was gushing blood. Setting the pictures aside he moved on to the test results and reports.

Fraser picked up the photographs and began to finger through them. He found that the area had been cleaned before the body brutalized, therefore leaving nothing in the way of clues. The blood spatters had already been used to determine things like force and angles. Hearing Ray let out a long breath, he asked, "Did you find something?"

Ray shook his head. "Nothing to go on. Maybe you'll see something different," he replied.

"Oh?" Benton inquired, setting down the photographs and looking over Ray's shoulder.

"You know that little river that runs through Ross Park?"

"I am familiar," Benton replied.

"Well, just behind the park, it runs beneath an extensive growth of shrubs and weeds. Hard to get back in there, but the jogging path runs near it."

"I know the area," Benton confirmed. "I take it that's where she was found?"

Ray nodded. "The water was running over her, toe to head it says, and probably washed away any evidence that was left. They did get some black fibers from her hair, but it matches a simple cotton available at any fabric store, could have been a handkerchief. Point is, they can't trace it to anything; it's too generic. She was probably blindfolded with it. Says here, she was also bound, wrists and ankles, with regular rope you can buy at any hardware store."

"Any witnesses to unusual behaviour?"

"At that time in the morning, it's a bunch of hobos. They're gone by dawn." Ray's voice was monotone.

"And how was the body discovered?"

"Pair of joggers smelled something unusual. Took a chance and followed it until they saw her."

Fraser nodded. "They didn't see nor hear anything?" Ray shook his head. "Anything else?"

"Here," Ray passed him the file. It was true, the water had washed away anything more the killer may have left. Mort would be calling them with test results on what he'd found so Fraser set the file down once he'd studied it. "We'll go back to the park and start the questioning," Ray told Fraser as he stood slowly.

Fraser followed Ray to the GTO. They drove in silence to the park where they began a plethora of questions. No one had seen or heard anything unusual. Frustrated, Ray stopped asking questions.

Noticing an odd look on his companion's face, Fraser was compelled to follow when Ray began walking toward the small river. It ran only a few inches deep and Ray stepped into the middle of it, then began to walk downstream through the park.

When he reached the area where the body had been found, he stopped and stared at the ground. He smelled musk. All at once, the musk was overwhelmed by the scent of roses. So strong it was, Ray looked at Fraser and furrowed his brow. "Where is that coming from?" he asked the observant companion.

"Where is what coming from?" Fraser replied.

"That smell. Flowers? I think it's roses." He looked confused. "Don't you smell it?" Then as quickly as it had assaulted his senses, it was gone. "Strong roses and a little musk."

Fraser cocked his head. "Musk?" He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nostrils. "I'm afraid I don't smell it."

"It's gone now. Didn't you smell it a minute ago? It was strong. It was very strong like someone had spilled two bottles of perfume all over the place."

Fraser made a mental note of what Ray had said and twisted his hat in his hands. "I'm sorry, Ray. I wasn't being attentive, I suppose," though he knew he had been.

Ray's phone began to play a tune and he pulled it out quickly. "Vecchio," he said, finally moving out of the water and back onto the grass.

"Detective Vecchio," Mort said quickly. "I have the information for you."

"Oh, yes?" Ray stated anxiously.

"I found nothing under the fingernails. In fact, I determined they had been cleaned already."

"Scraped?" Ray paused. "By the killer?"

"Most likely," Mort replied. "Her hands were preserved when I acquired the body."

"Did you find anything else?"

"More black fibers consistent with those found by the crime scene investigators. Also, the lubricant was a spermicidal used by Trojan brand condoms."

"Damn," Ray breathed. "Anything useful?"

"I'm afraid not, Detective," Mort replied. "There doesn't seem to be anything more."

"Thanks." Ray said, then breathed "damn," again as he hung up. Putting the phone back in his pocket he glanced up at Fraser. "It," he said to his feet.

"Pardon?" Benton inquired.

"Nothing. Not a damned thing," Ray added with exasperation.

The alarm clock buzzed and Ray groaned. Turning it off, he lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He'd humped the homicide all weekend and there was not a stone unturned, he was certain, but still he was no closer to the end of his mystery. In return he'd had trouble sleeping and couldn't fathom eating more than crackers most of the time. Now he felt weak.

As he stepped into the bathroom, he smelled roses. There was no musk this time, but the scent was unmistakable. He turned and looked around the room, shivering as the cold rushed over him. Turning on the hot water faucet, he let it run until the mirror began to fog. He stepped in front of the toilet and relieved himself before moving back in front of the mirror. It had now fogged so much he could only see a blur of himself. Moving his hand to the glass, he began a swipe.

Ray froze halfway across the mirror when he saw her again. She stood behind him, clear as day and mouthed the word "Help." Flipping around, he found himself alone and uneasy. The room felt increasingly hot until he turned off the water. Standing before the mirror, he stared into it. He was frightened of the part of him that wanted her to come back so he could ask her how to help. He waited several seconds before he felt his chest tighten and his stomach flip. Leaning over, he barely made it to the toilet before he puked stomach acid into it. Heaving dryly a few times, he knelt on the floor, stumbling to the shower only after he could find the strength.

Ray removed his watch with the brand new watch battery and set it on his nightstand. A cold breeze wafted past him and he remembered the apartment had smelled stale so he'd opened a window. It wasn't until he closed it that he noticed his hands were shaking. He rubbed them together quickly, looked in the bathroom, and shuddered. If it hadn't been for the call of nature, he'd avoid the room altogether.

As he stood before the toilet, he closed his eyes. His mind raced, and he opened them, staring at the tiles. The gleam of light changed and he found that the cool air had floated in with him. Flushing, he frowned.

‘No,' he told himself. ‘No, it's nothing.' What he saw, what he felt, none of it was real. He'd tricked himself into being afraid, into jumping at shadows and playing hide and seek with a reflection in the bathroom mirror. Unafraid, he glanced at the bathtub. He never used it for baths, the shower suiting his needs just fine, but the relaxing warmth of water soaking his body suddenly came to mind. Who would know? It might be sissy, but it would certainly feel good.

He turned on the hot water and added just enough cold to make the heat bearable. More important than a simple matter of ignoring what had happened, he'd take this bath, soak for an hour or more, and prove once and for all that what he'd imagined was nothing more than a trick of the lights, a waft from a window, or a sound echoing from another apartment.

Walking around the bedroom, he picked up a robe and removed his clothes. The light coming through the window cast a reddish glow over his room. The sun would be completely gone in a matter of moments and then the darkness would begin.

Letting out a deep breath, Ray knelt beside the tub and peered into the water. He placed both hands on the edge of the tub, then turned off the water. He was about to test the temperature with his hand when something stopped him.

An ethereal image left him unable to move or think. The blue eyes pierced into the water and he wanted to flee. Minimally, he wanted to look across the tub and see her there, but every time he turned, she disappeared so he grasped the tub edge and kept his gaze on her reflection.

Slowly, the reflection of her hand reached across the tub. It took everything Ray had not to move as he watched the image float above the water. He waited, knowing she was going to touch him. Would he feel it? The instant she did, his eyes blanked out what he saw and his body blanked out what he felt. He heard screams and grasped at his eyes, trying to pull away a blindfold, not even aware there wasn't one there. Inexplicable tearing pain ran through his chest and he fell back hard against the tile floor.

Ray couldn't breathe, think, or hear. He hurt and felt a horror he'd never before imagined. Finally, he found his hand grabbing a towel and he opened his eyes. While it had only lasted an instant in his mind, he could still feel the residual pain. Moving slowly to his knees, he saw the tub full of water and reached in. It was ice cold. Furrowing his brow, he looked around and found he was surrounded by darkness other than the small light over the mirror.

Rising slowly to his feet, he stepped into his bedroom and looked at the alarm clock. Six hours had passed and in a mere 5 hours, he'd have to rise and get ready for work. Stumbling to the bed, he flopped into it, pulled a heavy blanket over his naked body, and closed his eyes.
The sleep did not come easily, but eventually, he slipped into welcome oblivion.

Ray hadn't fallen asleep with ease for the past three nights, though last night he'd found a beer helped. Now the ungodly buzzing ripped him from sleep and he stumbled to the bathroom.

Afraid of what he might see, he avoided the mirror, going about his morning business without much attention to his appearance. Moving from room to room, he dressed, drank several cups of strong coffee, and put the files he'd been pouring over into a bag.

When he walked into a pocket of cold air, he froze and closed his eyes. Swallowing, he breathed in the scent of roses and lilac. Lilac? That scent was new to his nostrils. He swallowed hard again and looked down at the watch as he slipped it over his hand. It had stopped. Reading 4:05, he removed it and threw it across the room. "Damned piece of junk," he whispered and moved to the kitchen where there was another clock. He got the time and saw that he needed to leave right away to avoid Welsh's tardiness speech. Picking up his car keys, he made the mistake of glancing at the picture in the entrance. The glass reflected his image, but the eyes were sunken and his skin pale. Mesmerized, he stared at himself. Closing his eyes before shaking the cobwebs from his mind, he looked back into the picture to see his own familiar appearance and a new reflection.

The blonde-haired, blue eyed pixie whose name they still hadn't traced, he'd expected. The slightly taller brunette with eyes as green as pine standing beside her, he did not. He flipped around, knowing as soon as he did it that he'd sent them away. Gasping for breath, hot humidity surrounded him and he felt as though he was suffocating. He took a step backward. The light from the kitchen clock caught his eye. Over an hour had passed.

For a moment he couldn't move. Where had time gone? What the hell was happening? His moment was interrupted by the ringing phone. He ignored it, but moments later, as he opened the front door, his cell phone began to play.

"Vecchio," he said meekly into the receiver.

"Where the hell are you!?"

"Sorry Lieu," Ray said, but was received only with more battering words. He continued to his car, half listening. "I'll be picking up Fraser on my way in," Ray responded at the end of the string of words from Welsh's mouth. "I'll be there in no time," he added, then hung up. "Providing I make it there," he mumbled.

Fraser had noticed his friend's appearance and demeanor slowly deteriorating over the past week. Now he was determined to confront Ray and ask him why. Opening the door and waiting, Fraser let Dief in first, then slid in beside Ray. Ray's appearance was slightly worse than the previous day and the man stared straight ahead.

"Ray, I've been meaning to talk to you," Fraser began.

"Yeah," Ray said in submission.

"How have you been sleeping?"

Ray bit the inside of his lip and chuckled once, then paused before chuckling more. He turned to Fraser, the bloodshot eyes startling his Mountie companion. "What the hell is sleep?" he asked Fraser. "Never heard of it," he added sarcastically and pulled into traffic.

"Is something the matter?" Fraser queried, concern thick in his tone.

Ray shook his head. "You'll think I'm crazy," he said simply.

"I assure you, I'll make no judgments, Ray. What's going on?"

Ray shook his head again and chuckled. "Let's just drop it and get to the station."

Fraser heard the finality of Ray's tone and clamped his mouth shut. Following Ray into the station, Dief close at his heels, Fraser noted the solemn look on Francesca's face as she stood beside Ray's desk.

Ray stepped beside her and reached around her to set his coat over the chair. "Where's Welsh?" he asked.

"In a meeting down with homicide. Boy, is he pissed at you," she said, then passed him the file she held in her hand. "Told me to give you this," she said. "It's another one."

Ray took the file slowly. "Another what?"

"Same memo," Francesca replied solemnly.

Ray looked confused, then nodded. "You mean MO," he corrected with little interest in her reaction, only that he now understood that this was likely the same killer. Ray watched Francesca walk away before moving. With growing interest, Fraser peered over Ray's shoulder, waiting for him to open it. Instead, Ray fell into the chair behind his desk and set the file on it before picking up the folder marked for the previous case and opening it. He examined the top photograph, a black and white close-up of the victim's face. She looked peaceful. Her lips were darker than the pale skin, her eyes closed gently. He knew her last moments had been far from the peace she appeared to have and now he wondered what peace she had in her afterlife.

After several minutes, Fraser spoke. "Ray," he said softly at first, causing Ray to drop the photo finally. He looked up at Fraser and felt Dief's paw reach tentatively to his knee in search of a scratch. Ray rubbed the animal's ear and looked back to his desk. "I can't start another one when I don't have a damned thing on this one," he stated.

Fraser didn't respond. He watched his wolf enjoy the show of affection he was receiving and folded his arms. Ray could see that Fraser was telling him to face whatever might be stopping him so he closed the first file and slid it aside. Opening the next he was met by a simple report. This time, the basic information was filled out. Hair: Brown, Eyes: Green, Height: 5'5", Location:"

Ray stopped reading and glanced up at Fraser before standing and putting on his coat. "Morgue," he said softly.

Fraser and Dief followed Ray to the morgue where they found Mort in his usual position, leaning over a body.

"Detective," Mort said politely when Ray stepped through the doors. "I'm working on her now."

"When was she found?"

"Six am," Mort replied, reading from the open file laying across the victim's covered chest.

"Just a little later than the last one," Fraser observed and Ray nodded.

Mort put his hands on the sheet and looked to Ray. Ray shook his head. "Don't need to see it," he said quickly.

Fraser frowned. "There might be something…"

Ray held up a hand to stop Fraser and looked at Mort. "Same incisions? Rape? Cleaned the scene? Found in a river?" Mort nodded. "Is anything different?" Ray continued.

Mort shook his head. "Nothing so far," he replied. "This time I retrieved the prints first. They are on that gurney."

Ray nodded, walked to the gurney and picked up the card. "No ID?"

"No one has run them," Mort replied.

Ray nodded. "Maybe this one will turn up a name," he said. "You'll call when you're finished, right?"

"Of course," Mort replied as Ray stood beside the door.

Fraser moved beside him and watched. Ray wasn't leaving. Suddenly he stepped forward, grabbed the sheet, and pulled it back far enough to see the face. Fraser watched him pale further and swallow hard before turning and hurrying from the morgue.

Walking back into the bull pen, he saw Welsh standing at the door to his office speaking with Dewey. Quickly turning away from the look Welsh gave him over Dewey's shoulder, he handed the print card to Francesca. "Frannie? Could you try to get the ID on this? I need it right away."

Frannie nodded and took the card. "You want this?" she asked, handing him a piece of paper. He glanced at it, then looked when he saw the first victim's face. It was a printout of an arrest report. Her name and biological information preceded a detailed account of her arrest. "What the hell is this?" he asked. "You were supposed to run her prints last fucking week!"

Francesca glared at him. "Don't yell at me," she warned. "I ran it and put it on your desk. It showed up on my desk again just now."

"Showed up?" he asked, still growling his words in anger. "You mean you had it and forgot to give it to me?"

"No," Francesca replied, rising to her feet. "I put it on your desk Friday afternoon while you were out doing the interviews or whatever. I'm sorry. Look, someone just dropped it on my desk while I was getting a soda. I didn't see who, but it was here on top when I came back."

Ray grunted and took the sheet to his desk, tossing it quickly onto the folder in which it would eventually go. He sat down and put his hands to each temple, then leaned over it, cowering from the rest of the room as he studied the sheet. Aloud, he mumbled as he skipped around and only pointed out the major points. "Berbett, Georgia. 18, Possession, marijuana, paraphernalia…" Sliding the page into its place, he looked up at Fraser and bit his inner lip. "Would make her about 21 now. Judge gave her time served and community service. Nothing since. At least we have a name. Georgia. I'll have to go down to county to see what records I can dig up." He rubbed his eyes. "I could use a nap."

Fraser frowned. "You do look tired."

"Can't sleep," he replied.

"I didn't realize you suffered from insomnia, Ray."

Ray chuckled. "Hardly. Sleep like a baby and I always have. Well, except the first couple weeks after Stella left. Little trouble getting used to sleeping alone again." Playing with the corner of a folder, he used his free hand to motion Fraser to pull up a chair. Fraser obeyed and Dief sat beside him.

"Ever have a nightmare?" Ray asked Fraser as he looked at the folder he was picking at with his nail.

"Of course," Fraser replied.

"How about when you're awake?" Ray continued. "Ever have a dream when you are awake that's so bad you… you think it's coming true?"

Fraser tugged his ear. "I'm not clear."

Ray rubbed at his eyes again. "Georgia. I saw her Friday morning, I swear it."

"Of course you did," Fraser responded. "I was with you."

"No, no," Ray interjected. "Before that. In my apartment."

"She was in your building?" Fraser clarified anxiously, understanding that perhaps Ray had seen her in the very early morning hours before her death and hoping they could trace the accomplice back there.

"She couldn't have been, I know that," Ray replied. "I was getting ready for work and I thought I saw… a ghost?" His sentence drifted away, inaudible, when he saw Fraser look over his shoulder. Turning to see what Fraser was looking at, he saw Huey waiting patiently. "What are you doing sneaking up on my like that?" Ray asked, suddenly sounding irate.

"Don't jump down my throat," Huey replied. "I was down talking to the investigation team and they asked me to bring this to you."

Ray took the offered file and placed it on the growing pile on his own desk. Waiting for Huey to leave, he cracked his neck when the man didn't leave. "Don't you have work to do?"

Huey smiled. "I was just interested in hearing more."

Ray jumped to his feet, confronting the other man. "Get out of here," he growled like an old man trying to rid his yard of trespassers.

Huey held up his hands in surrender and turned. Ray sat down and shook his head. "How much did he hear?" he asked Fraser.

Fraser frowned. "I couldn't be certain," he replied. "He wasn't there for very long."

"Maybe if we get on the road I can avoid getting a reputation of hallucinations. We'll go to the crime scene and interview, well, a bunch of people who didn't see anything."

Once in the car and driving toward the destination, a quiet neighbourhood backed by the tiny river, Fraser asked Ray to expound on his previous comments. "What did you think you saw in your apartment, Ray?"

Ray swallowed. "Forget it."

"Ray," Fraser coaxed.

"No. Forget I said anything."

Fraser ran his thumbnail along his eyebrow. "Ray, it's important that you explain to me what you experienced so that we might find a logical explanation."

"What makes you think it's something not logical?" Ray asked defensively.

"I didn't mean to imply… I only meant we should discuss… We're partners and it's important that partners keep each other informed of any developments that might prove useful in an investigation."

"I doubt you'll find anything logical or useful about the fact that I saw her in my apartment the morning she died and that I saw this one in my apartment this morning," Ray spat forth.

"Saw them? When you state you saw them, are you saying you were…"

"Ghosts, Fraze. Yes. I don't believe in them so they weren't really there, but I could have sworn I saw them. Ever have a dream come true?"

"Yes," Fraser confided.

"Me too. I think it was just something like that. Something I dreamt." He glanced at Fraser before sighing. "Forget it, ok? I refuse to talk about it anymore."

Fraser nodded obligingly and they continued to the scene. Pulling into a neighbourhood, Ray stopped in front of the house address detailed in the report. Walking around to the back of the house, he found that at the end of the yard the ground declined to the foliage which covered the river. Stepping carefully where the previous officers had walked, he made his way to the edge. He used his arm to push back the brush, exposing the area. "What do you think, Fraze?" he asked. "Under some greenery in a shallow river. What do you think he's trying to say?"

Fraser sank to one knee and leaned to where the water met the bank. Dief moved beside him and watched carefully as the Mountie touched the soil. Pinching some between his fingers, Fraser sniffed it. Adding a quick taste, he nodded and moved to his feet. "A cleansing," he stated.

"Huh?" Ray said, leaning over the water.

"The assailant didn't leave a print because it's so near the water, but he cleaned himself very well before bringing her here."

"Cleaned himself?" Ray asked, astounded. "Why would he do that?"

Fraser shook his head. "I can't be certain, but there is a blend of a mild household soap in that soil. Perhaps letting the water run over the victim is all part of the cleansing."

"Could be."

"It's also possible he puts them in the river because the water running over the freshly open wounds would keep the smell from being noticed right away."

"But the bodies are in public places where someone's going to find them anyway."

Fraser nodded. "Hence the former seems more likely."

Ray nodded and turned, looking across the backyard of the home's resident. Furrowing his brow, he took a step up, then another onto the grass. Looking around, he took in a deep breath through his nose and turned to Fraser. "Hey. You smell that?"

Fraser smelled deeply and furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, Ray, there isn't anything to smell other than the pollen from the dandelions and…"

"No, no. It's musk."

Fraser observed Ray who looked almost trancelike. "Ray?"

"Lilacs, too. I can smell the lilac."

"Ray?" Fraser repeated, looking around to the neighbouring backyards for the flora Ray claimed to smell. "Ray?" he repeated one more time, more firmly.

Ray snapped his attention to Fraser. "Didn't you smell it? It's gone now."

Fraser shook his head. "There is no lilac bush around here," he informed his companion.

Dief whimpered and Ray took only a moment's notice of the animal. "Of course not," Ray said quickly. "Nothing to explain the musk either." Sniffing quickly at his coat he shrugged. "Just me, I guess," he said quickly and hurried around the house, knocking on the front door.

When a toddler pulled the door open, Ray's first instinct was to smile. "Doggie!" the child exclaimed proudly as he pointed at Dief. Ray then looked up and saw the young mother standing behind her child. Seeing one man in uniform and the other pulling back his coat to expose his badge, she took the child's arm. "Go play with Tommy," she instructed the little one in jeans and a little sweatshirt with a soccer ball logo.

"Play wif doggie?" the child asked.

The woman looked at the animal cautiously, then shook her head. "No. Go play." The child skipped away and she looked at them. "Can I help you?" she said meekly to the men on her doorstep.

"Hello, ma'am," Ray began. "My name's Detective Vecchio. This is my partner, Constable Fraser," he told her. "We'd just like to ask you a few questions."

"About the girl, right?" she whispered. Ray nodded and the woman opened the storm door before joining them on the porch. "Look, I don't need my kids to hear anything."

Ray nodded. "Of course. I've been assigned the case so I just want to go over the notes taken by the officers at the scene. Would you mind going over the details?"

She shook her head. "No, whatever I can do to help."

Ray smiled sympathetically as she sounded distressed. "Start from the beginning."

"When I woke up this morning, I went out back to get the rug. See, I washed it last night and left it outside to dry." Ray nodded and made a note. "That was about six because I'd just had my shower and heard my husband get up to get ready for work." Ray scribbled again, then was attentive as she continued. "I thought the water sounded funny. We can always hear the water running so we tune it out, but it sounded different. I thought maybe it was getting backed up and I didn't want it to flood the yard so I went down there to see if I could see what was damming it. When I got there, I could see her foot sticking out. I was so scared, but I had to make sure and when I saw her leg, I ran inside and called the police."

"You didn't hear anything during the night?"

"No," she replied quickly, biting at her lip a moment. "In fact, I asked the kids and David if they heard anything because if… if something happened that close to the house…" she let the sentence trail.

Ray nodded and made another note. "We're going to be talking to the neighbours as well. If you think of anything or hear anything, please call me," he said, handing over a card.

She looked at it an nodded. "I will."

Ray smiled politely again and turned. Dief barked and Fraser turned back. "Did you smell anything?" he asked.

Ray looked horrified. "No, Fraze, I…"

The woman stopped him. "Yes," she replied. "Perfume."

Ray looked at Fraser, then back to the woman. "Perfume?" he asked immediately.

She nodded. "It smelled like a musk my husband wore when we were engaged. I remember the smell because I thought it was disgusting and I made him change it when we got married."

"Do you remember the name of it?"

She shook her head. "No. I can't even be sure it was exactly the same, but it was a cheap musk."

"Anything else?" Ray asked, now wondering about the other scent he'd noticed.

She shook her head.

"Thank you, kindly," Fraser said and followed Dief to the car. Ray watched her a moment, then followed.

As he slid into the driver's seat, Ray glared at Fraser. "Did you hear that?"

Fraser nodded.

"But you didn't smell it?"

"No, Ray," Fraser responded. "Perhaps I didn't notice it because…"

Ray held up a hand. "I don't even want to discuss why I might have smelled something you didn't. Only way that's possible is if things aren't normal." He stopped quickly, realizing that things weren't normal. Letting out a breath, he made more notes before getting back out and heading to the first neighbour's door.

As he was about to knock, his phone rang. Freezing, he took a moment before answering. "Vecchio."

"Detective, this is Dr. Gustafson. I have a few things on the victim for you."

"Oh?"

"Time of death is approximately 4:05 this morning. I found traces of the same lubricant and fibers, but again her nails were cleaned."

"Nothing? Not a hair? Not a skin cell?" Ray asked, frustrated.

"I'm afraid not, Detective."

"Do me a favour, wouldja, Mort?"

"Certainly," the man replied.

"Test for perfume. See if you can find any traces of her perfume or maybe his cologne. Check the first victim too."

"I didn't detect traces of…"

"Just do it, please? I need you to find out if they were wearing any, even if he washed it off, doesn't it sink into the skin or something?"

"It's more invasive," Mort replied. "I'm not sure I see how it would help."

"I know, Mort, but it's got to do with witnesses, ok?" he tried to make it sound necessary. "It could be a clue. Just do it, ok?"

"All right," Mort finally agreed. "Even if I find something, I'll need a comparison sample for identification."

"I don't think we have a sample," Ray replied. "Just try to tell me what the smell would be. You know, flowers, fruit, whatever. I just need the basics."

"All right," Mort agreed before ending the call.

Ray tapped on the front door and waited. No one answered so the two men, animal in tow, moved to the next house.

***

"No one saw anything or heard anything," he told Fraser as they stood looking into the glass encasement at the department store. "This guy must have the locations scoped out ahead of time." Pointing in the case, the woman across from them opened it and pulled out a watch. Ray looked at it and pressed the buttons. "This'll do," he said, passing it back to her.

"Would you like to try it on?"

"Naw," he replied. "Come with some sort of warranty?"

"One year, parts and labor." She glanced at it. "It looks like we can offer you the watch battery replacement for 5 years, if you'd like."

"Cost extra?" he asked. She nodded and he replied by shaking his head. "It'll be fine. Thanks."

Fraser watched as Ray got out his wallet. She was ringing up the purchase so Ray stepped along the counter and looked at the other watches. He smiled at a pocket watch and pointed. "Always thought it would be cool to have one of those," he said.

"Not very practical in our line of work," Fraser observed.

Ray nodded. "That's why I never got…" he looked distracted, "one," he continued as he stepped toward a woman testing the perfume samples. He furrowed his brow and picked up a bottle just as she set it down. Spritzing it into the air, he sniffed it. "This is it," he said.

Fraser moved closer, glad they were on to something. "Oh?"

Ray spritzed it again. "I'm sure of it. This is the perfume."

"Which one?' Fraser asked, then breathed deeply. "The roses?"

Ray nodded and looked at the bottle. "Soft Roses," he said aloud, then looked for an unopened one. The woman who had been testing the perfumes left and Ray picked up another bottle. Spritzing them all one by one, he searched for another scent. "No," he said finally. "Only Georgia's," he pronounced, then realized he'd now acknowledged the abnormal experiences he was having.

He went to the salesperson and handed her the box for the rose scent. "This too," he requested and she went to add it to his purchase. Ray paid for them, taking the bag in his hand. "Could you tell me where I might find the men's cologne?" he asked her. The woman directed him and he immediately went in that direction. There he asked a salesman if they had samples. The man reached under the counter and produced a small tray. "Are you looking for something specific?" he asked.

"Cologne," Ray replied.

Fraser watched as Ray tested all the scents before turning, disappointed, and heading back to the car. There he put on the watch and set the time before speaking about the case again. "Ok, so he beats them up and rapes them at some location, probably his home before he takes them to the location he's already picked out, then cuts them open? It's right out there where anyone can see them." Looking confused, he turned to Fraser for answers.

Fraser had no answers for his partner. Those were the facts as they presented themselves and he couldn't explain why the man would do something so openly unless he was hoping for a voyeur. "Perhaps he does it early in the morning because no one will be around; a way to protect himself."

Ray shrugged. "Probably. I guess." Ray pulled out into traffic and headed back to the station. "Let's go see what Francesca turned up."

Ray stood before his open fridge looking at the beer and cold pizza. Finally deciding on the pizza, he took it out and moved to the couch. As he sat eating, he rubbed at his eyes which felt dry and irritated. In frustration, he chewed the food quickly and went back to the kitchen. He wondered if he would need a beer to help him sleep again, but didn't want to resort to that.

Finding a piece of food lodged in his teeth, he tongued the herb bit and went to the bathroom. He picked up his toothbrush and began the ritual, avoiding the mirror. Finally he was satisfied and went to the bedroom.

He undressed quickly and shook out the comforter on his bed as it was wadded at one end. He heard a sound from the bathroom and froze. He didn't want to go explore, but the sound happened again. Moving into the room, he glanced at the medicine chest as the door closed and he saw himself reflected in the small mirror.

He jumped when it opened again and looked at the small window beside the tub. It was open. He decided the wind was playing the tricks so he went to close it. As he did, he turned to see the mirrored door open just enough to face him and behind him, he saw the brunette again. Spinning, he also said the name Francesca had found to identify her. "Madeline." He found himself alone again and sighed. "Madeline Forster?" he asked the air, but received no response.

Giving up, he went to bed. He expected to have trouble falling asleep. He had every night. What began now horrified him even more.

As he slept, his body tossed, reacting to the volatile dream. He could see the river, the bodies, his mind putting him there as if he were the assailant, imagining and filling in what must have happened. He'd see himself slice her chest, then flash of the close-up he'd seen in the files. Next, he'd see the slash across the stomach, blood gushing into the water and the flash as the photographer took the close-up of the running stream. He looked into the dead eyes and saw the flash of the camera as he heard a blood curdling scream.

Flipping straight up in bed, he put his head in his hands and gasped for air. He felt sick and pained at once. Every time he fell asleep, a similar experience would push him back into consciousness. Soon he was afraid to fall asleep at all, but attempted it out of an increasing desire for the rest that wouldn't come.

Ray stood before his open fridge looking at the beer and cold pizza. Finally deciding on the pizza, he took it out and moved to the couch. As he sat eating, he rubbed at his eyes which felt dry and irritated. In frustration, he chewed the food quickly and went back to the kitchen. He wondered if he would need a beer to help him sleep again, but didn't want to resort to that.

Finding a piece of food lodged in his teeth, he tongued the herb bit and went to the bathroom. He picked up his toothbrush and began the ritual, avoiding the mirror. Finally he was satisfied and went to the bedroom.

He undressed quickly and shook out the comforter on his bed as it was wadded at one end. He heard a sound from the bathroom and froze. He didn't want to go explore, but the sound happened again. Moving into the room, he glanced at the medicine chest as the door closed and he saw himself reflected in the small mirror.

He jumped when it opened again and looked at the small window beside the tub. It was open. He decided the wind was playing the tricks so he went to close it. As he did, he turned to see the mirrored door open just enough to face him and behind him, he saw the brunette again. Spinning, he also said the name Francesca had found to identify her. "Madeline." He found himself alone again and sighed. "Madeline Forster?" he asked the air, but received no response.

Giving up, he went to bed. He expected to have trouble falling asleep. He had every night. What began now horrified him even more.

As he slept, his body tossed, reacting to the volatile dream. He could see the river, the bodies, his mind putting him there as if he were the assailant, imagining and filling in what must have happened. He'd see himself slice her chest, then flash of the close-up he'd seen in the files. Next, he'd see the slash across the stomach, blood gushing into the water and the flash as the photographer took the close-up of the running stream. He looked into the dead eyes and saw the flash of the camera as he heard a blood curdling scream.

Flipping straight up in bed, he put his head in his hands and gasped for air. He felt sick and pained at once. Every time he fell asleep, a similar experience would push him back into consciousness. Soon he was afraid to fall asleep at all, but attempted it out of an increasing desire for the rest that wouldn't come.

Ray felt completely deprived of sleep as he rolled from the bed and planted his feet on the floor. Stumbling with closed eyes into the kitchen, he wondered how much instant coffee mix he could put in the mug before adding water would only make a pudding-like sludge rather than something drinkable. Adding an extra packet, he filled the cup with hot tap water and looked at the dark concoction. Not bothering to make it better to consume, he simply swallowed it and made another.

He managed to get ready for work completely avoiding reflective surfaces, though it required doing everything with his eyes closed. That was all right with him as it felt almost like a cat nap. Eventually he moved to the car and as he slid inside, he reached across to the glove box to retrieve the cross Ma Vecchio had given him the day he met her, the day she was informed that he'd be playing place-keeper for her son. He put it around the rearview mirror, bumping the mirror out of place in the process. Wrapping the chain a few more times around the base, he sighed audibly. He didn't believe it, but he had to try something.

Putting his hand around the mirror, he shifted it back into place and as he checked to make sure it was centered around the back window, he saw the green eyes piercing through him. He gasped and spun, but found the back seat empty. When he thought about it, he knew he would find it vacant. It was all a mind trick, he told himself.

"Damn," he breathed as he started the car and headed for the Consulate. He considered all the information being presented, something he'd avoided until now, and tried to come to some conclusions. First, he had to watch what he said. He'd overheard Francesca on the phone telling God knew who that she heard from Dewey who heard from Huey that Ray was having ghostly experiences. She'd followed it with a laugh and said it was probably a big ruse, stating Ray loved a good Halloween practical joke. When she'd seen him standing behind her, she immediately informed the listener that she'd call back and he'd tried to laugh it off. Inside, he wasn't laughing.

Second, he wondered what was happening. He couldn't deny that these were more than dreams or coincidences anymore. He'd tried to find logical explanations, but there were absolutely none. Windows being opened, things in his apartment being moved, and eerie sounds he now blamed on these apparitions. They wanted his help. He wanted to help them, but every time he turned to ask how, they'd be lost. Realization struck his half numb mind. He couldn't turn. He had to keep focused and not try to see them as anything more than what they appeared to be. He'd done that in the bathtub and… a shudder flitted through his body as he remembered the experience. He couldn't touch them, face them, or force them. Patience. He hated that word.

Turning onto the street to the Consulate, he continued his train of thoughts. The first one had tried to show him something. It had been painful and horrid, twisted and sickening all at once, but she had tried. Could she give him more?

Diefenbaker ran to the vehicle ahead of Fraser for once, hopping at the window until Fraser opened the door to let him inside. Fraser stepped into the front seat and had to hide the gasp he felt. "Ray?"

Ray turned a bloodshot eye on his friend. "I'm ok," he said quickly, knowing exactly what caused the shock in Fraser's voice.

"Are you ill?" Fraser inquired.

Ray shook his head. "I don't want to discuss it. Just want to get to the station and get to work, ok?"

Fraser agreed to say no more and they drove in silence to the precinct. Once there, Ray sat behind his desk, one of the few to work that day. "Georgia, Madeline," he said slowly. "Connection?" he asked Fraser.

Fraser placed his hat on Ray's desk. "I believe you said Madeline had a record also?" he asked, only knowing because Ray had mentioned that the rap sheet was found after he'd taken Fraser back to the Consulate.

Ray nodded. "Prostitution. Another old record. Can't find any family or friends for either of them. Think they're both prostitutes?"

Fraser nodded. "It seems likely because of the nature of the crime. Statistics show that most multiple killers who sexually assault their victims prey on prostitutes because no one notices when they are gone and it is often an attempt to redeem some sin."

"Right," Ray nodded and leaned back, looking through the photos and reports for that missing thread. "Problem is finding out for sure and finding that one person they've both associated with." He let out a long breath, but was interrupted from further thought by Welsh.

"Vecchio," he said from behind the Detective who jumped before spinning around to see the source of the voice. "Got anything on those homicides?"

Ray shook his head. "Why, got something for me?"

"Homicide is still hoping to get a lead, but they're swamped with other cases. Think you can handle it? They're talking about a task force."

Ray's ego played him. "Sure, I can handle it." He grunted. Of course, no one else was having psychotic visits from the victim. That made him closer to an answer than anyone else. "Who's talking task force?"

"Homicide has already asked for one. You've got somewhere between 24 and 96 hours before they'll be able to find a few free officer's to handle it. They've already called a task force on some group of vandals so that's slowing them down."

"Vandals?" Ray asked, astounded that it was taking precedence.

"Damage is nearing millions and they're finding all kinds of things like drugs and sacrificing animals involved."

"Ah," Ray responded. "So you're telling me to figure it out quick or I lose, right?" he frowned and looked at his desk. "Problem is there are no links. I've done the footwork, the research, there's nothing."

"Find something," Welsh said firmly. "I don't want to see a third victim." Welsh walked away and Ray looked to Fraser.

"Like I do?" he asked the Mountie. "If I could just…" he stopped and looked through the papers again. "I don't know. I just have to find something."

Ray Kowalski skidded to a stop in front of the Consulate, the rain falling in sheets over the windshield as it was occasionally interrupted by a wiper blade. He stared through to the blurred image of the street and headlights approaching.

"Ray?" Fraser said for the fourth, perhaps fifth time before Ray bothered to let the sound of his name sink into his mind.

"Nothing's wrong!" Ray snapped insistently.

Fraser cleared his throat, unsure how to reply. The intention of repeating his partner's name had not been to see if he was all right. He'd given up on that hope. No, he'd only wanted to tell Ray that he had a meeting in the morning and wouldn't be able to help him on the case. Now he wasn't sure what to say as the words Ray had yelled still hung in the cool air of the car.

Ray could feel the tension as Fraser placed his hand on the door handle, but didn't make any movement to leave the car. What would he have to say to get the man out? He had too many things on his mind to deal with an offended Mountie.

Dief stood and broke the silence, putting his nose against Ray's ear. "For God's sake, get him out of here!" Ray said irritated.

Fraser looked down and opened the door. The wolf jumped over the front seat and stood across Fraser's lap, looking out into the rain.

Ray pushed the lupine's back legs. "Get your butt out of my face," he insisted.

Diefenbaker jumped from the car and made it to the shelter of the Consulate's stoop in as few jumps as possible. Fraser still did not move.

Ray gripped the steering wheel tightly and avoided eye contact. "I'm sorry, Fraser. I just need to go home and get some sleep, ok?"

Fraser nodded. "I understand, Ray, and despite whatever you may be feeling or thinking, you can talk to me about anything. Call me or drop by. It wouldn't be the first time."

Ray chuckled, but didn't respond to Fraser's offer. He knew Fraser would be there for him if he needed anything, but what did he need more than a good night's sleep and answers that Fraser hadn't been able to find either? "It's the case. It's getting to me," he responded, sounding defeated.

Fraser ran his thumbnail across his eyebrow and turned to Ray. "Sometimes an officer of the law has to remember to separate his work from his own reality."

Ray burst into laughter and struggled to regain control. "There's no such thing as reality," Ray responded. "Work is my reality, ok? I've got two bodies piling up on me and not so much as a carpet fiber to go on. I haven't got a fucking clue what to do next, do you?" His tone was so firm, Fraser felt uncomfortable. Ray only gave him a moment to respond and when Fraser lacked the ability to find words, Ray continued. "If you find yourself awake at 4 am, give me a call. Until then, get out."

Fraser swallowed hard and stepped out into the rain. As it dripped from the brim of his hat, he leaned back into the car. "I've got meetings tomorrow. Turnbull is out of town and Inspector Thatcher has a lot of paperwork so I won't see you tomorrow." He stopped and waited to gauge Ray's response.

Ray stared blankly as the windshield wipers swiped across the glass. "Ok. See you on Tuesday," he said simply and threw the car into drive. Fraser took the hint and closed the car door, taking a moment to watch Ray speed down the street. He wondered if, at that rate, his friend would have an accident before he even made it home. Dief barked from the front door and interrupted the thought.

***

The engine of the GTO was nearly cool as Ray sat behind the wheel in the covered parking outside his apartment building. Beginning as a thought of what he'd say if he did call Fraser, he'd found himself relaying the story from the very beginning as if he was telling it to Fraser.

He waved a hand as he spoke to himself aloud, but stopped with it in midair as he remember the moment in the bathroom. As much as he wanted to deny what had happened, to avoid thinking about how horrendous he'd felt, the pain, anguish, and fear, or no matter how hard he tried to explain it, he kept coming back to that moment. It was the closest thing to understanding he'd felt. He felt Georgia in a way he'd never understood anyone before.

Taking a deep breath, he lowered the hand to the steering wheel and leaned his forehead on it. "That means there's only one thing I can do. I have to let it happen again." He paused and lifted his head. "What do you mean? Are you crazy? You thought you were going to die…" The word stopped in his throat, croaking out at only a whisper.

Standing in the elevator, he waited until it reached his floor and as the door slid open, he swallowed. "Die… die…" he repeated. "Like Georgia. Like Madeline." Opening the door to his apartment, he immediately threw down his keys and pushed the door closed. Walking straight into the bathroom, he ran water in the tub and then removed his jacket.

As he threw it on the bed, he used his toe to loosen the first boot before kicking it off, then grabbed the other boot and pulled it from his foot. Closing his tired eyes, he was flashed with images he didn't want so he went back to the bathroom and turned off the water. Leaning over it, he stared into the reflective surface and waited.

Silence infiltrated the apartment. The sound of a drip which had slowly built on the faucet made him jump, but he swallowed and continued to watch into the water. "If there's a possibility that it will help, I have to do it." He waited. "Before there's a number three."

Still the silence hung and when the faucet dripped again, he felt his heart stop for a moment. Swallowing hard, he pushed the fear aside and leaned on one elbow, letting a finger make a slow ripple in the water. "I can't do it without your help," he said softly.

As the silence became more than he could bear, he folded his arms over the edge of the tub and rested his chin on it. He still didn't remove his eyes from the reflective water.

***

Fraser pursed his lips and cupped a hand behind his ear the moment he thought he heard a sound. Surprised, he jumped to his feet when there was a knock on the door of his office. Swinging it open, he frowned when he saw Ray leaning against the doorframe, his eyes red. Stepping aside, he waved the other man in and turned on the dim light.

Ray glanced at Fraser's bedding. "Sorry to wake you," he said softly as he stepped across it and made his way behind the desk where he flopped limply into the chair.

"It's quite all right," Fraser replied, observing the look on Ray's face and skipping pretense. "Are you ready to talk about it?"

Ray nodded in defeat and clasped his hands together.

Ray felt cold as he lay under the blankets staring at the clock. The dreams he'd had melded together everything in his reality, including the angst of his most recent case, the screams they must have let out, and the despair he felt at not being able to help.

He wondered if there would be a new victim. He wondered it every morning. He wondered every night and constantly throughout the day if he'd wake to the greetings he would never become accustomed to.

The red number on the clock changed and a new hour began. As the man who wouldn't officially be an on duty Detective for 2 more hours stared, he felt his stomach churn. Grunting then, he forced his weakened body from the bed and went first into the kitchen. He stared at his box of instant coffee and the mug with disgusting residue which was placed carefully beside it. As if a breeze was blowing through his apartment, he felt the chill again. It hurt him and irritated him now that he'd come to expect them. Frustrated, he swiped his hand across the counter and swept the coffee and mug to the floor. They did him as much good on the floor, the mug in pieces, as in his stomach.

Supporting himself as he walked, he made his way around the counter, through the bedroom, and into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth without looking into the mirror and as he spat, he ran the water. A moment later, he splashed warm water over his face, trying to reduce the chill that lingered in his bones. He stared as the water ran into the drain and began to back up slightly. Turning off the faucet, he watched the mini whirlpool, then grasped each side of the sink with his hands.

Slowly he lifted his head. The face staring back at him looked as though it would begin to deteriorate. He recognized his own eye color and spiked hair, but the flesh was dry and pale; the eyes were dark and sunken. His lips had begun to tighten into non-existence and his cheek bones protruded. Gasping, he threw his hands over his face and began to rub at his bloodshot eyes. When he opened them again, he found a less severe version of himself, though the redness of his eyes and pursed lips remained. Splashing water on his face again, he toweled it away and looked back into the mirror.

This time when he did, he saw what he wanted to see and what he dreaded most at the same time. The woman was lovely as her dramatic black hair drew the blueness of her eyes to a neon. Her skin was pale, making her hair look even darker, the silky straight locks falling over her shoulders.

He made the observance, this time refusing to turn, refusing to search for clarity and letting her tell him what it was they had all come to tell him.

"Help," she mouthed.

"I'm trying," Ray said to the air as she faded into nothing. He turned then to see the faucet on his shower was running and steam was drifting from above the tub. He reached in to turn it off, not certain whether or not he had been the one to turn it on. Immediately he went to his nightstand and picked up the brand new watch. It read 4:35 and as he held it to his ear, he knew what he would hear. Silence.

Dropping it on the bed, he showered, dressed, and ate. Fraser had given him no advice when he'd shared his experiences. The only thing the man had said that made any sense was that he believed spirits could remain in this world. He also informed Ray that he believed those spirits controlled who saw them.

That wasn't news to Ray. He'd refused to believe exactly that from day one, acknowledging that there was no true way to deny it, but why him? Why now? Why any of it? He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and picked up his keys. Suddenly feeling warm, he picked up his jacket, glanced at the clock, and stepped into the hall where the temperature was cool. It would be another long day.

Getting into the car he looked at the gas gauge. Afraid it might be low, he brushed the panel, but found the needle exactly at half. It could wait.

As Ray pulled up in front of the Consulate, he was certain Fraser wouldn't be ready. He was quite early, but he hoped to get a few moments of peace with someone who cared before starting the latest case.

Pushing open the large oak doors, Ray was slightly surprised to be greeted by Turnbull.

"Good morning, Detective," the Mountie said cheerfully until he took more than a glance at Ray. He frowned slightly at the other man's appearance, but said nothing.

"It's early for you to be here, isn't it, Turnbull?" Ray asked.

Turnbull looked at his watch. "On the contrary. If I were to arrive right now, I would be two minutes and thirty seven seconds late."

Ray frowned and shook his head before continuing. "Back from your trip already?"

"Yes, sir," Turnbull replied. "Nova Scotia is beautiful this time of year. I was able to spend time with my family and…"

"Is Fraser here?"

Turnbull frowned at the interruption, then waved down the hall. "He's in his office."

Ray nodded and made his way down the hall. The door to Fraser's office was cracked open so he pushed it the rest of the way and stood in the doorway. The moment Fraser looked up from his work, Ray spoke. "What time is it?"

"Pardon?" Fraser asked, expecting a hello.

"Just, what time is it?"

Fraser glanced at his wristwatch. "Approximately thirty-five minutes past seven." Ray furrowed his brow and Fraser questioned it. "Did you lose your new watch?"

"It stopped," Ray replied and picked up Fraser's hat. "Better get going to the station."

"I have paperwork."

Ray nodded. "I see that, but can it wait? There's another body."

"Oh," Fraser replied and stood. He buttoned his coat and took the hat from Ray as they passed through the lobby. Diefenbaker, who had been snacking on Turnbull's breakfast, jumped to his feet when he saw his companion at the entrance. The animal ran past the men and waited at the car.

Ray climbed into the driver's seat and looked around. He'd lost over an hour and a half this morning. Somehow he'd left his apartment and arrived at the Consulate nearly two hours later. He had the thought that perhaps he'd lost it driving. He checked the gas and found it still at half a tank. Tapping the plastic cover, he watched to see if the indicator would move. It didn't. ‘Strange,' he thought, then something else occurred to him. It was frightening. He'd lost over and hour and a half on the road while in his car. Anything could have happened. Taking an instant to be thankful he was alive, he started the engine.

They drove to the station, Ray insisting on keeping conversation light. He didn't want to think about anything until he knew what he was dealing with this time. His mind couldn't resist playing games, making him wonder where this one was found, how she was found, and if there was that tiny piece of evidence they needed so badly.

Walking into the bullpen first, Ray slowed when he saw Welsh sitting behind Ray's desk. Something made him want to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

Welsh held out a half eaten donut and Dief ran over to it, snatching it up in his mouth.

"You really shouldn't encourage him," Fraser said as he stopped just behind Ray.

"Ah, it was stale," Welsh replied. "Little late this morning, Detective?"

"I know. There's another body."

"Oh? Did you find one?"

Ray frowned. "Isn't there another one in the morgue waiting for me?"

Welsh shook his head. "I was waiting to get your reports. What's this about another body?"

Ray hurried to cover his tracks. If he told Welsh the truth, he'd end up under investigation and he wasn't ready to sit before another panel of psychiatrists. "I just thought it fit into the pattern."

"You've got a pattern off two bodies?" Welsh asked. "You've proceeded farther than I was aware."

"No," Ray said. "I'm not sure about it. It's… it's…" He swallowed hard and wiped at his forehead.

Fraser could see the stress the situation was causing and came to his friend's rescue. "It's a working hypothesis," he informed the Lieutenant.

"I see," Welsh replied. "I went over your reports this morning and I have to tell you that I want to see a lot more than a working hypothesis by the end of the day. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Ray replied. "What about the task force?" he asked quietly, wondering if maybe they'd be of help, no longer giving a damn about the collar.

"No word. Things aren't going well so it looks like you have a little more time on your own. That's why I want results." Welsh stood and went into his office. Ray fell into the chair behind his own desk and rested his head in his hand.

Fraser took the seat across from him and set down his hat. "There isn't a body this morning. That's a good sign," he said, trying to bring Ray from his trance.

"All that means is no one's stumbled across her yet."

"Then where should we begin?"

Ray shrugged. "Too many rivers, creeks, and canals around here to walk them all ourselves. I can hardly get a few squad cars to help us out based on the fact that one of the Detectives saw a ghost." He swallowed. He hated using that word. Ghost, to him, was just a word for something that couldn't be explained. He hated not having all the answers. He took out the map he'd been making and put a finger on each of the places where a body had been found. "I guess we keep humping these areas until we get something," he said softly.

Picking up the reports and map in his hand, he then walked over to Francesca. A bit surprised that he hadn't explained himself, Fraser followed. "Frannie," Ray began. "Could you check these stats again. Don't look for anything exactly the same anymore. Look for murders that have been similar. Bodies left in riverbeds, girls aged twenty to twenty-five, that kind of thing."

"That could take all day," Francesca said smoothly, knowing from Ray's appearance that she didn't want to aggravate him.

"Just do it, ok? I don't have any other leads."

Francesca sighed as she took his paperwork. "All right. I'll let you know if I can find anything."

"We're going to question a few more of our outstanding citizens," he said sarcastically. "Call me." He paused. "If another body miraculously shows up, just do what I had you do for the others, ok? Look up their records, whatever."

"Miraculously?" Frannie questioned.

Ray swallowed. He knew it wouldn't be a miracle. Deep down, he knew it just had to be found. "Thanks," he said simply.

Fran nodded and grabbed her mouse. Ray turned and headed for the car as Fraser and Dief followed.

***

"We've been at this for an hour and we're no closer to an answer than two weeks ago," Ray observed as he restarted his car.

Fraser nodded. He wished he'd been able to help, but the truth was, no one they questioned knew anything. He could do little more than confirm that they had presented themselves honestly. Sitting quietly as Ray drove, Fraser finally spoke. "Where are we going?"

"Dunno," Ray replied. "Just can't go back to the station and I can't question any more people. I'm done."

Fraser nodded slowly. "In that case, perhaps we could go to the book store."

"Huh?"

"I lost my copy of Dante's Inferno in the fire which burned down my apartment. I've been feeling a desire to read it again. Perhaps we could go to a book store so I could buy a new copy."

Ray sighed. "Sure. Why not? Best choice I've had today." He paused. "Where's the nearest book store?"

"I believe there is one up here on the right," Fraser responded, wondering slightly how one could get through life without knowing where the book stores and libraries were.

Ray pulled into a parking space and opened his door. As he stood beside the car waiting for Fraser to tell Diefenbaker to wait in the car, he took out his phone and looked at it. He checked to see that he hadn't missed any calls, then remembered there had been a function to tell him the time, though he had programmed it so that he didn't have to know. Now he clicked through the functions and reset the time. Satisfied, he returned it to his pocket and followed Fraser inside.

It was warm, unlike the chill falling in the air outside. Ever since the last rainstorm, the temperature had continued to drop. Any day, Ray expected snow. He watched Fraser disappear between the rows of books and picked up a hardback from the best seller.

"Can I help you?" a young man with a ponytail asked.

Ray turned. "No." He paused. "Ah,"

The man stopped and turned back to him. "Yes?"

"Maybe you have a book on dreams."

The salesman raised his eyebrows. "Dreams? What would you like to know about them?"

Ray shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe something about dreams you have during the day."

"Daydreaming?"

"Not exactly," Ray replied. "Uh, you know what? Never mind."

The young man smiled. "We have dream analysis under psychology and dream interpretation under self-help. Other than that, you'll find a few books concerning dreams in the New Age section."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, thanks." The man turned and went back to the registers. Ray stood there for a moment before making his way to the psychology section of the book store. He didn't find anything useful, but then he knew he wouldn't. He knew self-help was a lost cause also, but he looked anyway. He checked on Fraser's progress after that section and found Fraser with three books under one arm while holding another up to a fifth on the shelf and making apparent comparisons.

"Found it?" Ray asked.

"Yes, in fact I found others I was hoping to replace and the prices are astounding. Do you realize this literature costs less than a paperback by this King fellow?"

"I'm sure," Ray chuckled. "'Cause nobody wants to buy that stuff," he waved at Fraser's collection and Fraser frowned a moment before going back to his comparison.

Ray turned around a corner and found the section marked "New Age". He stood before it a moment, reading the titles on Wicca and UFO's. Feeling foolish, he turned around, but found only a continuation of a section. One book, as he was about to leave, caught his eye. "Conjuring the Spirit". He bit the inside of his lip and pulled out the large volume. Opening it to the table of contents, he found chapter titles such as "The Violent Death" and "Visitations". Frowning, he tucked it with the title against his body and turned the corner again. Fraser was placing a fourth book on his pile so Ray hurried to the register where the young man he'd seen before rang him up.

"Would you like a bag?" he asked politely.

"Yes," Ray replied. "Got a paper bag?" He paused when he saw Fraser coming toward him. "It's a surprise," he added quickly, pushing the book toward the young man.

The salesman nodded, smiled, and tucked the book into a dark green plastic bag before handing it to Ray. By that time, Fraser was at the neighbouring cashier. "Did you find something as well?" Fraser asked, encouraged.

Ray nodded and dropped his arm to his side. "I'll meet you at the car," he said quickly and left.

Fraser furrowed his brow and paid. As he exited the store, he saw Ray close the trunk of his car and move quickly to the driver's seat. Fraser got into the passenger seat and glanced at his watch. "The Inspector will be expecting me soon. Perhaps we could go to the Consulate and review the information we have so far."

Just as Ray nodded and was about to confirm, the distinctive notes of his phone broke through.

"Vecchio," Ray said quickly.

"Guess what, Ray?" he heard Francesca's voice clearly.

"Body?" Ray asked, knowing the answer.

"You got it," she responded. "Some homeless guy found it under some trees at the back of Bilby Park. The river runs past there and it was in the water just like the others. Mort's already started to clean the body and Forensics got some fibers."

"Where's the person who found her?"

"In jail. He was causing a disturbance so they brought him in. Took them a while to sort out what he was saying, I guess."

"Right," Ray said. "Got an ID?"

"Kyra Linford."

"What's her record?"

"She doesn't have one. She got her prints on record because she was applying for a job at the high school."

Ray furrowed his brow. The few leads he seemed to have were disintegrating. "The high school?"

"Yeah, she was a teacher at North High."

"Shit," Ray said softly. This couldn't be happening. "They didn't miss her at school?"

"I don't know. You get to go over there and find out."

"All right," Ray said quietly. "Call me when the reports are done."

"Yeah, yeah," Francesca replied just before hanging up.

Ray snapped his phone shut and put it back in his pocket. "You still need to get back to the Consulate? This time we've got a teacher at North High."

Fraser frowned. "I'm afraid so. I'm on duty in an hour." He tongued his lower lip. "I'd really like to assist you more today, perhaps you could pick me up after my shift?"

"Sure," Ray replied and headed first to the Consulate, then to North High.

***

Ray held out his hand, waiting for the principal to finish examining his badge before returning it. "You understand our hesitancy," the stern looking woman began. "There are a lot of lives and reputations to protect."

"Yeah," Ray said quickly. "I want to keep these young kids out of it as much as you."

The woman nodded. Ray glanced down at her desk and read the nameplate. "I'd like to begin by asking you a few questions, Doctor Lynn," he said, opening his pen as he spoke.

"Robin, please," she said. "It will be much easier." She waved her hand to the chair where Ray then sat, taking the leather chair behind her desk for herself. "I'm not sure I can tell you anything, actually. She didn't appear for work on Monday so the administrative staff called her home. There was no answer so they notified the district that we'd need a substitute. As I understand it, Mrs. Grienway tried several times throughout the day."

"Did you notify the police? Maybe call to see if there'd been a report?"

Robin shook her head. "It seems neglectful now, but it wouldn't be the first time a new teacher found out she couldn't make the cut. This is a tough school. Sometimes they avoid our phone calls or skip town because they don't want to admit their mistake."

Ray nodded and scribbled. "Do you have an emergency contact for her?"

Robin looked around on her desk and slid out a file from a stack at the corner. "I pulled this out in case someone would find it useful." She passed the file to Ray who opened it.

He read over the information and frowned. "That line is blank."

Robin reached out and retrieved the file from him. When she looked at it, she looked confused and shuffled through the other pages. "It's required information." She paused and continued to browse. "Mrs. Grienway helped her fill out the paperwork and the district would have more information. I'm sorry I can't be more help."

Ray nodded. "Mind if we talk to some of the staff?"

Robin shook her head. "Of course not. I just ask that you try to remain discreet."

Ray nodded acknowledgement, then exited the office. Across the hall was the office of administration. When he entered, he immediately requested Mrs. Grienway and he talk alone somewhere. She guided him through a small hallway and into an abandoned office, explaining that the regular occupant had left the previous year and had yet to be replaced.

Ray leaned against the wall, his body feeling weak, and cleared his throat. "Let's start with anything you think might be useful."

Mrs. Grienway folded her arms. "With her disappearance? I really don't know. I mean, she didn't come in so we continued trying to call her home, but never got an answer. Ever since caller ID, we can't be sure whether someone is not home or if they are simply avoiding our calls." She tilted her head. "I'm assuming you're here because someone reported her missing. Who was it?"

Ray raised his eyebrows. "Is there some reason for the interest?"

The woman shifted. "Not really. When it came to filling out her paperwork, she insisted there wasn't anyone at all she could put in place for an emergency contact."

"We noticed that," Ray explained. "Did she tell you why?"

Shaking her head, Mrs. Grienway continued. "She just said she didn't have family left. I told her she could put down a friend, but she said the only one she had moved after graduation. It's pretty sad to imagine someone that young being all alone. I told her maybe she'd meet someone and she could put him" she paused, shrugging "or her as her contact."

Ray nodded. "Did you ever see her with anyone? Hear her talk about someone or anything?"

"No, but I remember thinking it was really odd. A little over a week ago, one of the faculty members invited her to dinner. Four or five of the single ladies go out together every week or so and Kyra said she was busy. I never did find out what she was doing, though I tried to hint around, you know. I was concerned for her. She was pretty tight lipped."

"So you have no idea about her hobbies, interests?"

Mrs. Grienway shrugged. "She's only been here since the end of August, you realize."

"Of course," Ray said quickly. "She didn't make friends with the other teachers?"

"I noticed Miss West and Mr. Harson talking to her a few times."

"Thank you, Mrs. Grienway," Ray said finally.

"Listen," she stopped him. "Do you have any leads? I'm really very worried. I mean, it seems I ought to be since she doesn't have anyone else to worry, does she?"

Ray looked away and swallowed. "I'm not really authorized to say any more about the case," he said, trying to find an excuse not to tell her the truth. "We'll contact you as soon as we have more information, all right?"

Mrs. Grienway nodded and led the way out of the room. Ray followed. "Where would I find this West and Harson?"

"Miss West will be in class for another twenty minutes before her lunch. I believe Harson has a consultation period so he'd either be in his classroom or the faculty lounge." She motioned as she spoke to give him ideas of where to go.

Ray nodded his thanks and went down the hall toward Harson's classroom. Entering, he noticed the small man leaning over his desk. "Mr. Harson? Can I ask you a few questions?"

Mr. Harson looked over his glasses and waved him in. "About?"

Ray showed his badge. "Kyra Linford." Harson straightened immediately and removed his glasses, his eyes widening. He looked dumbfounded so Ray continued. "She hasn't been to work since last Friday, correct?"

Harson nodded.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

The man looked as though he was thinking, then spoke. "About five on Friday. I was on my way home. I know because I'd just finished grading some papers and was packing up a bunch of tests to grade at home. Kyra came in and asked me if I was leaving." He stopped and moved to his feet so that he stood approximately the same height as Ray.

"And?"

"And I said yes."

"What did she do?"

"She went back to her classroom. Is she…?" he paused and licked his lips. "Is she missing or did something else happen?"

Ray cocked his head in suspicion. "What do you mean ‘something else'?"

The man chuckled. "Well, if I'm wrong it'll sound crazy, but she didn't get arrested, did she?"

Had he stumbled on something much bigger? When Ray had heard that this one was a teacher, his first thought was that the killer had moved on from prostitutes or perhaps the first two hadn't been hookers at all. Now, the question of this man made him realize that a teacher has a lot of evenings and weekends for a double life. Turning his gaze back on Mr. Harson, he cleared his throat. "What would she be arrested for?"

Harson shrugged. "Well, I'm guessing she wasn't if you don't know." He paused and studied Ray's expression. "That must mean she's missing." He stopped himself as something else occurred to him. "Or dead," he concluded, turning slightly pale. "What happened?"

"I'm not ready to discuss the details," Ray said in uniform answer. "You still didn't tell me what she would be arrested for." He waited and Harson didn't reply. "Prostitution?" Ray offered.

The man looked shocked. "No, no. Of course not. She was just so mysterious all the time. She avoided talking about her hobbies so I started to wonder."

"Still," Ray said, nudging him on. "If she had all that free time…"

"No, I doubt it. I called her a couple times at home to ask her to help me with a lesson plan with my class or to cover for me until I got to work. She was always there. Not only that, she had a lot of paperwork for her class. Believe me, it takes a lot of hours outside of the classroom to be a teacher." He paused. "Besides, she's pretty, uh, conservative."

Ray nodded. He still didn't rule the thought out completely, but he believed the man knew her better than he let on. "Well, let's move on then," he said quickly. "You know any of her friends?"

"Don't think she had any. Well, except Miss West. Those two chatted a lot and you know how women are." As he spoke, a bell rang and the halls filled with sound.

Ray smiled slightly and nodded. "Sure. So is there anything else you can tell us?"

Harson shook his head. "I can call if I think of anything, but I doubt it."

Ray handed the man a card and thanked him, then headed into the hall. He moved across to the door marked West and entered. The classroom had already emptied so Ray headed back to the faculty lounge, hoping to find Miss West there. He walked into the room and asked for her, only to be greeted by an older woman with grey hair.

"She's gone to the lunchroom to pick up her lunch, but she said she'll be eating here today. Perhaps you should wait," the woman offered.

Ray weakly smiled his thanks. "Someplace I could get a drink while I wait?" he asked, suddenly noticing how dry his throat had become.

The woman waved at the hall. "There are vending machines out there," she said kindly, then sat and opened her book.

Ray stepped into the hall, reaching into his pocket for change. One machine was being filled by a vending machine attendant in a pair of coveralls with the company logo on the back. Ray stepped up to the man. "I wanted one of those," he said to the man as the man peeled open a box.

"Yeah?" he said. "Just a second," he said quickly and pulled one out. "That's fifty cents," he said, holding out his hand.

Ray handed him two quarters and watched the man drop it into a bag of change before securing it. "Thanks," he said, taking brief notice of the man's tattoo. It was a snake wrapped around his wrist and Ray couldn't help noticing. It was something two people with tattoos did. They took notice of another as if with some artistic interest in mind.

The man saw him notice and straightened. He glanced at his wrist and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as a voice came up behind Ray.

"I'll take one too," the woman said.

Ray turned and saw Robin holding out her change. The man smiled and passed her a can. Ray turned back to see the man getting back to work so he turned back to Robin.

"How are things going?" she asked.

"Ok," he said softly. "I'm waiting to talk to Miss West and, providing there aren't any more leads, I'll be out of your hair."

Robin smiled and pointed. "Well, then, here she is."

A blonde woman with curled hair stopped. "Here I am," she said to Robin before taking in the appearance of Ray. She looked worried and confused so Ray cleared his throat.

"Just a few questions," he said to her and led her into the faculty lounge. The two found a quiet table and Ray set down his soda after taking a long drink. "Hope you don't mind," he said indicating the drink. "I just wanted to talk to you about Kyra Linford."

Miss West nodded, looking solemn. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

Ray straightened and leaned back in the seat. "What makes you assume that?"

West cleared her throat and leaned forward. "Someone was following her, I think." She gathered her thoughts quickly. "I guess it'll be most help if I start from the beginning." Ray nodded and she continued. "She and I talked over lunch most days and had the same consultation period so we'd work on our plans and talk. I know she was just shy and lonely. She liked teaching because when she was in class, she had fun. Her students enjoyed that, brought her out of her shell a little, but I guess she's had a bad past or something. I mean, she said something about her parents got killed and their inheritance paid for college so I guess it wasn't too long ago when they died.

"Well, everything seemed ok for her, but she liked to be alone because she never came out to dinner with us. Last week she said she felt like someone was watching her. She was afraid to say anything because she didn't want anyone here to think she was a scaredy cat, I guess, but she did confide in me that she thought someone might be watching her."

"Last week?" Ray asked. "Early in the week or later?"

"Saturday, actually," Miss West said. "She called me and I told her to call the cops if she thought someone was peeping. She said if she heard a sound, she'd call. I told her I was coming over if she wasn't going to call and she started to sound calm. She said not to worry, it was just the neighbour's cat. I knew I should have called her back or gone over there."

"And when she didn't come to work on Monday, you weren't concerned?"

"Sure I was. I just didn't want to make a big deal. I figured if something really happened, we'd have heard about it, right?"

Ray looked down at the table. Taking in a deep breath, he frowned. "Not always."

Miss West looked scared. "Is she ok?"

Ray closed his notebook. "If you think of anything else, call me, ok?" Miss West took his card and nodded. "And, Miss West," he said sternly. "Just be careful," he added softly, not sure what else to say.

***

Much further than he had been that morning, Ray had picked up Fraser before visiting the victim's home. By then, the crime lab had been through the place for clues, but found none. The woman kept a tidy residence and they were fairly certain that she hadn't been nabbed from there.

Mort gave little assistance. Everything was the same, with the exception of an apparent severe blow to the head. She was conscious when murdered as the others had been, but had likely been suffering from a concussion. Had he added that to his list of torture to make transportation of the victim easier? Ray couldn't answer that, only move on and keep the tidbit in his mind.

His next hope for clues was the crime scene, though he knew he'd find the same things he'd found before. He walked the area, Fraser also walking around and watching Dief sniff the ground from time to time.

Then it had happened. The phantom perfume only Ray could smell. This time it was violets. Flowers. Whoever he was, he liked women who smelled like flowers. Either that or he hated them. What was his motive, his driving force? What did slaughtering them and leaving them in water mean to him?

Frustrated, Ray dropped Fraser at the Consulate just before dusk, returning to his own home.

Ray knew right from the moment he went to bed that sleeping would a futile effort. Before long, he hovered over the book he'd purchased and began to read.

Having managed to function somehow without any sleep for the past few nights, Ray was ready for relief. Still, he knew in his heart that it wouldn't come and while he'd spent entire nights reading, he felt nearly as lost as he had before. It read like a text book, experts disagreeing at every turn.

One supposed scientist claimed you couldn't actually see a ghost. They were not capable of actual appearance, only residual impressions. ‘Sure. That could be true, but then what the hell did I see?' he asked himself. ‘None of this is making any sense.'

Nothing seemed to fit his situation. The women hadn't died in his home, nor did they have a personal attachment to him, or anyone it seemed. The logics he'd learned in how to solve a case told him he should give up until something new presented itself. He knew, however, that the new thing would be another body and he was beginning to feel protective of these women who had no personal attachments and ended up raped and slaughtered by some vicious freak that a neighbour, if he ever found one, would describe as the nicest guy they knew.

Just once he'd like to hear the neighbour of one of these serial killers say the guy was a frightening soul and they knew it was only a matter of time before body parts would start piling up in the backyard.

He shook off the thoughts and got to his feet. Noticing the date he did the quick math. Yes, there would be a certain unsettling comfort in seeing them this morning. He wondered if it would be easier on him if he let it happen right away or avoided it. Either way, it caused a chill to his core.

He shivered as he moved into the bathroom and stood at the mirror. He looked into it and froze. There was the version of himself with horribly sunken eyes and flesh that appeared to barely hang onto his skin. Ray swallowed and washed his face. This time he'd knew he would look and find that reflection gone, replaced by them. He wanted so badly to communicate.

"I'm sorry. I've tried so hard, but I feel like a rookie cop on this one. I need …" he looked up and stopped speaking immediately. Not only were the images not there, his own image had not changed. He closed his eyes and rubbed them. Still, he appeared the same. He stepped back through the bathroom door, not taking his eyes from the ghostly image of himself and fell. Getting up quickly, he threw on his jacket and left, a horrifying feeling consuming his body and soul.

***

"Ray?" Frannie asked in concerned hesitation.

Ray turned his dark eyes on her and she felt a shudder run through her. Like a small child, he reached up and rubbed at one eye. "Yeah," he breathed, then cleared his throat. "Yeah?"

Francesca said nothing for a moment, taking in the disheveled appearance, the sickly skin tones. "N-nothing," she said after a second.

"Oh. I was hoping you found something."

"N-no," she stuttered. She'd taken little note of his slowly deteriorating appearance until now and wondered about the rumors. People had been talking about him seeing things, ghosts maybe, and she'd even passed it along. Now she felt a hint of regret, wondering if that had led to this state of being or if his state had led to false stories about him. Either way, she resolved that further rumors would stop with her.

She watched him move slowly across the room using his desk as support as soon as he neared it and falling into his chair. He took no notice of his surroundings as he opened a file and began to finger through the pages. Francesca continued to watch him as he sank into his own world and shut everything else out.

What could be causing this? Unable to answer immediately, she cocked her head and watched. Could he be lonely? When he'd first been assigned to cover for her brother, the family had insisted he eat meals with them several times a week. Later it fell to Sunday dinner, but since his parents had come to town, the Vecchio's hadn't invited him. With his own family nearby, there wasn't a need to befriend the man who had just come from a divorce and been placed somewhere without other family or friends to support him.

Of course, Benton had made friends with him right away and Francesca certainly saw it as a bonus that he always accompanied Ray to family dinner. Now she was only able to talk Fraser into joining them on the very rarest occasion, but Fran continued to try.

What about Fraser? Where was he? Ray had picked him up nearly every morning, but this morning the Detective was solo. She let out a breath and stood, taking a few steps toward Ray. She rested her hand on his desk and tried to appear casual. "Ray?"

Ray didn't respond, only continued to read.

"Ray?" she said again, a bit more loudly and clearly.

Ray's head snapped to attention. She found herself again shocked by the darkness in his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Where's Benton?"

"Who?" Ray said, then quickly stood and grabbed his coat. "God's sakes. I forgot him."

Francesca's eyes widened. He'd forgotten the man? His sidekick and best friend? Something was definitely wrong.

"Frannie, call the Consulate. Tell him I'm on my way, ok?"

Francesca nodded and watched him walk quickly from the place, noting how every quick movement seemed to strain his weary body. He looked as though he wanted to run, but couldn't muster the strength.

Moving back to her desk, Francesca picked up the phone and called the Consulate. She knew Fraser wouldn't disclose any personal information about Ray, but she had to ask. Getting no where, she gave him the reason for his call, then hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before picking it up again.

***

Fraser could almost hear Ray asking for forgiveness as he watched the GTO pull up in front of the Consulate. He imagined that strong slang giving him some excuse or another, but the small smile he harboured faded when Ray stepped from the car. Fraser stepped down from the doorway and rushed down the stairs.

"Ray?"

Ray froze. Why was everyone saying his name like that today? He found it very irritating. "You ready?" he said without acknowledging his tardiness or the other man's concerned appearance. Ray turned after he spoke and headed back to the car. He didn't say a word as he restarted the engine and leapt into traffic, Fraser and Dief both bearing down to keep from sliding across the seats.

Half-way back to the station, Ray's phone began to ring. He answered it, finally breaking the silence in the cold air. "Yeah?" he stated, putting on no pretense.

"Ray?" Francesca said, not sure it was his voice she heard.

"What is it, Frannie?" he snapped.

"Welsh wants you to go back out to where Linford was murdered," she said. "There's someone out there claiming he saw the whole thing. They've got a couple officer's with him, but he refuses to move from the spot. That's all we know."

Ray sighed audibly. "Thanks, Frannie," he said.

"And Ray?"

"What?"

"Ma wants you to come to dinner tonight." Ray didn't answer for several seconds. In fact, Francesca began to worry. "Ray?"

"I heard you," he said quickly. "Why?"

"Because you haven't come for a long time," she lied. "Guess she misses having you around."

A home cooked meal sounded comfortable to his weary mind. "I guess you're inviting me so I'll bring Fraser," he said sarcastically.

Francesca was quick to reply. "Come on, Ray. You know Ben's always invited, but Ma wanted you to come. Will you?"

"I suppose," he replied softly.

***

"I saw it, I'm telling you!" the man insisted.

Ray stepped up to the two officers holding up the drunken man. "What's going on?" Ray asked, showing his badge quickly to the officers. One checked his partner, then let go and moved beside Ray.

"He's drunk and he says he saw a murder here. We checked with our commander about it and he told us there was one, but none of what this guy says fits."

"What do you mean?" Ray asked, confused.

"He says this woman was dropped here, but when we inquired further, he says she was shot in the head, fully clothed, and that she was left on the grass. None of it fits what we were told."

Ray nodded. "It doesn't fit. Why do you think he's saying it?"

"He told us to take him back to the station and get him some coffee and he'll tell us about the guy. I'm guessing he's looking for a place to go."

"How did he know about the murder?"

"When we first got here, he said he'd seen a mugging. We told him there weren't any so he said it was a murder. I'm guessing he was just stabbing in the dark."

Ray nodded. "Well, take him in anyway, would you? I need to talk with him before we just dismiss him." Hoping this would be a break, Ray patted the man's shoulder and turned to Fraser. "Vecchio's invited us to dinner," he said.

Fraser raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Seems you're invited too."

Fraser cleared his throat. "What about this man?"

"Kook got lucky," Ray said simply and went back to the GTO.

***

As Ma Vecchio chopped the bright orange carrot, she frowned. Poor Ray had become so alienated from them. She felt certain he was feeling unwanted, hence the depressed aura Francesca had described. How could they have been so negligent, assuming he no longer needed them? She cursed to herself and began to slice a deep red tomato.

"You were right," Ma said to Francesca as she closed the door behind Ray and Fraser. "He looks as though he's seen the death."

"I know, Ma. I thought coming here would help, but it hasn't. He hardly said a word."

Ma nodded and closed her eyes. "There is nothing more we can do except pray for him." The older woman clutched the cross hanging from her neck. "We'll pray for him and God will protect him."

Francesca nodded and turned to the window. She watched the wiry figure climb into the driver's seat and drive away. Just as he pulled out, lightning filled the sky with light and Francesca could smell the impending rain. She bowed her head and turned away.

Ray slowed in front of the Consulate and watched the rain falling again. It was a slushy rain he could see, the temperature trying to freeze the droplets. He held his hands around himself, feeling that it was cold enough, but knowing it wasn't quite.

"Would you like to stay at the Consulate?" Fraser offered.

Ray chuckled. "No. No, that wouldn't do any good. I've got to confront this."

Fraser cleared his throat and Dief whined from the back seat. "Confront?"

Ray turned his drained gaze on his friend. "A séance," he whispered.

Fraser blinked. "Don't you need more people for that?" he asked, not knowing what else to say.

Ray shook his head. "I'm not getting anyone else involved."

Fraser held the door handle and stared at Ray. The Detective seemed unphased and continued to stare into the rain. "Think we'll have snow soon?" he finally asked.

Clearing his throat again, Fraser glanced through the window. "It's highly possible. The weather has been unusually cold, though the effect created by the lake…"

"See you tomorrow," Ray interrupted.

Fraser paused a moment. "Are you sure you don't want me to join…"

"Good night," he interrupted again. Fraser took the hint and got out, waiting for Dief to follow him.

***

Ray stared into the dancing flame of the fat white candle, his eyes glazed over, a book open on the floor beside him. The room was silent and dark except for the dim flickering. He wondered if he really wanted to do it. Could he summon them? Should he summon them? What would happen if he did?

All at once the candle went out. The wick held the heat for a moment, glowing slightly red, then disappeared, leaving him in complete darkness.

Letting out his first audible breath, he grabbed the lighter and flicked it. It sparked, but didn't ignite. He flicked it a few more times, catching images of the room in each moment of spark. Several clicks later and he was beginning to get frustrated so he tapped the lighter on the hard floor of the tiled bathroom and flicked again. This time as the tiny flame from the lighter was ignited by spark, it suddenly grew into a large long flame. It lit the room and he saw ghostly images before the lighter went out.

"Damn," he breathed, the memory of their presence burned into his mind's eye. Flicking the lighter again, this time he didn't even get a spark. He flicked repeatedly and stopped when his thumb began to stiffen. "Who are you? What do you want?" he asked the darkness. He was met with complete silence and as his eyes began to adjust, he strained to see.

All at once, he felt a breeze blow past him, strong and chilled. It lasted only a moment, but as it disappeared, the candle suddenly sparked back into life and Ray stiffened. Immediately taking it as a sign, he looked around the room, but saw nothing. "Hello?" he said, his voice echoing. It held a tone that made his skin crawl differently than when he'd spoken a moment before. He cleared his throat and whispered, trying not to break the silence. "I want to help you, but I don't know how."

The room was silent again and he stared into the candle flame, waiting. It seemed an eternity before he heard a whisper. He couldn't make it out, but it was quickly joined by other whispers. Before long, the breathy sound was intensifying into "swooshy, wooshicky" and then it began to sound like a million people chatting about nothing over cocktails. He looked around him, slowly rising to his feet. He spun around twice, following the loudest parts of the sounds and when the candle went out again, the sounds stopped. Ray swallowed, surrounded by darkness and silence once again. His mind raced. What had the book said? His memory lapsed, but it didn't matter. The pages hadn't described anything he'd just heard.

Stumbling through the darkness, he tried to find the light. Flipping the switch on, he was greeted by a bright blast and the bulb went out. ‘Great! What great timing for the bulb to burn out,' he thought and tried to find his footing into the bedroom. He felt his way around, finally getting to the light switch and getting another flash as that bulb burned out.

Feeling a little panicked, he flailed with his hands, trying to find the light switch over the kitchen table. He nearly fell over something he couldn't identify, but finally got to the light. Again it flashed and burned out so he tried for the window. He'd closed the blinds for the séance of sorts, but hoped the moonlight would now give him much needed lighting. Tugging the strings, he found the night nearly as dark and as he straightened again, a gust of wind blew through the room and plastered the blinds back against the window, effectively cutting off the little illumination he had.

Of course, this only added to the panic so he reached in his pocket and realized he'd left the lighter on the floor of the bathroom. Somewhere he had a flashlight, but he didn't know where. Wanting desperately to have light again, he went to the bedroom closet and began to feel around the shelves. The whispering voices started again and he took a deep breath, brushing over the shelf more frantically until the room behind him lit up. In the same instant, the voices stopped again and he froze a moment before he turned very slowly. Behind him on his dresser was the candle, a bright flame licking the air around it.

Now he took a slow step toward it and felt a cold chill run through him again before seeing three beautiful young women standing before him. He recognized each one, but said nothing. There was confusion and pleading in his eyes; pain and pleading in theirs.

Finally Georgia spoke. "We've already seen her," she said, her ethereal voice disappearing into the silence.

"Seen who?" Ray asked after a moment.

"Her," Georgia repeated. "There's another who will follow us unless you can stop it."

Ray swallowed. "What can I do? Do you know who it is?"

Georgia shook her head. "But we can show you." Ray waited for further explanation. "I was able to give you something before, but we cannot give you everything unless you invite us."

"What do you mean, invite?"

"You have to invite us to show you everything. Something in our memories will help you find him."

Ray realized he'd stopped breathing for a moment and gasped before speaking again. "Will it be like before?"

Georgia looked away and Kyra took a step forward. "It can't compare," she told him. "Georgia could only give you a taste without your invitation. You must agree before we can give you any more."

Ray stood frozen a moment, staring into nothingness. The previous experience had been horrific enough. He never wanted to feel that again, but they promised this to be much worse. How could he pass up the opportunity to catch a vicious serial killer for his own selfish comfort? He braced himself, tightening his hands into fists, then relaxed them. No. No, he couldn't do it. It would be too much.

He shifted slightly on his feet and looked into Kyra's eyes, then to Madeline, then Georgia. He couldn't let them go on this way without trying. How many more would there be if he couldn't stop this man? He swallowed again hard and nodded slowly. "All right. If it is the only way to stop him, I'll do it."

Georgia smiled slightly and took a step forward. Ray's heartbeat stopped and he stood there petrified as she moved closer.

***

A barrage of images flashed through Ray as he felt himself grabbed from behind. Shoved quickly to his knees, the stinging sensation rose into his thighs, but was quickly dismissed when something black was snapped over his eyes and tied tightly behind his head. He'd seen nothing more than a parking garage and a number of cars.

Now he felt himself dragged painfully across cement before being picked up and shoved, fighting all the way, into what he guessed to be the trunk of a car from the smell of oil, the rough carpeting, and the slam he then heard overhead.

A few moments later he felt himself dragged across dirt and rock, then up stairs which bruised him all the way. He was thrown into a room before the person grabbed his wrists and forced them behind his back, tied them, then tied his ankles firmly. The door opened again, closed, and he heard a sound he only guessed to be locking.

In the reality of Ray's apartment, the time ticked seconds that were hours to him. Those moments of silence where ones in which each woman felt filled with despair as she tried to escape, fear at what might happen next, anger at her captor.

He'd been gone so long that his return held a glimmer of relief and hope. Had he brought her food? She needed to eat. He began to untie her. Would he let her go? It was the hope she had to hold onto. Instead Ray, still transported, was kept in darkness left only to his other senses as he heard ripping and felt a cold breeze on his body. The cold was immediately followed by a weight over his body and pain he could never describe. Intense pain made him feel as though his flesh was being ripped, dull pains, sharp pains filled the entire groin area and he screamed out, though felt as though the voice was not his own. Both physical and mental anguish filled his soul, piercing fingers dug into his arms.

Imagining things couldn't be worse, Ray tried to pull himself from the nightmare, his subconscious telling himself this wasn't happening to him, it had happened to them. He tried to pull outside of his being and watch, but it wasn't possible. Only a remnant of himself was left inside his brain, the rest had been taken over. It got hotter and hotter until he knew it must end soon, but the unthinkable became worse, more humiliating, making him feel more dirty as he pushed away the horrible sensation. This evil being had brought his poor young captor to orgasm.

Tears burned trickles down her cheeks as she gasped for breath, now alone in the room again, left to feel the anger, horror, pain, and humiliation. She wrapped her arms around herself and began to rub where he'd gripped her. She wasn't brushing away bruises, she was much more rough than that. Ray knew as if he was her that she was trying to rub away the sin. He'd left her filthy and her heart ached from the pulsating emotions.

Still unable to see, he felt time passing. Had it been hours? Days? He'd brought her food once, and she'd been ravenous. Finally he came in and spoke, his voice deep. "It's time to release you," he'd said and her hopes swelled. All she wanted now was for this to be over, but he lied. He didn't let her go then, he raped her again before putting her into a tub full of hot water. Ray felt her skin burning from the heated water and pushed at the sides of the tub, looking for escape, though still blindfolded and unable to know if the man was even in the room.

Ray felt wet and exhausted, his own mind told him there had been something in the food. It quickly became apparent that the attacker was in the room when a rough brush began to make its way over the entire body, scrubbing every inch. She fought, but only splashed water, occasionally slipping under and gasping for breath. Feeling almost as though she was being raped again, the brush scrubbed at her genitals.

Eventually he ripped her from the warm water and left her cold on a soft surface covered in plastic, most likely a bed, where he held her down and scraped her fingernails and toenails. She tried to fight, but exhaustion coupled with his strength left her powerless. He heard a spraying sound and felt cool particles hit his sensitive skin. Before he could register it, Ray felt the plastic being wrapped around himself as he was then carried nearly lifeless into the outdoors, then back into the trunk.

Something in his mind told him it was time to end, to make the vision stop before he relived any more of the event. He knew what was coming and he couldn't handle it. It was only a moment of clarity he had before she resumed use of his entire being, ripped from the trunk and carried somewhere. She felt the bumpy, rocky surface beneath her and water running over her. She tried to scream, but couldn't find her voice. An excruciating cut as the knife penetrated her abdomen and in quick swift motion, ran across to the other side. The blood loss was incredible and the wound agonizing, but it wasn't enough to kill her. She was alive to feel the second incision at her upper chest, it all happening so quickly that she didn't lose consciousness or life until the second cut began to rip down toward her navel.

Ray let out a scream in the darkness of his apartment and slowly opened his eyes. He feared what he'd see, feeling death still on his heels. Gasping for breath he grabbed his chest, trying to keep his heart inside. It took him several seconds before the horror of three days thrown on him in ten minutes began to dissipate enough that he realized where he was.

Looking into the dark tearful eyes of the first apparition he'd ever witnessed, he began to move his shaking body slowly. She held her arms around her stomach and wept. Ray couldn't move and more than he had, but he watched her. "I'm sorry," he said tearfully. "I'll use any information to find out who did this!" he promised weakly.

Madeline looked sympathetic and stepped closer. "That was only what Georgia knew," she said softly. "You must still learn what I know and what Kyra knows."

"No," Ray said meekly. "I can't."

"We need you to do it," Madeline insisted and took the last step, reaching out to him.

Thrown back into this new being, Ray felt he had to concentrate. There'd been little before to use in his investigation, there had to be more now. Madeline stood in the assumed safety of her apartment hallway and smelled something. Ray felt hope as he recognized the musky smell of the man who nabbed her. She'd been horrified, holding out little hope. Ray felt more despair from this woman than the previous and a certain willingness to give in if it would make things easier. Would it? She didn't know, but in her mind, it made more sense than fighting.

Ray relived the horrific events through Madeline's senses, emotions, and body. Physical exhaustion reached her before the first time he raped her. Ray's mind gave a certain amount of relief that she hadn't felt the same horrors as Georgia, but she felt the same anger, pain, and filth consume her. When he was finished and went to move off her, she turned her head and threw up. He'd left it there, a terrible smell filling the small room as she tried to avoid it.

Twisting and twitching on the floor in his apartment, he smelled the lilacs as it sprayed over his body just before being wrapped in the plastic. It was coming again, but Madeline had closed her eyes and transported herself before she was in the water. He made the incision and she felt the pain, tried to scream, but had shut her mind off to it. She welcomed the darkness.

Ray was frozen in a curled up position, not even taking a moment to try to place the weeping he heard. He couldn't move. Acknowledging them would only continue the cycle.

He was unable to stop it, though, as Kyra took her moment to show him what she's seen, felt, heard. She gave him everything she'd been through, a strong woman who held hope through every moment. Kyra had refused to let him see her broken spirit. She screamed until her throat was hoarse. She fought until she could no longer move. She'd made the same mistake of eating as the other women, but questioned it. Unfortunately, she'd been too famished to leave the food alone. Continually she spoke with her captor, trying to talk him into freeing her, but he never responded.

Not until he told her he was going to let her go. She'd succeeded, she believed for a moment, but when he didn't remove the mask and moved over her to rape her again, she kneed at his groin. Having missed her mark by a crucial inch, it had stopped him a moment, but obviously only made him angry as he threw a hand across her face once before picking up her head and thrusting it against the ground.

Kyra struggled to remain conscious through the concussion, but her body couldn't respond to any commands. Before long, she was covered in water, scrubbed clean, then thrown to the bed. Violets. ‘Why violets?' she asked herself as the atoms touched her skin.

When the knife incised into the abdomen, Ray struggled to be let go, screaming out. He felt it go across him and immediately the knife was in his chest. The end was near and he tried to scream again. Just as Kyra lost consciousness, he heard his voice finally cutting through. "Stop it… make it stop…" he whimpered and cried as he begged it to end, all the while hearing the weeping all around him.

The weeping began to fade and Ray tried to find something in his body to allow movement. His brain had shut off every command going out. It was minutes before he realized he was shivering and as he slowly opened his eyes, he was met with complete darkness, the candle burned out, the room heating up. He felt sweat on his brow as the room continued to get warmer.

Then he recalled the images. He had to find a way to move, to make notes. He couldn't let himself forget a thing. Anything might be a clue. As enough strength to move returned, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled slowly. He was turned around, not sure which direction was up, let alone forward, so he moved until he walked into a wall. He felt the wall around him until he felt a neon tube. Thinking he knew it was his neon beer sign, he began to feel his way to the right where the light should be.

He flipped it on the same instant he realized it had been burned out, but it was too late to stop the signal to his brain. He stumbled back, however, when the light came on and filled the room with brightness. Catching himself on the dresser, he took in a deep breath and waited for his eyes to adjust before moving into the main room of his apartment where he could get a notepad and paper. There he remained, scribbling notes until the sun broke slightly through the very corners of his windows, trying desperately to peek in and let him know it was morning.

The first thing Kowalski had done when morning broke through to his senses two days ago was to call the Morgue. He'd insisted Mort test for perfumes on the flesh and drugs in the digestive systems of all the women. Mort's first argument was that they'd tested for the perfumes. He'd found nothing, he reminded Ray, but pointed out that it could easily have been washed away by the waters. Ray grunted and insisted on drug testing and Mort told him that had been part of the standard procedure, but hadn't turned up anything.
Ray wouldn't let it drop, however. He'd insisted Mort go back and look for trace evidence, certain there had to be some. Perhaps the water had washed the perfumes away as Mort suggested, but there was no way to wash away the evidence they'd digested. It had happened too close to their deaths to have a chance to work its way out.

Mort sensed Ray's frustration and finally relented. Ray took his notebook with him to the car, following every possible lead. Retracing steps he'd taken and venturing onto new ones, he still came up empty handed.

Schlepping Fraser and the wolf on half of his expeditions over the past two days had neither helped, nor been fun. Fraser kept going off into exposition every time Ray needed silence to collect his thoughts.

Honestly, he hardly wanted to talk to the Mountie. He couldn't tell him how he acquired his new leads and Fraser's relentless questions were incredibly irritating. He understood that Fraser hoped the source might provide further clues, but how could he tell the other man what he'd felt, seen, experienced….imagined?

Fraser had been understanding that night he'd come to his office. Ray had been quite surprised by just how understanding he had been, but this wasn't the same as otherworldly visitors. This experience had become so personal and painful for him that he felt sharing it would violate some sacred promise he'd made to the girls.

There was no point in stopping his quest when Fraser went home to the Consulate either. No, Ray spent his sleepless nights combing the streets, asking questions of any underworld figure he could think of, prostitutes on the street, rosebushes if he thought he might get somewhere.

Last night he'd found a late night Addictions Anonymous meeting and attended. He'd tried to blend in, told them he wasn't ready to share, and drank stale coffee from a vending machine. The meeting ended and he knew he couldn't stay as the doors closed, but he froze in the exit when he heard the name Madeline.

Spinning, he'd asked for a last name. Of course, they didn't known, but this was the third meeting she'd missed. Quick calculations told Ray that would have been true of his Madeline. The others walked away, but the man who seemed to hold the most information immediately disclosed more. Surely she'd started drinking again or worse, her other vice, Meth. Ray frowned then and asked if she had family they could ask. No, the man had replied. That's what had driven her to become an addict in the first place. She felt all alone. Sure he was onto something, he'd asked for a description. Could it be Madeline Forster? From the details the man gave, it was certainly possible. Ray continued the questions, closer than he'd been to anything in days, but still a mile away. The man knew her only as a fellow addict.

Sickened, disturbed, and feeling the hopelessness, his head spun as he opened his front door. The morning sun was warming the cold apartment as it had for the past few mornings. In a fit of confusion and anger, he'd ripped the blinds from the windows, letting in anything the outdoors had to offer. Now he dropped his coat and keys, moving to the television. A human voice could break through the lonely despair, he theorized hopefully, so he turned it on.

As if delivering a profound message, the newscaster brightly said, "…on this bright morning. October thirty-first is Halloween and we have tips on keeping those kiddies safe…"

Ray slammed the button and turned the TV off. His stomach flipped. Halloween. He'd been charting the events on a calendar and knew what he would see when he looked at his watch, but he did it anyway. 5:05 AM and it wasn't ticking. Another new watch had stopped.

He'd failed.

Reeling from the failure, he went to the bathroom. He hoped take a hot shower and pray to whatever God there might be that he would make it through the day. Glancing at the mirror only a moment, he froze and turned back to it. No, he wouldn't avoid. This was his chance to speak. He'd use the opportunity to apologize for his failure. "Little good an ‘I'm sorry' will do," he breathed, "but I have to try."

Standing before the mirror, he stared into it, deep concentration filling his heart and mind. ‘Maybe I'm trying too hard,' he thought, and just then he smelled a flower. Closing his eyes to take a deep breath, he placed it as Jasmine. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the reflection of four women standing behind him. Ray gripped the sides of the sink. He couldn't turn around, it would make them go away. He took in a deep breath and felt a tear run down his cheek. "I'm sorry. I failed."

Georgia stepped forward then and touched his shoulder. He turned to see if the reflection was real and watched her arm fall to her side. "We have to try again," she said softly.

"No," Ray said firmly. "I'm sorry, but I can't go through all of that again. I just…"

The new girl cleared her throat. "You only have to let me show you," she said. "Just one of us. Please?"

Ray swallowed and stared in confusion. Terrified, he slowly found himself nodding, though his mind told him to stop. The new victim with blonde hair and golden brown eyes approached him cautiously. Unsteadily, Ray reached out a shaky hand. She took it in hers and before he could wonder if he'd feel her grasp, the images began.

She'd been standing in an elevator and slowly the doors opened. He barely had time to register cement walls as she stepped out when he felt the tight grip around him. Struggling against the assailant, she brought her legs into the air and slipped halfway from his grasp. Turning to look at his face, her vision was immediately obscured by a forearm and then completely by a hand.

She'd screamed, but there was no one to hear and an instant later, her mouth was covered. She tugged and pulled but he was much stronger. Yet through all the struggling Ray felt, his own mind was breaking through. A tattoo. He'd seen that snake somewhere before. Somewhere… he felt as though he was being thrown into a trunk and then it clicked. Jerking his hand away from hers, he fell backward a step.

"I've hardly begun," she said, a hint of desperation in her voice.

Ray gasped for breath a moment before spilling out the words, "It's the tattoo. You saw his tattoo and I know who it is!" He felt a brief moment of excitement he wished to share with them, to tell them it would stop there, but in an instant, they were gone.

Shaking his head, he showered quickly, something he would have skipped if it hadn't been so apparent to himself that he needed it, and headed to the Consulate to pick up his companion and his companion's companion before speeding to the 27th where he jogged along the halls and into the Detective's Division.

"Frannie, got an ID on today's victim?" he said, the exhaustion of mind and body forgotten for the new lead.

Francesca frowned. "There isn't one," she said slowly. "At least, no reports yet."

Ray stopped a moment and glanced at Fraser. "Oh, well, he's got a pattern," he cleared his throat, then continued. "It would just fit the profile to have one this morning."

"I suppose I could call a few patrols and ask them to check around, what, rivers?"

"Anyplace that might be covered by brush, trees, whatever. She's out there. I'm sure of it."

Francesca nodded. Ray frowned. Had he stopped the vision too quickly? Even if he'd allowed it to continue, he wouldn't have seen anything with the blindfold. How could he possibly have known where she'd been taken? He frowned a little and walked to his desk. Flipping open the phone book, he found the name of the vending machine company with the logo he recognized. Once getting someone in charge on the phone, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hello, this is Detective Vecchio. I need to know who fills the vending machines at North High."

"Uh," the person seemed to stall. "I'm sorry, sir, but that's privileged information."

Ray frowned. Another power hungry guy in a cubicle was going to play hardball with him? He didn't need it. "That's Detective Vecchio," he repeated, emphasizing his title.

"Yes, sir, but I'm not allowed to release information without a warrant. You understand. It's for the safety of our employees."

"They fill vending machines, for God's sake!" Ray burst, then caught Fraser from the corner of his eye, furrowing his brow. "I'm sorry," he added quickly and hung up before saying anything more.

He was on the phone again in moments, arguing to get a warrant; a difficult task when your only evidence is a vision incited by a ghost. It took Ray some fancy footwork to get an agreement. That was followed by another call to the vending company where he immediately requested the person he'd spoken with before.

"Can I get your fax number?" Ray asked without greeting. The man recited it and Ray wrote it down. He then handed it to Fraser. "Get Frannie to fax the warrant to that number." Fraser nodded and Ray waited. Once he saw Francesca pick up the phone, he spoke to the man again. "There's a warrant being faxed through now. You have the right to request I serve it in person, or you can save us both some time and tell me his name."

He heard silence, then the rustling of paperwork. "Leo Ellsworth fills the machines at North High. That was what you wanted, right?"

"Yeah," Ray said. "Where else does he fill them?"

"He does between six and ten a day. Do you want them all?"

Ray frowned. It was a long list. "Can you fax me a list?"

Within ten minutes, Ray was watching the fax machine spit out three pages of company names, locations, and phone numbers. He picked up the pages and glanced over them. His eyes stopped on one and he smiled a dry grin. The AA building on Vernon. That made two connections. Ray handed a page to Francesca. "Frannie, call these companies and ask for Georgia Berbett."

Frannie let out a long breath, but agreed. "What about the others?"

"I've got two of them. Kyra worked at North High and Madeline attended Addictions Anonymous meetings on Vernon. It's Georgia or…" he paused and snapped his fingers. "Or ask them if they have any employees who are unaccounted for today. Got it?"

Francesca nodded and began to dial her phone. Ray took the other two pages to his desk and began making phone calls. He'd called everyone on the last page and half of the list on the other page before finding hope.

"I'm looking for Georgia Berbett. Is she available?"

The long pause seemed odd to him until the secretary responded. "I'm sorry, there's no Georgia Berbett, but we had a Gena Bennet. Is that perhaps who you meant?"

Ray stopped himself from hanging up. "Uh, I suppose it could be. Is she there?"

"No, sir. I'm afraid she isn't working here anymore."

Ray thought quickly. "Did she get fired?"

"I'm sorry, sir. We can't give out that information, but we can tell you that her last date in attendance was the 9th of this month."

Ray leaned back. "Her last date of attendance? Does that mean she just stopped coming to work?"

"I'm sorry, sir…"

"No, it's ok," he said quickly. He didn't need to hear it. He knew the answer. "Would you mind telling me if she was a young blonde with blue eyes?"

The woman paused a moment. "I suppose that's ok. Yeah, that fits her."

"Thanks," he said quickly. "That's all I need for now. Good bye." He hung up so quickly it caused Fraser to turn his head from watching Francesca. A smile crossed Ray's face and that was all the encouragement Fraser needed. He moved from Francesca's desk and approached Ray.

"Did you find something?"

"Georgia worked at a marketing firm under the name Gena Bennet. At least, this Gena disappeared about the same time and fits her description." Ray walked over to Francesca and Fraser followed him. "Frannie, did you get anything?"

"Nothing on Georgia, but Eaton's hasn't seen Dominique Burton since Friday. She's young and pretty, the guy said and he didn't know of any relatives to contact." Francesca pointed at the phone number for Eaton Inc as she spoke and Ray took it from her. "Thanks, Frannie," he said quietly, thinking as he looked at the circles on the papers. "Could you run a check on that Dominique? Maybe she's got a record."

Frannie began typing and Ray went to his phone. Moments later he was on his way to the morgue, waiting for the new body that had just been found to be wheeled in.

Ray Kowalski felt a certain satisfaction as he served a warrant on Leo's somewhat secluded residence. The home produced extensive hair samples, fingerprints, and a black bandana wrapped in ropes.

He reveled in the feeling as he put the cuffs on Leo, but the man protested. It wasn't until they had him in the interview room that he had anything more to say than, "What's this all about?"

"You knew these women, didn't you? You saw them where they worked, where they went after work. You recognize them."

"Yeah, sure, but that doesn't mean I have anything to do with them dying," he remarked.

"No, of course not," Ray replied, his demeanor calm. Welsh and Huey waited on the other side of the glass waiting for Ray to explode. He always did. The man was full of anger and sarcasm at every interview. Here, he sat subdued, his hands folded over the pictures of the victims. "So, tell me about them, Leo? Tell me what you know."

Leo shrugged, furrowing his brow as he decided just what he could get away with saying. "I talked to them a few times. That's about it."

"Uh huh," Ray breathed, leaning back in his chair. "And what perfume did they wear?"

"What?"

"What kind of perfume did they wear? Expensive? Cheap? Musky? Maybe one of those cinnamon vanilla scented ones that make a hungry man go wild?"

Leo shifted. "I didn't notice."

"So you sprayed them with flower scents. Something you were familiar and comfortable with."

"Man, I don't know what you're talking about," Leo said. "I got nothing more to say."

"Oh really?" Ray said flatly. "You don't want to reduce your sentence by confessing that you picked these women because they had no one close enough to notice they went missing? You don't want to honour their spirits by admitting that you raped them and poisoned them and left them to bleed to death?" Honour their spirits? Had he really just said that? He cleared his throat and shook his head slightly before looking back into Leo's eyes. "We really don't need a damned word from you to convict you. We've got enough evidence to skip the trial, but I'm curious."

When Leo pursed his lips and clasped his hands firmly together, Ray continued. "I just want to know what it all means."

"What what all means?"

"The pattern, the flower perfume, the water running over their lifeless bodies. What does it mean?"

Leo clenched his jaw, but kept Ray's gaze. Ray wouldn't let up, knowing there was something in the man that wanted to tell him. There would be no confession, no remorse in his admittance. He'd kept his work a secret, a well thought out plan. In his mind, he was some sort of sick and twisted artist. The artist wanted to share his inspiration, his process. If Ray could only draw it out.

The clock ticked away the length of the silence and Welsh shifted on his side of the window into the minds of both a killer and his detective. The room on the other side was calm and cool. Welsh wondered how long it would last. Would Ray jump to his feet and attack the man? Would he continue this until Leo confessed out of boredom?

Ray raised one eyebrow, his gaze still fixated with one of a killer. He'd said all he needed to say, asked all he needed to ask. It was Leo's turn.

Leo leaned forward, his eyes burrowing into Ray's soul. A sickness formed as Ray leaned into confidential space. A part of him felt as though the injustices had been done to himself, but he had to remain still when the man spoke. He would speak, wouldn't he? Ray would have to remain distant, though he knew the next words would make him want to fly across the table and kill the man with his own bare hands.

"They were beautiful, weren't they?" Ray nodded and Leo continued. "I think of women as flowers. Beautiful fragrant things of perfection. These women were cast aside, alone. It made them dirty. Their souls were dirty with the loneliness. It was a blackness. I let them free - I cleaned their souls and bodies. Don't you see? I was doing them a favour."

Ray bit his inner lip in a wholly unsettled smile. He blinked slowly at the man. "Thank you, Mr. Ellsworth," he said in a soft, smooth tone before moving slowly to his feet.

Welsh straightened. Was this his move? No, his detective stepped out of the interview room, leaving the man alone and Huey ran in to cover for him. Welsh stepped from the room and found Ray in the hallway leaning against the grey brick walls rubbing at his face.

"You ok?" Welsh asked.

Ray shook his head, grunted, and walked down the hall. All he wanted to do was hurt someone, something to make up for the hurt Leo had caused, but a young woman's voice surfaced in his brain, telling him Leo would pay, Leo would pay.

Before the paperwork was finished, all Ray wanted was a warm night at home in his bed…alone.

The End