"What do you mean?"

"Within the past two hours we've received dozens of calls asking about this case," he told the detectives, "And that's not including the reaction we're going to receive once Mayor Reynolds and his wife learn about this." Johnson rubbed his temples and shut his eyes, "This is all going to blow up in our faces if this keeps up..."

Felton shook his head, "No, it won't."

Sage agreed, "Even if it did, eventually someone else would come across the same facts and they'd realize we were actually onto something."

Johnson looked at him, and asked, "How many people would die between now and then though? I mean," he stirred a bit, "Is there even a chance of this guy, this Cladis, relenting?" He looked at Detective Sage's wall and murmured, "We're losing our grip on this city, aren't we?"

"More or less," Felton admitted.

Sage however bitterly denied it. "We're still doing our jobs, and to the public that should prove that we're containing this ma.s.sive situation. All we need to do is deny whatever REFOIA's telling them until we have a better understanding on how we'll apprehend Cladis. And until then I'll keep what I can off the computers and make hard copies only."

"How are we supposed to notarize this investigation though?" asked Felton.

Sage made a face and regretfully theorized, "We could either handwrite everything or resort to typewriters if we have to."

Johnson rolled his eyes. "This case continues to spin out of control..."

"Hey," Sage locked eyes with him, "We're going to get this under control, don't worry about it."

"How the h.e.l.l am I supposed to keep calm when we've got a d.a.m.ned serial killer running amok and I've got both the commissioner and the mayor breathing down my neck?" he asked the detective.

Sage couldn't answer him. He only told him they were going to handle it, and although both he and Detective Felton knew it didn't ease their chief's mind, Johnson left and the detectives tried to make plans, changes, and headway in their case.

10:36 PM.

Both.e.l.l, Washington Jordan and Rachel sat facing one another in a booth with a window to the streets. The diner was quaint, as Rachel called it the first time they ate there. Jordan challenged her definition of the word when he pointed out the worn and bubbled red and black tiled linoleum floor and the scratched tabletops. Rachel in turn brought attention to the black and white photographs of the city of Both.e.l.l some decades earlier along with the quiet atmosphere, despite the traffic outside.

The diner was a few blocks from The Calming Wake, where Rachel worked as a barista. She had a shift later in the day and as such she wore her crimson polo shirt, nametag included. Her black ap.r.o.n she kept stashed in her black backpack which she kept guarded between her feet on the black and red tiled linoleum floor. She also wore a silver bracelet that had an emerald in the center of the band. It was well worn, as it was, from her understanding, an heirloom from her great-grandmother.

Jordan set his hand around his drink and slid it across the table from one hand to another, which left a wet trail from the condensation that had settled at the base of his gla.s.s. He took a quick sip and apologized to Rachel. "It really did slip my mind. I would have been there at the park if I'd remembered."

She offered up a forced half-smile and reminded him that remembering was half the battle. "Don't worry about it. Just be there and remember me next time we make plans, alright?"

Jordan slouched a bit and nodded in his understanding. He wiped the table off with his sleeve before he asked, "You didn't get stuck in that storm, did you?"

Rachel shook her head. "I would have if I hadn't made a new friend while I waited for you."

"What?"

She took the gla.s.s of water that she'd left untouched so far and helped herself while Jordan stewed. "I met this exchange student from Romania. He was a bit weird, but it might just be his culture that I don't understand."

"Wait, you met him at the park and he what? Gave you an umbrella?"

She nodded. "Exactly."

Jordan let out a strained sigh and asked if she got his number as well. "You seem to be pretty chummy for two people who just met. I mean, do you have another get together planned already?"

Rachel scowled at him, "Jealous, are we? Just so you know, I wouldn't have met him if you'd actually remembered to show up and hang out with me, your girlfriend, rather than drive all the way to the other end of the state for your d.a.m.n weed. So don't get all b.i.t.c.hy just because I made a friend with some random exchange student, okay Jordan?"

He looked away and pursed his lips.

Rachel set her gla.s.s down and told him she didn't even know his name. "I never asked and he never told me it. He doesn't know who I am either, and as for the umbrella, he was just being a decent guy. Chivalrous, he was being chivalrous Jordan."

"Okay, I've got it," he told her. "Can we just drop it now?"

Their food arrived and ended the discussion. They both ordered the same entree which consisted of a small stack of pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs. The two ate in silence; Jordan ate without pause, while Rachel quietly stared out the window at the dark sky and watched the mountainous body of clouds slowly float away. Jordan poured amber syrup across his entire plate and covered everything, going so far as to use the fork he clutched in his left hand to evenly distribute the gooey substance. He promptly resumed eating afterward.

The diner was all theirs for the most part, with the exception of two other men at the counter. One was as far back as he could sit, with a newspaper, and coffee. He looked to be in his late sixties and sported a brown overcoat and gla.s.ses. The other man seemed to be nearly twenty and sat near the entrance. He wore a tight-fitting warm gray tee-shirt with one vertical stripe on the right side of his shirt that crossed a red star over his heart. A pair of black and red shorts completed his outfit. This man drank some fruit smoothie concoction and chatted politely with the waitress.

Jordan cleared his throat and gave a cautionary glance toward Rachel before he spoke, "Did you hear about what happened to Ian? He was struck by lightning during the worst part of that storm."

"What? Is it serious?"

"He's in a coma right now, but the doctors say they think he'll pull out of it in a little while and he should be fine."

She took a breath, "Still, that's really scary."

Jordan carved off a small triangle of pancake and shoved it in his mouth before he continued, "He's pretty lucky though."

Rachel agreed. "He could be dead."

Jordan nodded but then quickly stopped eating and set his fork down. He swallowed what food he had in his mouth, washed it down with his drink, and then told Rachel about Nick's brother. "He was killed that same day, right alongside Princ.i.p.al Summers."

"Are you serious?" She looked at him as he gave her a confirming nod. "What the h.e.l.l is going on around here?"

"I've got no idea." He played with his fork for a moment before he brought up the funeral for Nick's brother, "It's on Monday, so I'm probably going to be wrapped up in that for a while, just so you know."

"Yeah, of course..." Rachel lowered her eyes and frowned. "I wish I hadn't been so thoughtless when we were at the park with him. I feel terrible."

Jordan told her to put it out of her mind. "I'm sure it's the absolute last thing on his mind right now. In fact, I doubt he even remembers it. Just forget about it and try to remember to be all cheery and nice to him next time we see him, okay?" He glanced over his shoulder and saw the waitress approach them with refills. Relieved, he muttered, "Finally, I was nearly out here."

11:57 PM.

Lynnwood, Washington Nick sat in his living room surrounded by a few of his relatives. He didn't know any of them beyond their name, as his family was rather reserved and only seemed to meet for funerals. They arrived and offered condolences and offered to help cook meals and handle the arrangements for the funeral. Paul made the decision to cremate Victor, which turned Nick's stomach when he heard it. The idea of burial or cremation for any of his family members never crossed his mind until his mother died. She was cremated as well, though it was her wish which she indicated through a will of hers. Victor didn't leave any will behind and as such the decision was Paul's.

Paul discussed the details of Victor's planned service with one of Nick's aunts. A few of his uncles worked on calling and informing the rest of the family about the death. Nick merely sat in a chair with his eyes fixed on a stain on the off-white carpet, shaped like a blurry elephant. Nick a.s.sumed it was from one of Paul's beers.

Paul had always been a handful, so much so that Nick often questioned why his mother ever agreed to marry him after Nick and Victor's father died. Victor mentioned it to Nick once. He told him Paul had money, the two were friends from high school, both alone, and it sort of led off from there. Their mother had only a high school education and as such couldn't work as well as raise her two young sons.

Nick was hardly a year old when they married. He knew nothing of his true father, other than that he died in a car accident when Nick's mother was only a month pregnant with him. Victor mentioned how their father worked in an auto shop and how much he loved their mother, but beyond that he didn't know him either, as Victor was six when their father died.

Their stepfather never seemed to go a night without at least one drink, which worsened once he lost his job and worsened even further after Nick's mother died. He remembered how Paul cried at the funeral and how he cried for nearly a week; it was the only time Nick ever saw the man vulnerable. Through everything Paul subjected their family to; Nick knew that Paul truly loved his wife.

Nick shook his head and found himself back in the living room with his family. Every time he heard someone whisper his brother's name, another memory would flood back. Nick wasn't ready to accept the loss or to mourn. He walked out of the room and headed back to his room to grab his helmet, keys, and wallet before he left. Nick mounted his motorcycle and rode off toward the highway without any destination in mind. All he could tell from where he sat on his motorcycle were the evergreens, the road, the vehicles beside him, and the gray clouds that met the skyline ahead of him. The usual roar of the road washed out, the engines of cars faded, and even the light sprinkling of rain faded from his conscious thoughts.

He thought about the last camping trip he took with Victor, when it was just the two of them for an extended weekend out on the coast past the Olympic Peninsula. Nick remembered the tranquility, the serene calm away from home, from the reality of his education and the troubles between his friends and the issues they shared with Paul. In retrospect it was the closest Nick thought he'd ever get to paradise.

Victor spent most of the time reading, which was far from uncommon for him on a camping trip. He would leisurely make his way through a book or two in one of their trips, even if Drake, Ian, and Jordan joined them. Nick even knew where the copy of his favorite book, The Great Gatsby, was in their house at that very moment. He wasn't sure if it was his last, but it was the final book Nick remembered his brother reading.

Nick on the other hand never managed to bring anything to occupy his time, and as such he would take long walks along the beach on his own and think. He hiked to the top of a bluff on that trip and just sat and stared out at the ocean for what seemed like eternity then, but seconds when he reflected upon it.

The rain picked up and brought Nick back to the highway. He took an exit which eventually led him to Jordan's work. He stopped off there to get out of the rain and used the weather as an excuse to get something to eat more than to visit his pal.

Jordan leaned against the back counter with his arms folded across his chest as he endured one of his manager's lectures. Crystal wore the same stern-as-h.e.l.l look she'd always put on alongside her store uniform and manager nametag. She held a gray purse in her hand with a nearby bank's logo emblazoned on the side. Once she'd finished with Jordan she left the store without so much as glancing at Nick. Amy stood in the back of the shop. She prepared something Nick couldn't see, but she did glance up and smile once Nick walked in through the front doors.

However, Jordan stood between them. He grinned when he saw his friend walk in, completely unaware of Amy's sudden flutter of heart. Nick didn't see it either, so it wasn't Jordan's fault he was in the way.

"How are you doing?" asked Jordan.

Nick shrugged. "About as g-good as I-I can be."

Jordan nodded. "I'm sorry, y'know...about everything."

Nick thanked him and changed the subject by asking, "C-Could I get a sandwich?"

"Sure, what do you want?"

"I don't know."

Jordan nodded and told him he would take care of things for him. He started to prepare the sandwich when he asked Nick if he'd heard about Ian. Nick nodded and asked how he was doing. Jordan took a deep breath and told him that he would survive. "He's comatose but they think he'll pull out soon enough. Drake spoke with the doctor and he believes that everything will be fine." Jordan snickered and told him how the lightning strike singed Ian's hair, "Let's just say he's going to need a pretty good haircut once he wakes up."

Nick didn't laugh. Jordan added the meats, cheese, and a few vegetables before he toasted the sandwich and continued, "I was out for breakfast with Rachel this morning and she wanted me to tell you she's sorry about everything. She really didn't mean to hurt you, and she wanted me to tell you she's sorry about..." Jordan stopped himself and dropped the topic.

The toaster oven signaled its completion and Jordan quickly retrieved the sub. He added a few more vegetables and sauces and finally wrapped it up, handed it to Nick, and told him he'd take care of paying for it. "Just take care of yourself this weekend, okay?"

Nick agreed, thanked him, and walked back to one of the booths near the back of the shop just as Crystal returned from the bank. A small wave of customers followed after her and Nick watched them as they lined up to order. A married couple was first, followed by an elderly gentleman, then two teenage girls, and lastly a twenty-something construction worker on his lunch break. Jordan worked the front end of the line, Amy manned the final portions of the operation, and Crystal manned the register.

He returned to his sandwich.

One bite of the sandwich reminded Nick of how great a cook Jordan was. It brought him back to the first time he tried anything Jordan made. It was a camping trip, as most of Nick's fond memories with his friends were. The group, the five of them including Victor, planned on hiking up some mountain in Oregon that escaped Nick's memory, but each of them agreed to cook one of the evening meals, and Jordan was last. He made some sort of stew that everyone agreed was heavenly (Nick later learned that the hunger they all felt had nothing to do with the mutual agreement). From that moment onward Jordan's sole duty on their trips was to cook and everyone else agreed to carry his things for him so long as he agreed. Jordan never declined.

Another customer entered the restaurant and caught Nick's eye. The man wore what Nick believed must have been an expensive outfit. It consisted of a black shirt he guessed was made of silk or something of the like worn with the sleeves rolled up, well ironed slacks, matching belt and shoes, and a black tie with a crimson music note on it. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, wore dark sungla.s.ses, and danced to the music he listened to without so much as a care as to what everyone else thought. Nick couldn't help but look. He didn't understand how someone could be so completely carefree, but he tried to mind his own business when the dancing man ordered his pastrami sandwich.

Most of the customers stayed in to dine, but the strange fellow who continued to dance throughout the ordering process mentioned he had places to be. He paid by credit card and handed it to Crystal as he set the pastrami sandwich in his bag, and thanked the three of them.

Crystal printed out the receipt and glanced at the name on the card to thank him properly, "Thank you for your business Mister Jacobs, please do come again."

Nick and Jordan both glanced at Crystal when she said his name. The man thanked her again, but followed by telling her to keep the card. "I won't be needin' it anymore."

Crystal c.o.c.ked an eyebrow, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Am I right in a.s.sumin' yer Miss Crystal Valentine?" he asked.

"Yes, why?"

He grinned, "Then I guess I've found ya."

In a single fluid motion, he seized Crystal by the back of her neck, reached into his bag with his free hand to retrieve a jagged blade, and slit her throat clean through to her spinal cord. Panic ensued in the form of screams and shouts on everyone's part. The killer let the weapon and the woman fall onto the countertop, though Crystal immediately fell to the floor.

The murderer turned on heel and thanked the rest of the store for their cooperation before he started for the door. However the construction worker made a vain attempt to stop the killer. The murderer retrieved and threw three shurikens into the man's throat in what Nick only saw as a blur.

The a.s.sa.s.sin cursed, "I nearly had a clean getaway, but this p.r.i.c.k had ta be all heroic..." he glanced about at the rest of them and asked, "Does anyone else wanna be a d.a.m.n hero?" After a relatively insignificant interval of time he answered for them, "'No! No! Please don't kill us! We promise we'll be good lil' boys and girls. Honest!'" he stopped for a brief moment and after a breath, thanked them and left.

Nick saw the husband of the couple slowly stand from his seat and approached the construction worker who bled out on the green and beige tiled floor. The elderly man shortly joined him in determining whether the young man was alive or not. Jordan and Amy were behind the counter and Nick thought he could hear both of them crying. Nick felt his own heart race, the cold sweat on his body, the pit in his gut, and the deep seeded urge to flee. He closed his eyes, took a few breaths, and convinced himself that he had to help. He had to move and needed to make sure his friends were okay. Nick took a final rea.s.suring breath and walked over to the swivel door that barred him from the remaining employees.

He pulled it back and could already feel Crystal's blood on his fingers. Crystal lay behind the door in a pool of her own blood, blood which continued to slowly seep from her throat. Nick forced himself to look away from the sight. He stepped over her to get to Jordan first, who sat against a wall with tears all across his face, paler than death, and his eyes locked on the corpse of his manager.

Nick placed himself between Jordan and the body and tried his best to shake his friend out of his trance. "J-Jordan...Jordan." He placed a hand on Jordan and felt how he shook and began to tremble himself. Nick took another breath and finally shouted, "Snap out of it! J-Jordan, you n-need to wake up."

Jordan blinked and slowly looked at Nick. Nick made sure he heard him and instructed him to call the police and relate the entire incident to them and to get them here as soon as possible. As soon as Jordan complied, Nick walked back to check on Amy.

She sat in a corner with her arms around her knees. She kept her face buried and sobbed and muttered that she didn't want to die, over and over again. He slowly joined her on the floor and sat himself in front of her. He felt faint and he wanted to cry with her, but he knew she needed support. Nick told her she was safe and that the man was gone. He told her everything was going to be alright, but she only continued to repeat that she didn't want to die. Nick shut his eyes tightly, steeled his nerves, and rea.s.sured her that everything would be fine.

12:10 PM.

Both.e.l.l, Washington Drake sat in his small cubicle with less enthusiasm than he thought he could ever possess. It wasn't even one o'clock and all he could think about was getting off at five. Working for his father's company through the summer was his father's idea. Drake didn't really mind at the start, since he hardly had any other pressing matter to occupy his time, but upon facing the dreary grind for the first week he quickly changed his mind as to what he thought a corporate life would be like.

He knew he over exaggerated how bad it was. Drake simply didn't enjoy it and because of that the days crawled by, Sanderson was always on his case, and even though he always completed his work with the highest quality results he could muster, the life he led there made him nauseous to think of what would happen if he ever rejoined that sort of work force after he graduated.

Drake had no mind to resume his employment after high school.

The incidents of the night before didn't help Drake at all. He couldn't help but walk out of the building periodically to call the hospital or Ian's mother to get a status update. Nothing changed though. Ian was stable, healing, and reacting well to whatever medications the doctors gave him. He simply wasn't out of the coma.

Sho walked into his cubicle and took a seat. "How's your friend?"

"His condition's not getting any better," Drake sighed.

Sho c.o.c.ked an eyebrow and asked, "What condition?"

Drake looked back, "He's in the hospital."

"The friend who's brother was shot?"

Drake stopped and realized they had been talking about two different people. He cleared the whole incident up by explaining to Sho about Ian's incident.

Sho sat back in his seat, "Wow...you have extremely unlucky friends."

"I know." He grinned and said, "Don't ever go to Vegas Sho or you might lose it all."

He rolled his eyes, "I'm already bad enough at poker as it is, so your curse could only help my chances."