Hayes either didn't hear him or intentionally ignored him. Either way, a second later, he was gone.

Hayes either didn't hear him or intentionally ignored him. Either way, a second later, he was gone.

Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Erica sat at a table inside the café at the front of the bed & breakfast where she had taken residence. From behind a fortress of textbooks she drank the last sip from a gargantuan mug of coffee. Even while in university, doctor Hazelwood had never absorbed so much caffeine. She'd have to make an effort to wean herself of the stuff once her work in Saint-Ferdinand was done. Unfortunately, it didn't seem likely to be any time soon. Being educated in criminal and pathological psychology, Erica thought she was well equipped to handle someone as completely delusional as Sam Finnegan. However, her specialty was handling victims and survivors of violent crimes, not making sense of the ramblings of the insane. So she dove back into her source material, digging through every profiling textbook and article on serial killers she could lay her hands on. Yet, she could find but a handful of criminals that fit Finnegan's particular delusions. It was a double edged sword; on one hand, she might have a completely unique case, but on the other hand she was truly in over her head. "I hear you've had a very lengthy chat with our buddy Sam?" Standing across the table from her stood Randy Mackenzie, holding a cup of coffee and a decadent looking chocolate confection. He was dressed casually, a rare occurance for him. Not that he was particularly enamored with slacks and shirts, but Dr. Mackenzie had very few opportunities to just be 'Randy', usually working either late into the evenings or through his weekends. It was odd seeing him wearing loose shorts and a hawaiian shirt. "This seat taken?" he asked after a beat. "Absolutely not." Erica smiled. "Sit down, I could use a break." Randy did as he was told, settling in with little ceremony before taking a large bite out of his pastry. "Are you going on a cruise there Randy?" "Huh? Oh no! I just had a friendly game of golf this morning." Randy nodded towards the books and stacks of notes. "How is figuring out Finnegan coming along?" "Horribly." she sighed, unabashedly stealing a sip of his coffee. "He's the real deal Randy. A true man of mystery. Except instead of being a spy, he's a serial killer with none of the traditional hallmarks of one." "What are you looking for?" "Paraphilia, a psychological trigger, anything. He obviously knows the difference between right and wrong, considering he couldn't bring himself to leave Audrey's body by the road. He's there enough to avoid capture for two decades yet he seems to function on the level of a ten year old the rest of the time." "What about his signature?" asked Randy, sending Erica into a more agitated rant. "That makes even less sense! He's got no set hunting pattern, no preferred victim type, all we've got to work with is that strange ritual with the eyes and the age of his victims." "So he's obsessed with eyes. What more do you need?" he took a second bite to punctuate the rhetorical nature of the question. "Serial killers don't operate in a vacuum Randy. They kill to satisfy a compulsion. When I interviewed him, he said he needed the eyes to keep something trapped in that cave." Randy stopped chewing abruptly. "He thinks there was a god in there." Dr. Mackenzie swallowed the half chewed bite of pastry, nearly choking himself in the process. "A... God?" "Yeah." continued Erica, a frown slowly forming over her eyes. "A god of death and hate." Randy, took a mouthful of coffee to clear his throat. He coughed a little before finally catching his breath. Erica wasn't blind to the obvious. She quickly noticed that something about this 'god' business had caught Mackenzie off guard. She'd known Randy for a few years now and had seldom seen him flustered. "Something I said?" she probed, looking him directly in the eyes. "No, I just swallowed wrong that's all." Randy answered while looking out the window. Lying through his teeth. "You knew Finnegan had delusions about a god living in a cave Randy?" the question had some urgency to it, challenging the deception. "Look. Erica, it's more complicated than that. We got the guy. He's crazy but we caught him and he'll never hurt anyone again. That's all that matters." he stood, obviously nervous. "Wait, Randy..." Erica tried to stop him, partially because he seemed so suddenly distraught but also because she knew there was more she could get from him. "Randy, if there's something you want to talk about..." "Sorry, I gotta go. I'll huh, I'll see you later." She stood to stop him but he rushed out the door before she could say or do anything. "Good job miss psychology," Erica whispered to herself as she was sitting down "good job." # Paul Mackenzie sat on his back porch. The afternoon had been devastatingly hot and he'd decided that the tea shop could go an afternoon being closed for business, which should bring in just about as much business as if it were open. Scorching weather just didn't do much for the hot beverage business. He and his wife had considered selling gourmet ice tea in the summer, but winter sales more than made up for the slower months. There was no need to get greedy. Besides, he would have missed his daughter's big moving day. "You sure you want to move in that thing? Doesn't seem that comfortable to me." he shouted to Venus as she carried a large bucket of water from the backdoor of the house and across the yard. "Is that an order Paul?" she shouted back, huffing and puffing as she dragged the pail to her new home. "Oh no." Paul laughed. "Not at all. That wouldn't be cool. You gotta do what you gotta do man. It's just really kind of a crappy shed." Venus dropped the bucket next to an arsenal of cleaning products she had already assembled at the door of the shed. Half the content spilled into the grass but she didn't seem to notice, let alone care. She dumped some all-purpose soap into the water and stirred it with a rag. "I don't care. I just want my own space for a while dad." Paul leaned back and kicked off his sandals before taking a swig of his lemonade. He'd always tried to raise Venus as an independent thinker. They figured there was nothing they could teach their daughter that life experience wouldn't teach better. So far the experiment had been rewarding. Venus was a smart and resourceful young woman. She had grown into more of a friend than an offspring. Usually it was awesome. The three of them could talk and relate in a way most families didn't and he really felt like she was comfortable telling him anything. Sometimes though, Venus got it in her head that she would rather have 'normal' parents. During those episodes, Paul thought it best to just let her have her way until it passed. "Groovy." he finally said. "Let me know if you need a hand." The job of cleaning out the shed was colossal and Venus quickly decided that it would take more than one day. Simply emptying the thing of all the broken down junk that had accumulated over the years took the better part of two hours. To her surprise, she found that the storage area was wired for electricity, if in a very limited way. An old electric lawn mower was still plugged into the single outlet. A simple test quickly confirmed that it had current opening up a whole new realm of possibilities for her future domicile. On the other hand however, she also stumbled upon what looked like a bird nest. While unoccupied at the moment it still contained eggs. Venus didn't want to disturb the nest if it wasn't already abandoned, but she didn't have any reliable way of making sure. At least none came to her immediately. It's only after nearly an hour of vigorously sweeping and scrubbing the floor, her eyes often going back and forth between her work and the nest, that she came up with a way to determine if it, and it's content, were indeed abandoned. Immediately, she bolted out of the shed, coming back a few minutes later with her arms full of electronic equipment. Her hygienic endeavors forgotten in favor of an entirely different project. Her father, bearing witness to the rapid change in focus bit his lip to stifle a laugh, settling for a knowing smile instead. Penelope arrived just as Venus was putting the finishing touches to her setup. She looked appraisingly at the complete disaster the Mackenzie's yard had turned into. Cleaning products littered the lawn amongst piles of discarded junk that would have been more at home, well, inside of the shed. Penny walked into the shed to see her friend perched on a stool, tying up some wires into neat bundles. She held plastic cups of half-melted ice cream in each hand and put on her most disapproving glare. "Y'know Veen, for genius you sure come up with stupid ideas." Venus was startled and nearly fell off her perch. "What are you talking about. This is a great idea." the younger girl explained while accepting the dripping treat. "Oh sure! If you're planning on getting another twelve cats or writing a manifesto." "Speaking of cats," started Venus while looking around between bites of ice cream. "Have you seen Sherbet? I don't want him getting into the eggs." Penny gave Venus the same kind of quizzical look most people reserved for those with diminished capacities. "I should have seen it coming. This is all my fault. Hanging out with older kids was too much for your immature mind and now you're going mad." said Penny, her voice dripping with sarcasm and mockery. "Ha, ha. I'm serious. I found this nest at the back of the shed and there's eggs in it. I don't want to move it until I know if the mother hasn't abandoned it." Venus explained. "So I installed a camera." "Of course you did. So you're going to be spying on your own empty shed through your computer?" Penny asked, leaning on a wall while picking at her ice cream. "Come on Veen, aren't you over-reacting? André's the jerk who shoved you in the mud, not your parents." "Yeah, but it's because of them that I get teased so much." "No, you get teased because you're in high school. If it wasn't about your parents, it'd be about your grades and if not that, it'd be your hair color or some other trivial garbage." "You're probably right." sighed Venus, sitting down on her stool. "I just don't know how to deal with them anymore. I mean, other kids think Paul and Virginie are weird but they don't understand; I live with them! I know how strange they are and it's a lot more bizarre than the other kids think." "Oh?" Penny raised an eyebrow. "They keep bursting into scenes from back in their theater days. And I don't mean once in a while in the evening when they're bored. I mean any time. Do you know how annoying it is to hear Andrew Lloyd Webber at breakfast three days in a row?" "I can't imagine, no." Penny giggled. "They act like teenagers too. I keep coming home from school to find them making out or some other embarrassing junk. "Or like last summer when they just up and left for three weeks without warning. Just a note on the fridge. 'Dear Venus, gone on vacation. Back soon. Money on the dresser for food.' Aren't there laws against that sort of thing?" Penelope looked distant for a moment. She was suddenly lost in her own family reminiscence. She smiled with distant melancholy and had probably stopped listening a few sentence or two earlier. "Oh god, Penny. I'm so sorry." Venus covered her mouth in embarrassment. "I'm such a jerk, complaining about my parents being idiots when I still have both of them." She took a step towards her friend and grabbed her in a tight hug. "I'm so selfish she added." "No, no. I was just remembering some good times with my dad." Penny reassured "This was nice nostalgia. Just a little bittersweet is all." Venus finally let her go. "Still, you do have it pretty good Veen." she wiped an aborted tear off the corner of her eye. "My dad being gone aside, I don't see mom very often. In fact, she got home so late last night and left so early this morning, I didn't even cross path with her." "You're right. I do have it good." Venus confessed in shame. "So...how high on the self-absorption meter did I score this time?" "Pretty high." The older girl confirmed with a smile. "If you need a break from your parents you can probably come spend a few days at my place. I'm sure mom wouldn't mind. Besides, what kind of troglodyte lives in a shed?" # The Crowley house wasn't the most ostentatious in Saint-Ferdinand but it reflected the standing of its owner well. The only pieces of undeniable luxury was the two car garage which contained a sleek black Lexus and an amazing array of sports equipment, ranging from skis to golf bags, all neatly hung on the walls. In front of the garage was a long asphalt driveway that led to the road. The sun beat down on the black surface, creating ripples in the air just over the ground. In the middle of this forbidding ocean of burning pitch stood the island of a white Honda Civic. Impeccably clean with dazzling chrome hubcaps, its hood gaped open as a young man leaned, shirtless over the engine. "Nice car!" called out Sean Hayes as he got within a few feet of the Civic. "I used to have one of those when I was your age. Red hatchback. Nowhere near as well maintained as this one though." Donald Crowley pulled himself up from under the hood of his car and, squinting from the sun, took an appraising look at the stranger. How the man could stand the heat without swimming in his own sweat, all while wearing a full business suit, seemed baffling to him. "Thanks." Don replied "If you're looking for my dad you're out of luck. He's working today." "Why doesn't that surprise me?" the stranger asked in exasperation, stuffing his hands in his pocket and leaning back against the car. "Who are you anyways?" countered Donald, wiping the grease from his hands. "Oh! Where are manners? My name is Sean Hayes. I'm a freelance reporter." Sean extended a hand which Don slowly accepted, knowing full well how stained his fingers were. Donald was wary. Through the years he'd had contact with a few reporters and although he'd never really had any trouble with them, there was something unsettling about people who's job it was to dig into the lives of others. "So my dad's been dodging you I gather?" "You could say that. Or you could say that the entire village has been avoiding me." Hayes put on a smile "Not that I blame them. I wouldn't want to talk to me either if I'd gone through what you folks have gone through. At least not yet." "No one's talking to you? You're just not asking the right people Mr. Hayes." "'Sean', please." Hayes wiped nonexistent sweat from his brow. "Look, I'll level with you Donald. I would rather not bother a man like your father, but it's kind of traditional to get the authority's point of view when it comes to criminal investigations. I'm really trying to be respectful of his position and his community by making sure I get the story right from the horse's mouth." "Well, you're in for an uphill race then, Sean." Don smiled knowingly. "My old man is a master at avoiding people and pretty damned pig headed." "Alright. Who should I be asking then?" "There's this criminal psychologist who's been in town a week. She's writing a book or something. She can probably answer most of your questions." Donald suspected that having two people from out of town conspiring to publish Saint-Ferdinand's dirty laundry wouldn't sit well with his dad. Normally he'd be first in line to defend his father's values, but after his latest altercation with the old man, he felt a spark of satisfaction at doing the opposite. "Interesting. Any idea where I can find this fellow wordsmith?" "Sure. Her name is something Hazelwood. She's got an office at the station." "Fantastic. Well, you've been a great help Donald." Hayes produced a business card out of thin air, handing it to Don who picked it up without looking at it. "If you could give that to your dad I'd be grateful. Maybe he'll change his mind." A final handshake later and Sean Hayes was strolling down the driveway, hands back in his pockets and still apparently unbothered by the scorching summer heat. Finally looking at the card, Don noticed an odd but familiar symbol at the corner; an hourglass with wings. While trying to put his finger on where he'd seen something like this before, another, more pressing mystery dawned on him. Turning back to the now distant reporter about to turn down the road he yelled: "Hey! Sean! How did you know my name was Donald?" Hayes either didn't hear him or intentionally ignored him. Either way, a second later, he was gone.

Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Erica sat at a table inside the café at the front of the bed & breakfast where she had taken residence. From behind a fortress of textbooks she drank the last sip from a gargantuan mug of coffee. Even while in university, doctor Hazelwood had never absorbed so much caffeine. She'd have to make an effort to wean herself of the stuff once her work in Saint-Ferdinand was done. Unfortunately, it didn't seem likely to be any time soon. Being educated in criminal and pathological psychology, Erica thought she was well equipped to handle someone as completely delusional as Sam Finnegan. However, her specialty was handling victims and survivors of violent crimes, not making sense of the ramblings of the insane. So she dove back into her source material, digging through every profiling textbook and article on serial killers she could lay her hands on. Yet, she could find but a handful of criminals that fit Finnegan's particular delusions. It was a double edged sword; on one hand, she might have a completely unique case, but on the other hand she was truly in over her head. "I hear you've had a very lengthy chat with our buddy Sam?" Standing across the table from her stood Randy Mackenzie, holding a cup of coffee and a decadent looking chocolate confection. He was dressed casually, a rare occurance for him. Not that he was particularly enamored with slacks and shirts, but Dr. Mackenzie had very few opportunities to just be 'Randy', usually working either late into the evenings or through his weekends. It was odd seeing him wearing loose shorts and a hawaiian shirt. "This seat taken?" he asked after a beat. "Absolutely not." Erica smiled. "Sit down, I could use a break." Randy did as he was told, settling in with little ceremony before taking a large bite out of his pastry. "Are you going on a cruise there Randy?" "Huh? Oh no! I just had a friendly game of golf this morning." Randy nodded towards the books and stacks of notes. "How is figuring out Finnegan coming along?" "Horribly." she sighed, unabashedly stealing a sip of his coffee. "He's the real deal Randy. A true man of mystery. Except instead of being a spy, he's a serial killer with none of the traditional hallmarks of one." "What are you looking for?" "Paraphilia, a psychological trigger, anything. He obviously knows the difference between right and wrong, considering he couldn't bring himself to leave Audrey's body by the road. He's there enough to avoid capture for two decades yet he seems to function on the level of a ten year old the rest of the time." "What about his signature?" asked Randy, sending Erica into a more agitated rant. "That makes even less sense! He's got no set hunting pattern, no preferred victim type, all we've got to work with is that strange ritual with the eyes and the age of his victims." "So he's obsessed with eyes. What more do you need?" he took a second bite to punctuate the rhetorical nature of the question. "Serial killers don't operate in a vacuum Randy. They kill to satisfy a compulsion. When I interviewed him, he said he needed the eyes to keep something trapped in that cave." Randy stopped chewing abruptly. "He thinks there was a god in there." Dr. Mackenzie swallowed the half chewed bite of pastry, nearly choking himself in the process. "A... God?" "Yeah." continued Erica, a frown slowly forming over her eyes. "A god of death and hate." Randy, took a mouthful of coffee to clear his throat. He coughed a little before finally catching his breath. Erica wasn't blind to the obvious. She quickly noticed that something about this 'god' business had caught Mackenzie off guard. She'd known Randy for a few years now and had seldom seen him flustered. "Something I said?" she probed, looking him directly in the eyes. "No, I just swallowed wrong that's all." Randy answered while looking out the window. Lying through his teeth. "You knew Finnegan had delusions about a god living in a cave Randy?" the question had some urgency to it, challenging the deception. "Look. Erica, it's more complicated than that. We got the guy. He's crazy but we caught him and he'll never hurt anyone again. That's all that matters." he stood, obviously nervous. "Wait, Randy..." Erica tried to stop him, partially because he seemed so suddenly distraught but also because she knew there was more she could get from him. "Randy, if there's something you want to talk about..." "Sorry, I gotta go. I'll huh, I'll see you later." She stood to stop him but he rushed out the door before she could say or do anything. "Good job miss psychology," Erica whispered to herself as she was sitting down "good job." # Paul Mackenzie sat on his back porch. The afternoon had been devastatingly hot and he'd decided that the tea shop could go an afternoon being closed for business, which should bring in just about as much business as if it were open. Scorching weather just didn't do much for the hot beverage business. He and his wife had considered selling gourmet ice tea in the summer, but winter sales more than made up for the slower months. There was no need to get greedy. Besides, he would have missed his daughter's big moving day. "You sure you want to move in that thing? Doesn't seem that comfortable to me." he shouted to Venus as she carried a large bucket of water from the backdoor of the house and across the yard. "Is that an order Paul?" she shouted back, huffing and puffing as she dragged the pail to her new home. "Oh no." Paul laughed. "Not at all. That wouldn't be cool. You gotta do what you gotta do man. It's just really kind of a crappy shed." Venus dropped the bucket next to an arsenal of cleaning products she had already assembled at the door of the shed. Half the content spilled into the grass but she didn't seem to notice, let alone care. She dumped some all-purpose soap into the water and stirred it with a rag. "I don't care. I just want my own space for a while dad." Paul leaned back and kicked off his sandals before taking a swig of his lemonade. He'd always tried to raise Venus as an independent thinker. They figured there was nothing they could teach their daughter that life experience wouldn't teach better. So far the experiment had been rewarding. Venus was a smart and resourceful young woman. She had grown into more of a friend than an offspring. Usually it was awesome. The three of them could talk and relate in a way most families didn't and he really felt like she was comfortable telling him anything. Sometimes though, Venus got it in her head that she would rather have 'normal' parents. During those episodes, Paul thought it best to just let her have her way until it passed. "Groovy." he finally said. "Let me know if you need a hand." The job of cleaning out the shed was colossal and Venus quickly decided that it would take more than one day. Simply emptying the thing of all the broken down junk that had accumulated over the years took the better part of two hours. To her surprise, she found that the storage area was wired for electricity, if in a very limited way. An old electric lawn mower was still plugged into the single outlet. A simple test quickly confirmed that it had current opening up a whole new realm of possibilities for her future domicile. On the other hand however, she also stumbled upon what looked like a bird nest. While unoccupied at the moment it still contained eggs. Venus didn't want to disturb the nest if it wasn't already abandoned, but she didn't have any reliable way of making sure. At least none came to her immediately. It's only after nearly an hour of vigorously sweeping and scrubbing the floor, her eyes often going back and forth between her work and the nest, that she came up with a way to determine if it, and it's content, were indeed abandoned. Immediately, she bolted out of the shed, coming back a few minutes later with her arms full of electronic equipment. Her hygienic endeavors forgotten in favor of an entirely different project. Her father, bearing witness to the rapid change in focus bit his lip to stifle a laugh, settling for a knowing smile instead. Penelope arrived just as Venus was putting the finishing touches to her setup. She looked appraisingly at the complete disaster the Mackenzie's yard had turned into. Cleaning products littered the lawn amongst piles of discarded junk that would have been more at home, well, inside of the shed. Penny walked into the shed to see her friend perched on a stool, tying up some wires into neat bundles. She held plastic cups of half-melted ice cream in each hand and put on her most disapproving glare. "Y'know Veen, for genius you sure come up with stupid ideas." Venus was startled and nearly fell off her perch. "What are you talking about. This is a great idea." the younger girl explained while accepting the dripping treat. "Oh sure! If you're planning on getting another twelve cats or writing a manifesto." "Speaking of cats," started Venus while looking around between bites of ice cream. "Have you seen Sherbet? I don't want him getting into the eggs." Penny gave Venus the same kind of quizzical look most people reserved for those with diminished capacities. "I should have seen it coming. This is all my fault. Hanging out with older kids was too much for your immature mind and now you're going mad." said Penny, her voice dripping with sarcasm and mockery. "Ha, ha. I'm serious. I found this nest at the back of the shed and there's eggs in it. I don't want to move it until I know if the mother hasn't abandoned it." Venus explained. "So I installed a camera." "Of course you did. So you're going to be spying on your own empty shed through your computer?" Penny asked, leaning on a wall while picking at her ice cream. "Come on Veen, aren't you over-reacting? André's the jerk who shoved you in the mud, not your parents." "Yeah, but it's because of them that I get teased so much." "No, you get teased because you're in high school. If it wasn't about your parents, it'd be about your grades and if not that, it'd be your hair color or some other trivial garbage." "You're probably right." sighed Venus, sitting down on her stool. "I just don't know how to deal with them anymore. I mean, other kids think Paul and Virginie are weird but they don't understand; I live with them! I know how strange they are and it's a lot more bizarre than the other kids think." "Oh?" Penny raised an eyebrow. "They keep bursting into scenes from back in their theater days. And I don't mean once in a while in the evening when they're bored. I mean any time. Do you know how annoying it is to hear Andrew Lloyd Webber at breakfast three days in a row?" "I can't imagine, no." Penny giggled. "They act like teenagers too. I keep coming home from school to find them making out or some other embarrassing junk. "Or like last summer when they just up and left for three weeks without warning. Just a note on the fridge. 'Dear Venus, gone on vacation. Back soon. Money on the dresser for food.' Aren't there laws against that sort of thing?" Penelope looked distant for a moment. She was suddenly lost in her own family reminiscence. She smiled with distant melancholy and had probably stopped listening a few sentence or two earlier. "Oh god, Penny. I'm so sorry." Venus covered her mouth in embarrassment. "I'm such a jerk, complaining about my parents being idiots when I still have both of them." She took a step towards her friend and grabbed her in a tight hug. "I'm so selfish she added." "No, no. I was just remembering some good times with my dad." Penny reassured "This was nice nostalgia. Just a little bittersweet is all." Venus finally let her go. "Still, you do have it pretty good Veen." she wiped an aborted tear off the corner of her eye. "My dad being gone aside, I don't see mom very often. In fact, she got home so late last night and left so early this morning, I didn't even cross path with her." "You're right. I do have it good." Venus confessed in shame. "So...how high on the self-absorption meter did I score this time?" "Pretty high." The older girl confirmed with a smile. "If you need a break from your parents you can probably come spend a few days at my place. I'm sure mom wouldn't mind. Besides, what kind of troglodyte lives in a shed?" # The Crowley house wasn't the most ostentatious in Saint-Ferdinand but it reflected the standing of its owner well. The only pieces of undeniable luxury was the two car garage which contained a sleek black Lexus and an amazing array of sports equipment, ranging from skis to golf bags, all neatly hung on the walls. In front of the garage was a long asphalt driveway that led to the road. The sun beat down on the black surface, creating ripples in the air just over the ground. In the middle of this forbidding ocean of burning pitch stood the island of a white Honda Civic. Impeccably clean with dazzling chrome hubcaps, its hood gaped open as a young man leaned, shirtless over the engine. "Nice car!" called out Sean Hayes as he got within a few feet of the Civic. "I used to have one of those when I was your age. Red hatchback. Nowhere near as well maintained as this one though." Donald Crowley pulled himself up from under the hood of his car and, squinting from the sun, took an appraising look at the stranger. How the man could stand the heat without swimming in his own sweat, all while wearing a full business suit, seemed baffling to him. "Thanks." Don replied "If you're looking for my dad you're out of luck. He's working today." "Why doesn't that surprise me?" the stranger asked in exasperation, stuffing his hands in his pocket and leaning back against the car. "Who are you anyways?" countered Donald, wiping the grease from his hands. "Oh! Where are manners? My name is Sean Hayes. I'm a freelance reporter." Sean extended a hand which Don slowly accepted, knowing full well how stained his fingers were. Donald was wary. Through the years he'd had contact with a few reporters and although he'd never really had any trouble with them, there was something unsettling about people who's job it was to dig into the lives of others. "So my dad's been dodging you I gather?" "You could say that. Or you could say that the entire village has been avoiding me." Hayes put on a smile "Not that I blame them. I wouldn't want to talk to me either if I'd gone through what you folks have gone through. At least not yet." "No one's talking to you? You're just not asking the right people Mr. Hayes." "'Sean', please." Hayes wiped nonexistent sweat from his brow. "Look, I'll level with you Donald. I would rather not bother a man like your father, but it's kind of traditional to get the authority's point of view when it comes to criminal investigations. I'm really trying to be respectful of his position and his community by making sure I get the story right from the horse's mouth." "Well, you're in for an uphill race then, Sean." Don smiled knowingly. "My old man is a master at avoiding people and pretty damned pig headed." "Alright. Who should I be asking then?" "There's this criminal psychologist who's been in town a week. She's writing a book or something. She can probably answer most of your questions." Donald suspected that having two people from out of town conspiring to publish Saint-Ferdinand's dirty laundry wouldn't sit well with his dad. Normally he'd be first in line to defend his father's values, but after his latest altercation with the old man, he felt a spark of satisfaction at doing the opposite. "Interesting. Any idea where I can find this fellow wordsmith?" "Sure. Her name is something Hazelwood. She's got an office at the station." "Fantastic. Well, you've been a great help Donald." Hayes produced a business card out of thin air, handing it to Don who picked it up without looking at it. "If you could give that to your dad I'd be grateful. Maybe he'll change his mind." A final handshake later and Sean Hayes was strolling down the driveway, hands back in his pockets and still apparently unbothered by the scorching summer heat. Finally looking at the card, Don noticed an odd but familiar symbol at the corner; an hourglass with wings. While trying to put his finger on where he'd seen something like this before, another, more pressing mystery dawned on him. Turning back to the now distant reporter about to turn down the road he yelled: "Hey! Sean! How did you know my name was Donald?" Hayes either didn't hear him or intentionally ignored him. Either way, a second later, he was gone.

Chapter 4 Chapter 4 "Hey! Hippy!" Venus had been calmly walking home from the post office when the familiar voice cut in with a equally familiar insult. The week was going from bad to worst with every passing moment, as if some dark god had cast its hateful gaze upon the young girl. First, there was the rain. It came down in thick wet sheets like an unwelcome monsoon. It was a refreshing break from the harsh sun that had been relentlessly beating on Saint-Ferdinand for the past two weeks, but it was temporary relief at best. Once the sky cleared, the sun would dry off the rain puddles into a cloud of sticky humidity which would then hover over town for days. The village was surrounded by trees that blocked most of the wind that could have dissipated the inevitable muggy weather. Saint-Ferdinand would become an unbearable sauna. Then, there was the clerk at the post office, Anaïs Bérubé, who wouldn't release her package until Venus brought her some form of identification. Anaïs had known Venus since she'd been a baby, but was so hung up on following the rules that she couldn't make one tiny exception. As a result, either she had to walk home, get her medical insurance card and walk back, all under the marginal protection of her umbrella while deluvian torrents fell all around her, or she'd have to wait one more day for her package. Ironically, a day like this would have been perfect to install the new video card she'd ordered and was now being held hostage at the post office. Finally, on otherwise empty streets, in the worst weather so far this summer, she had to run into André Wilson. A smart boy would have picked a better time and more pleasant weather to practice his half-witted bullying, but not André. He was as dedicated to his craft as an artist, but his paint was childish insults while his canvas was Venus. "Really André?" Venus turned around to face the boy. Her exasperation was cut short when she noticed he wasn't alone. He had with him a couple of friends which she recognized as some of boys from the schools soccer team. Judging from their sodden uniforms and muddied shinguards, they had just come from practice. "Heading back to the commune?" André laughed. He'd once probably been Venus' best friend. Through most of their youth they'd hung out together. They built snow forts together, went swimming in the lake together and even camped in André's backyard together. For as long as she could remember, they had been friends. That is, until Venus skipped ahead a grade over a year and a half ago. In fact, she'd lost a lot of friends that year. She tried to comfort herself by rationalizing that it was going to be worth it in the long run, but it stung regardless. If it hadn't been for Penny and Abraham, she might have just given up. Regardless, André never quite got over his best friend leaving him behind and unfortunately, knew exactly what buttons to push to get a rise out of her. "I'm not a hippy! You don't even know what a hippy is!" "You're parents are hippies, so what does that make you? Huh? 'Venus'?" André and his dumb friends laughed. Her parents were indeed 'free spirited' for lack of better term. They owned a tea shop where they sold kettles, imported teas and herbal drinks. Her mother cooked home-made organic baby food that she sold to the mothers around town while her father padded the family income by doing some carpentry. Both were staunch vegetarians and vocal pacifists. They'd named their only child 'Venus' and practiced 'free range parenting', which was synonymous to 'child neglect' as far as Venus was concerned. For all she could care her parents deserved to be called names for being strange and letting her pay the price for it. What she resented was being associated with their lifestyle choices. Especially considering how hard she worked not to be like them. "Look André, it's raining cats and dogs, can't you reschedule being an idiot 'till tomorrow?" the words escaped her mouth before she realized no good would come of them. "I don't know if it's the rain, but you're awfully clean for a hippy." said the bully, nodding to his friends. Venus turned to run but her short, sandaled legs couldn't keep up against three young teens with running shoes and a desire for mischief. Within three strides they had caught up to her and tossed her umbrella aside. Lifting her by the arms they then unceremoniously tossed her in the muddy ditch by the side of the road. "There you go!" laughed the bully. "Ain't that more comfortable for a dirty hippy?" When Venus finally got home, she was livid. Dirty, wet, cold and humiliated, her only saving grace that no one could see her tears as she barged into the house. Virginie, her mother immediately dropped her book and ran to get a towel. "Oh sweetheart! What happened? Did you fall?" Venus snatched the towel away and between choked breath answered. "No! I was thrown into a ditch." "Why?" asked her mother, stepping back, knowing full well that her daughter's rage was somehow being directed at her. "Because! Because you and Paul can't just be like every other parents in town! Because you can't just spend vacation time in Florida instead of going to Burning Man! Because you can't just give a curfew and chores and an allowance and you couldn't call me 'Mary' or 'Suzy' or something normal!" Virginie felt pained and more than a little guilty. Slowly and gently, she took a corner of the towel and wiped the mud and rain away from her daughter's face. "Venus," she began, as soothingly as she could "we raise you like that because we believe it will make you a better person. And we don't treat you like a normal girl because we believe you're more than just an ordinary kid. You're special." "No, I'm not! Parents always say that to their kids, but I'm not falling for it. Just 'cause you couldn't make anything of your lives doesn't mean I have to tolerate your messiah complex!" After yelling the words and before she allowed herself time to regret them, Venus shoved past her mother and stormed upstairs to her room. # "I'll beat the snot out of him." Abraham spoke as if it were a matter of fact. Then again, as far as sixteen year old boys went, Abe Peterson wasn't prone to empty threats and flights of fancy. Not that he was pathologically phlegmatic but he rarely bothered with hesitation or burdened himself with such things as plans. "No you won't." Penelope ordered setting a large chocolate Sundae in front of the boy. "Why not?" Abe was a large boy that had no physical reason to be afraid. A voracious appetite conspired with constant farm work to grant him a powerful if rather graceless physique. His piercing eyes were too small for his face which made him look dumber than he actually was, combined with his economy of words this made him as much a target of ridicule as Venus was for her eccentric parents. Though other kids tended to keep their hands off Abraham as well as a safe distance. "What do you mean 'why'? Because I told you so but if that's not enough; because André'll take it out on Venus if you do." Abraham growled acknowledgment before stuffing an enormous spoonful of ice cream and syrup into his mouth. Penelope grimaced at the display of gluttony before continuing. "What else did she say? Is she gonna be okay?" "She said she was moving out." The words came out muffled by the un-swallowed food in his mouth to which Penny rolled her eyes. The boy was more animal than human at times. "She can't move out you pig. She can't get a job and she's not old enough." she picked up a rag and some stray dishes to dry. "Besides, where would she move? No one rents apartments here." "The shed." answered Abraham, carefully swallowing before speaking. "She's moving to the shed in her backyard. I offered that she move to the farm, Pa would have found a use for her, but she said 'no'. Said she's got it all figured out." That made sense in a strange way. Venus had always been fiercely independent, having essentially raised herself since she could walk. However, while she was resourceful, Penny suspected that the younger girl had probably planned mostly for her computer and books, but not for how cold the uninsulated building would be come winter. The bottom line was that Penelope had one more hare-brained idea to talk her friend out of. "I'll go see her after work tomorrow. She's just upset and needs some time to cool off. Maybe she can spend a few days at my place." "I'll go with you." piped in Abraham, his mouth once more filled with fudge and ice cream. "I have to help her move some of her stuff." Out of patience, Penny slapped her hand over his mouth, but before she could get to lecturing him about the very basics of table manners, the door chimes rang announcing a new customer. Wearing the kind of suit and tie attire seen only at weddings and funerals in Saint-Ferdinand, the man looked around the shop expectantly. His gaze settling on Penelope he smiled and walked in, letting the door slam behind him. Young and relatively short with unkempt brown hair and a face that seemed like it wouldn't grow a beard for several more years, he strode to the counter and took a seat right next to Abe, nodding to the boy as he did so. "Can I help you?" asked Penny with a sincere smile she seemed to reserve only to out of towners. "Do you serve any of those float things with soda and ice cream?" the man answered with a perfect smile. "Sure. Any particular flavors?" "Root beer." As Penelope turned away to make the float, Abraham swiveled to his side and leaned dramatically on his elbow. Taking on airs of self confidence that fit him as well as a cocktail dress, he smiled and made sure his mouth was free of ice cream. "So are you a cop or a reporter?" Abraham asked with his best attempt at conviviality. "Abe! Don't bother the customers!" "It's quite alright." reassured the newcomer "I stick out like a sore thumb don't I?" "Yeah," continued Abraham after shooting Penny a victorious look. "Actually I'm surprised the place ain't crawling with city folk, considering the news and all." "You have your chief of police to thank for that. Kept the lid on things pretty tight." "We don't have a chief here," interrupted Penny while handing the man his float. "inspector Crowley's good enough for our little corner of the world. Five seventy-five please." "Whatever the man's title he's a genius at understating important news. If it weren't for a friend at the hospital in Magog who told me an odd story about a dead little girl..." "So a reporter then?" asked Abraham a second time. "Guilty." the man smiled and took a deep sip of his float. His eyes rolled up in his skull, expressing blissful joy. "What is it about small town floats that are so delicious?" "So if you're a reporter, what are you doing drinking sodas with high school kids instead of getting the big story?" asked Penny, apprehensively. "One scoop at a time I figure." the man grinned and looked to Abraham who seemed to appreciate the pun. "Besides, I'm probably not that much older than you." "What newspaper do you work for mister...?" Abraham squinted as if trying to recognize the man. "Sean Hayes and I'm a freelancer." "I'm Abraham. She's Penny." Abe jumped in to complete the introductions. There was a moment of silence as his friend glared at him, annoyed at being introduced by her nickname. "So, mister Hayes..." started Penelope. "Sean." smile the reporter. "Whatever. You still haven't explained why you're here and not interviewing important people." "Beside the delicious float? It's mostly because all the important people as you put it have already told me, with little room for misunderstanding, that they were too busy for the media." "So you're taking a break before giving it another shot." added Abraham with confidence. "Nope." contradicted Hayes "I'm befriending locals in a not-too-subtle attempt at finding someone that'll put in a good word for me." Penny sneered at the reporter, being obviously contrary to Sean's attempt at charm. Her natural cynicism kept her from accepting anyone as not having a hidden agenda, especially if they seemed too open about their intentions. Venus had once called it 'interpersonal paranoia'. Penelope was hard pressed to disagree with the expression, though she'd never admit that. "Well, you're barking up the wrong tree." she commented while picking up and rinsing out Hayes' glass which had been swiftly emptied during the conversation. "You should look for Don Crowley, the inspector's son. He's probably going to be harder to charm though." "So the inspector has a son?" contemplated Hayes. "See? It was worth my dropping in here after all. A refreshing drink, good conversation and a bit of work done." Hayes got up and fished in his pockets, pulling out seven dollars in bills and coins before putting them on the counter. "Maybe I'll see you guys around. Thanks for the float Penelope." he said putting special emphasis on her full name as he left with a wink and a smile. The teenagers watched as the door closed. After a beat, Abraham turned to Penny. "I'll have another sundae if you don't mind." Penny rolled her eyes, exasperated at her friend's voraciousness. "What?" asked Abe, sincerely confused. # Gabrielle LaForest usually didn't walk home from work. In winter time she obviously took her car, but during summer, rain or shine, she made a point of taking her bicycle. Not that she was a dedicated athlete but she liked to stay fit and her schedule didn't allow her much time for exercise. So she made due with what she had and the most efficient thing she could come up with was cycling. It was a hobby she wished she could share with her daughter. While they were very close, especially since Gabrielle's husband passed away nearly five years ago, they didn't have much time to share common interests. Gabrielle was extremely busy putting food on the table and as the town's sole notary, her days and evenings were often full. So it was particularly frustrating to Gabrielle that she would not only take four times as long to get home, but she had planned on dropping by her daughter's job for a cone sprinkled with a bit of quality time. A last minute phone call with a client and a broken bicycle chain had sabotaged those plans beyond any hope of salvation. At this rate, it would probably be dark by the time she got home. In fact, it was already twilight and she could barely see the road in front of her as the sun bid its final farewell to the horizon. Not much more than a week ago, Gabrielle, or any sane resident of Saint-Ferdinand, would have been hesitant to walk alone after dark on such an isolated road. In such a situation, where trees cast the perfect kinds of shadow for a killer to lurk in, she would have jogged to the nearest farm and begged for a ride to her doorstep. She would have received it, no questions asked, even if her good samaritan didn't know her very well. Such was the state of the town that no one wanted to be responsible for the next Saint-Ferdinand killer's murder. Tonight, the threat was no longer there. The killer was behind bars and while there were still many issues to resolve about the case, such as finalizing the list of victims (of which Gabrielle's husband might feature), the danger was behind them. There was an intoxicating giddiness at being finally able to walk the night with impunity. Part of it, she had to admit, was the possibility of finding closure at last and seeing the monster who nearly ruined her life, hang for it. She still had roughly half an hour of walking ahead of her. The lights from the Richards farm were far behind her and she could see the glow of familiar porch-lights from old man Demers' stables ahead. Her little house was just beyond that at the edge of a small residential area at the end of town. Though it looked close, she knew from experience that the distance was deceiving. Those are the thoughts that floated through her head as Gabrielle endured the walk home. In meditative solitude she was surprised when her reverie was interrupted by a voice. The sound was so faint, so ethereal that she could have very well imagined it. Just as she was about to dismiss it as a figment of her imagination however, she heard it again. At first, panic set in and all the fears from two weeks ago rose from their grave, more powerful and real than ever. It's only when she heard the voice a third time that her soul was gripped with a different kind of panic. The voice was that of a little girl and although the words it kept repeating was still unintelligible, the recent death of Audrey Bergeron had left a deep scar on the community, especially in the heart and mind of mothers who had daughters of their own. So Gabrielle, conquering her fear with her motherly instinct walked towards the voice. She had to step off the road and jump across the ditch walking several meters into the forest. As she looked behind every tree she expected to find a wounded or lost little girl, terrified and alone, much like Audrey might have been the night she died. Before long, she was deep enough amongst the trees that she could barely see the road anymore. She stopped and perked her ears, listening carefully for the voice. Again, silence was her only answer until about a second before she would have dismissed the whole incident, like a trick her mind was playing on her senses. This time however, she saw the little girl. She was a tiny little thing, with alabaster skin and pale ivory hair. She was wearing her Sunday best except she was barefoot. It took a moment, but as Gabriel got closer she noticed a few odd things about the child. Her naked feet were pierced with crude nails that seemed driven into the ground beneath her. More horribly, similar nails were rammed into her skull through her eyes. She was completely white apart from a toy she held in her arms; a stuffed bear with a bright red hat. As Gabrielle stood in stunned silence, the apparition spoke one more time, the same single word: "Run!"

Chapter 3 Chapter 3 Unlike most boys his age, Donald Crowley was up at the crack of dawn, even during summer vacation. Being raised by a single father who was also head of law enforcement in town had bred a sense of discipline few teenagers understood, let alone practiced. Apart from waking up early and following a strict exercise regiment, Don ate a surprisingly healthy diet and displayed impeccable grooming habits. When most of his buddies were discovering the joys and pain of alcohol abuse, he could easily nurse a single beer a whole evening and was often either designated driver or covering up for his friends who's parents weren't lenient enough to let them drink. It goes without saying that Donald held a summer job. In fact, for the past three years he had been working at Luke Howard's grocery as a bag boy or hauling inventory. It wasn't the best salary in the world but it helped him pay for gas and his car, the two main ingredient of a healthy social life this deep in the townships. Thankfully, work didn't start for another two weeks. This gave Don plenty of time to just hang out. There was a lot that needed to be done during those empty days. For starters, his old Honda Civic could use a little maintenance. It wasn't in bad shape but it had been bought used and was showing it's age. Some amount of time would also have to be dutifully wasted by the lake. Summer demanded it. Then there was Sasha who would monopolize as many hours as she could from him before his job swallowed him whole. Finally, he wanted to hang out with his dad. It wasn't just that he needed his father's help with the car, but Donald genuinely enjoyed Crowley senior's company. The two had built a strong relationship after Don's mother had abandoned them both. Stephen relied on his son to upkeep the household while he kept the odd and demanding hours of a high ranking police officer. In return, Don could count on his dad to fill in the role of both parents, a task he was usually very capable of. Usually. The events of the previous weekend had however already sabotaged some planned activities between father and son. It really couldn't be avoided and despite being annoyed, Don understood that the scale of the situation with Sam Finnegan, not to mention the death of the daughter of a prominent businessman who also happened to be a close friend of the family, took precedence over a day trip to go fishing. Thankfully, Finnegan had confessed to everything and pending a lawyer's appointment to the defense, the case wouldn't move for a couple of days. Donald rolled out of bed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. They shared a relatively large two story colonial house big enough that both man and teen could maintain a large amount of privacy should they desire. So it didn't surprise Donald that he didn't cross path with his father as he went through his morning rituals. It's only when sitting down at the kitchen table to eat some eggs and bacon that he noticed his father's Ford Explorer was missing from the driveway. "You can't be serious." he muttered as he dropped his fork and stood to have a better look through the window. The situation was far from unprecedented. Often, Stephen Crowley was called upon to work through the night or leave before dawn on some emergency. Which was why Donald had made sure his father had prepared for any and all eventuality. The Finnegan case was stagnant for the next few days and any other situation could easily be handled by Matt Belanger for twenty-four hours. No radios, no cell phones, no interruptions; that was the arrangement. Furious, Don tried to call his father for an explanation as to why he was gone. Of course, his cell phone was out of service range which didn't stop the boy from leaving an angry message he'd probably regret later. Still furious, Donald abandoned his breakfast, grabbed his keys and made for the door. Saint-Ferdinand was a small town but the municipality itself was significantly larger, being composed of many farms that radiated from the village. This made for an inconvenient territory to cover when looking for someone. The same set of circumstances had likely served Sam Finnegan as he carved his bloody mark on the town's history and now Don's own father was benefitting from it as well. Hence, Donald Crowley had no choice but to make his way to the station and see if anyone knew his dad's whereabouts. To describe the station as minuscule would have been remarkably accurate. With roughly two thousand inhabitants, Saint-Ferdinand only required a handful of full time police officers and only the most essential and rudimentary of facilities. Located at the edge of town on the main road, it boasted three floors each of very limited square footage. The ground floor housed a reception area, where three dispatchers shared shifts throughout the week. There were also a handful of desks and three offices, the largest of which was Stephen Crowley's. The basement also had a couple of offices that were, to Don's knowledge, completely vacant. Though they had once belonged to the Saint-Ferdinand killer task force. There were also a couple of cells that more often then not sheltered farmers who maybe weren't in a condition to drive. Finally, the top floor was reserved for archiving and booking. When Don walked in he was politely greeted by the dispatcher on staff, Jacqueline Tremain. He'd known her since he was a boy and she'd treated him like a favored nephew for a long time. Now that he was grown, standing at an athletic six foot one, squared jaw with a respectable stubble for his age, her demeanor towards him had changed and become more professional. Had he been the manipulative type, he could have exploited that to get away with just about anything, as it were however, Donald barely gave it a second thought. "Morning Jacky. Have you seen my dad anywhere?" he asked as he crossed the door. "Good morning Don. He dropped by 'bout an hour ago." answered the dispatcher, looking up from a magazine "I assumed he'd be back home by now. Want me to page him to see where he's at?" Donald considered it for a moment. The notion had it's appeal. It would be expedient and cut out the guess work. It was the logical thing to do. However, anger and resentment demanded that his father be given no warning. "Nah. Do you know if he was dropping off anywhere before heading home?" "Sure, he was supposed to check out something at the Finnegan place." Donald barely had time to thank her before storming out the door. # "Dammit Don! This is a crime scene! What do you think you're doing here?" Stephen Crowley had been standing in front of the cave for a while now. Time had seemed to lose it's meaning while he stared down it's dark and forbidding entrance. The hole in the ground hadn't changed since the first time he'd laid eyes on it. Small, forbidding in a way, but unspectacular otherwise. Yet, much about the area around the entrance was different. Putrefied and desicated eyes from nearly a dozen victims had been found on and in the ground near the entrance. The thin metal rods that had surrounded the cave, each with a gruesomely plucked eye stabbed at the end, had been taken as evidence along with the couch and any other foreign object. Thus, apart from small flags marking where each piece of evidence had been removed from, the area had returned to some semblance of it's natural state. Strangest of all, the animals had returned along with their chirping and rustling. Crowley had so far restricted the investigation from going into the cave itself. Unless they found bodies for all the Saint-Ferdinand killer victims, which was incredibly unlikely considering how far back the case went, they would eventually have to check it out. At this point however, the inspector felt significantly more comfortable allowing people inside the cave than he had the day Sam Finnegan was arrested, but remained hesitant. It was hard to tell how long he had been standing there by the time his son arrived. Too long judging by how furious the boy was. In a way, Don was justified in his anger. Stephen had promised him, twice, that they would spend time together and he was not accustomed to being lied to or let down by his old man. On the other hand, this was a sealed crime scene and no amount of anger justified violating its boundaries. "Hey! I could ask the same question. We had plans dad!" Crowley balled his right fist while pinching the bridge of his nose with his left hand. It took a tremendous effort to keep his temper in check. Flying off the handle would gain him nothing and anyways, Don was right. He had promised high and low that they would hang out before his son started working at the store for the summer and they had specifically reserved the day for that occasion. On the other hand, two wrongs did not make a right and Donald had no business being here. "Plans change Don!" Crowley explained with as much calm as he could muster, which wasn't much. "Look, I'm sorry okay? I just had to stop by here for a few minutes." "Why?" asked Donald, looking around for whatever was so important his father would forget about him. It was a good question. There was really no good reason for inspector Crowley to be there, none he could explain to his son. In fact, no one should be here, not until he ordered a more thorough forensic investigation of the cave. This was not to say he was here by accident. Events had been weighing heavily on Stephen Crowley's mind in the past few days. Between his friend's only daughter dying, a decades long multiple murder investigation finally seeing some potential conclusion he didn't have much time to think about his parental responsibilities. This goes without mentioning that the inspector had other obligations. Obligations that weren't meant for the public eye or even his family. "Look, Don" Crowley began with a sigh "there's a lot going on with this case. I can't tell you why but there's a very good chance there's gonna be more murders." "Wait. What? But you have Sam in jail right? And he's the killer so..." "Yeah, no. Maybe not. We don't know. Sam is definitely involved with the killings. He'll very likely turn out to be our guy but huh, he might have been working with or for someone else." Donald was dumbfounded. The Saint-Ferdinand killer had been the Jean Valjean to his father's Javert for longer than he'd been alive. The killer had been the town boogyman and the reason why most kids in the village were unusually good about adhering to their curfews. Now that he'd been caught, the little community had let out a sigh of relief, finally discovering exactly how much fear it had lived under or so long. If what his father was saying was more than a weak excuse for his negligence, which was unlikely, the nightmare could very well not be over. "So what? You think the other guy is hiding in that cave? You were gonna go check it out?" Don knew that wasn't the case. His father wasn't always exactly by-the-book, but he wasn't careless either. "No one's in that cave Donald. Not anymore." Crowley sounded more disappointed than annoyed. "I was just hoping I'd find some... Sign of where he'd be." Donald didn't know what to make of this. His father should be in the mood to celebrate, at best, wringing information out of Sam Finnegan at worst. "So, no fishing then?" Don asked in angry resignation. "No fishing." answered Crowley, half paying attention. "Fine then. Let me get out of your crime scene before you decide to arrest me." Donald stomped away, furious. Then, as if remembering he was having a conversation with his son, Stephen called him out. "Hey! Donald!" he yelled "Sometimes there are things more important than fishing in life!" Donald didn't look back. # Erica Hazelwood really felt like a fish out of water. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy this kind of rural lifestyle. In fact, when she was younger and more prone to making grandiose plans about her future, she often imagined moving to a beautiful house, far from the city where she could enjoy nature and the kind of salt-of-the-earth people that seemed to populate places like Saint-Ferdinand. Of course, in those plans she was always married to a rich and handsome neurosurgeon and owned a horse or three, but what good were dreams if they weren't at least a little extravagant? For the time being she would have to manage with a small room in a local bed & breakfast, her patients and a rented sedan. Maybe the horse power wasn't as romantic as real horses but it had air conditioning. This wasn't all there was to her kingdom either. The local police department had allowed her to take over one of the ground floor offices. She hadn't planned on staying long, perhaps two or three days to help out Wlliam and Beatrice, but when others who had lost family and friends to the Saint-Ferdinand killer heard a psychologist was in town, they lined up to seek counseling. Slowly at first, but as word got out that the Bergeron were meeting with her, that was the only seal of approval the rest of the community needed. Setting up shop wasn't what she or Dr. Mackenzie had in mind when he called to ask for her assistance but she could hardly let these people down. Besides, there were serious benefits to being involved in such a high profile case. So Erica called in her vacation time from the hospital and set up an impromptu cabinet here in town. If all went well she'd be helping dozens cope with the repercussions of two decades of continuous tragedy while getting valuable experience. As a bonus, she might be able to coax a book out of all this. In short, this was a great opportunity and even if she had to spend a few weeks living out of a suitcase while her mother watered her plants and fed her cats, it was well worth it. Already things were shaping up beautifully. She had gone through three meetings so far. One of which was with the son of Christine Joyal, one of the earlier victims. Ms. Joyal had disappeared nearly nineteen years ago during autumn. Back then there was still no such thing as the Saint-Ferdinand killer, just a string of murders and disapearances. According to the files she had access to, Erica found out that Jonathan, Christine's son, had put the blame on the owner of a circus that used to come to town. A man who went by the name of Cicero. Things had come to blows but all Jonathan got for his troubles was a fractured rib and a night in jail. Eventually the circus left and the killings continued. Still, Jonathan had a lot of guilt to work through and almost two decades of doubt and uncertainty that had come to an abrupt end. The other two meetings were with the Bergeron. Erica had taken it upon herself to deliver the horrible news of their daughter's death. That meeting went as well as could be expected. The news was obviously devastating to both parents and she found herself catapulted into the complex family dynamics of William and Beatrice Bergeron. Immediately upon hearing the news, William reached for alcohol, which he'd apparently had a problem with until the birth of their daughter. This caused an altercation between the spouses. Then, out of nowhere, both parents began displaying increased anxiety regarding the cause and location of death. When inspector Crowley and Dr. Mackenzie arrived, all Hell broke loose. Randy confirmed that little Audrey died of natural causes just up the road from where her body was found. William went into a raging fury, screaming that it was 'too close' and in turn either berating inspector Crowley for having failed in his duties and begging Dr. Mackenzie to do something. Eventually, Randy escorted her out after promising the Bergeron he'd do everything he could. Erica wanted to tell him that it was a bad idea to give the bereaved false hope like that, but somehow they all seemed to worry about Audrey as if she could die a second time. The experience had left a bitter taste in her mouth but had set her professional curiosity ablaze. Her second meeting with William and Beatrice happened this morning and had a much different tone. When she'd left them the day of the tragedy they had obviously skipped directly to the 'bargaining' stage of dealing with their grief. This was unusual enough on its own but today they seemed to have already jumped ahead to 'acceptance'. William was showing clear signs that he was drinking again which accounted for his coping mechanism, such as it was. Beatrice however had become almost content with the situation, both of the loss of her only daughter and her husband's relapse into alcoholism. Of the two she was the only one to accept meeting again the following week to check up on her progress. While all three of these meetings were fascinating in their own right and would be followed by a very long list of other similar interviews, Erica had secured the permission to chat with someone significantly more important to the case; Sam Finnegan, the confessed Saint-Ferdinand killer himself. An officer with the unfortunate but comically accurate nickname of Stuttering Steve brought Sam to Erica's office and would stand outside during the interview, in case Finnegan caused any trouble. So far, he had been extremely sedate so no one expected any fight out of him, but procedures were what they were. The important thing is she would be alone with a career serial killer and able to ask any questions and hopefully have them answered. This was a dream come true for any criminal psychologist and aspiring true crime author, or at least it was for Erica. Usually, serial killers were reputed as being smart and manipulative, two things no one would have ever accused Sam Finnegan of being. Hannibal Lecter he was not. Erica expected to be able to run circles around poor old and have a fairly easy time coaxing his secrets out of him. "Thank you Steve, I'll take it from here." Steve finished securing Finnegan to the chair, locking handcuffs to each arm. The officer then nodded with a smile and left. Sam sat silently looking at the door as if expecting the officer to return immediately. Finnegan was a thin man who's prison clothes seemed three sizes too big. His file listed his age at sixty-three but he didn't look a day under seventy-five. Wrinkles lined his weathered face like a roadmap making him look used up. When he did finally turn his attention to Erica, he graced her with a toothy smile. Pale blue eyes framed by deeply etched crows feet revealed nothing of his diminished capacities. In fact, he looked more aware than most people Erica had interviewed in her career. "Good afternoon Mr. Finnegan." she began in a professional but friendly manner. "I'm doctor Erica Hazelwood. Inspector Crowley tells me you've agreed to my asking you a few questions?" "Yeah. I see no harm innit." "Great. So I'll start with a few simple ones, if you don't mind." Erica uncapped her pen and flipped the first page of her legal pad to a fresh sheet. "First, can you tell me briefly why you are being jailed at this time?" "'Cause I killed a lot of people." his smile vanished, replaced by a convincing mask of regret and torment. "I wrote it all up in my confession. Didja read it?" "I did. Would you feel more comfortable if I asked questions about things that aren't in that document?" Sam nodded slowly, eyes digging deeply and uncomfortably at Erica. "Alright then, would you mind telling a little bit about yourself? Your life as a child maybe?" So went most of the interview. Erica would ask questions about Sam's past, about his life, his goals and his desires and he would answer with the banalities of a life too ordinary. Sam had been born second of two children in Northern Vermont. His father was an accountant, a career that Sam would eventually imitate. His mother stayed at home to raise him and his sister. Despite her questions, Erica could not crack the surface of what had apparently been a perfectly normal, if mundane, family life. Both parents had died in a car crash leaving their children with a considerable inheritance. Finnegan's sister took the opportunity to move to Europe with her husband while Sam took his share and bought a small farm in Knowlton. There he raised ducks and dogs until he eventually moved to his trailer in Saint-Ferdinand. Nothing in his over-ordinary biography gave any clue why Sam Finnegan, an otherwise unremarkable individual had snapped and started killing. In fact, if Sam held an accounting degree, when exactly did his mind break so sharply as to make him dim-witted? It could have been from an overwhelming feeling of abandonment brought upon by his parents death and his sister moving so far away. However, according to his story, Sam had kept regular correspondence with his sister and, during the course of the interview had reminisced fondly about friends past. He'd also been socially active in town, helping the villagers with odd jobs and drinking with them at the local tavern. None of this pointed to any symptoms of a severe mental breakdown. So it went for nearly three hours, until Sam asked if he could use the washroom. While he was gone, Erica buried her head in her hands, struggling to figure out if she was being conned or just incompetent. Suddenly, as she was about to give up in frustration, she glanced at the top page of her notes on Finnegan. 'They are ever vigilant in death'. The words where circled on the page. They were the first words she'd heard Sam say the day he was arrested. Regaining her composure, Erica flipped to a fresh page again and wrote the words at the top. When Stuttering Steve brought Finnegan back, she had a fresh line of questioning ready for him. She allowed him to settle but did not ease into the topic. "Who are you're victims looking out for Sam?" she asked, scanning his sky-blue eyes for a reaction. "My victims? My victims are dead Ms. Hazelwood." "Yes, but the other day in the forest you said they were being vigilant. Vigilant against what Sam?" she tried to make her voice sound soft yet stern. To pressure him into answering without scaring him off. "Look, Ms. Hazelwood, I ain't barely sharper than a baseball bat. I say things and I don't really mean 'em y'know." "Are you afraid I won't believe you?" Finnegan laughed. Without humor and just a moment too long. It wasn't a sane laugh. "It's funny" he began after catching his breath. "I ain't afraid of you not believin' me 'cause the answer you wouldn't believe is way scarier than the one you would." "What?" Erica understood the path of old Sam's circular reasoning, but she was no closer to an answer to her question. "Then tell me Sam, tell me what the dead are vigilant against." "What's was in the cave." he answered, this time without a laugh or the hint of a smile. "And what is in the cave?" "Was. It's gotta be out now. I kept fresh eyes to keep it trapped there. Fresh eyes to keep it from coming out. But now, the eyes are gone. I'm gone. Nothing is keeping it there, so it gotta be out." "What Sam? What is out?" she knew the answer would be something crazy, some nonsense from a deranged mind. Yet, she wanted to know, she needed to hear him put a name to his imaginary threat. "A god Ms. Hazelwood. A god of death and hate."