The field office building of the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Savannah Georgia was a modest one, a few stories high and nestled neatly between other governmental divisions of the city. On any usual day, it was a calm place, its inhabitants idly sifting through Savannah's seemingly modest crime level. Rebecca Morrison entered at precisely 1:15 pm on Friday, February sixteenth. She had taken a taxi straight to the office from the airport, and still carried her backpack of travel clothes and briefcase.
Strangely, no one was in the outer office, she noted. Glancing at the mirrored glass separating the reception area from the offices, Rebecca checked her appearance. Still quite professional, the rushed travel plans notwithstanding. She took off her sunglasses, sliding them in the pocket of her suit.
Slipping through the outer doors of the reception area and into the offices, the scene she was confronted with was anything but the usual calm. Phones rang off the hook, and people were everywhere, moving about chaotically. The ITC, or Information Technology Center label of the Savannah Office was simply a front for the sake of the public. Savannah was, unbeknownst to most of its inhabitants, a major drug traffic area. It had come to prominence in the drug world only recently however, allowing for the FBI to continue the illusion of the building being a simple ITC. In the past few months, however, the FBI had been filtering in a large amount of field agents, looking to crack down on the ever enlarging drug point.
Rebecca found Richard Bennett alone, surprisingly, in a cluttered suite of the offices, hidden away from the chaos she had just encountered. He was standing at someone else's desk talking on the phone and she had a chance to look him over. Bennett had been transferred in to be the local Special Agent in Charge when the ITC was upgraded to Field Office officially four months ago.
Normally, Bennett looked like a fit, middle-aged man, going slightly pudgy, but not in a bad way. Now he was thin, his shirt collar looked too big, and the large dark puffs around his reddened eyes allotted to his recent lack of sleep. Anyone who wasn't living in a cave now knew that something big was up in Savannah, and the local authorities were catching hell. In the last few weeks, it had come to light that a large amount of public figures, most either political or religious, had been being murdered.
Setting down her pack, Rebecca took her file from her briefcase and waited patiently. Bennett finished his conversation with a sharp "Damnit, just find him!" and a forceful hang up. Noticing her standing there, he waved her over and took her file, looking it over.
"Well, Morrison, Rebecca R., how are you this fine afternoon?" he asked.
"Fine, sir." she replied civilly, hoping he'd get to the point soon. She was seriously in need of a shower, but was under strict orders to report directly upon arrival.
"I'm glad your here, Morrison. Frankly, I'm a bit surprised I was able to get you. I've watched your progress since your graduation from the Academy. I was sure you'd be assigned somewhere a bit more high profile. Though I suppose we're getting a bit that way here."
The fact Bennett had followed her progress surprised Rebecca slightly. She had met the man just before entering the academy at Quantico. She was so impressed that she had joined the Behavioral Sciences Unit following their brief encounter upon his urging, but had heard nothing else from the man since. That was also slight disappointing to her, though on a more personal level.
Bennett stopped, slightly rubbing his temple with his free left hand.
"You're looking to work in Behavioral Sciences, correct?" he asked, already knowing the answer to the question. At her nod, he continued, "Then I have a hell of a case for you to make your name on."
Motioning to a chair, he seated himself. He outlined the recent events that had called for the FBI to, at least within it own ranks, elevate the Savannah chapter to full Field Office. He handed her file growing rather thick with information concerning the recent deaths of five priests and three public officials.
Giving her to look over the file, he dropped an Alka-Seltzer into a glass of water and drank it down in one gulp, then looked directly at her.
"Like I said Morrison, I've followed you. I need to get this crazy guy off the street _now_. My people haven't been able to do it so far. I have faith that you can. I've got every major group and organization in this city, from the Savannah College of Art and Design to the mayor himself demanding help. I'm afraid those eight in the file aren't the only ones, just the ones we've been able to directly link to the same guy in some way. Murders in general have increased greatly of late, since just before the first was killed."
He sat back in his chair and sighed.
"And last night, there was another."
*****
The young man stood in front of the mirror, taking account of himself. The first thing he saw was the scar across the bridge of his nose. He had gotten it as a child; falling from the cot in a day care center, the deep cut had left only a small white line just between the eyes where the nose melded into the forehead.
Now, the scar was larger, though not terribly so. It was much more evident on his face, though in an almost handsome way, he thought. It was larger and a paler white than before. But that was because this one was a second scar, crossing over the first. Where the first had crossed the nose in an almost horizontal line, this one was at a diagonal, reaching from just into his forehead above the right eye down across the nose to just below the left eye.
Stepping back, he glanced at the rest of himself in the mirror. It had been three weeks since he'd knelt at that spot in the cemetery, and for the first week, he'd been a mess. Almost immediately, he'd felt the difference from his experience. He felt like he was almost two people now, hearing voices and seeing things in an overlapping sort of vision. He head; his mind, they felt crammed, as if an emptiness had suddenly been corked.
And for the first time since he could remember, he somehow felt... complete. Always he had longed for something he did not have, and even did not know. He searched always, no matter where he was or what it was he did, still he searched.
First, friendship.
He found those that complemented him best, people who both shared qualities with him and were completely different at the same time. In high school, it was Brian: his best friend, the class clown, Brian was friends with just about everyone by the time they had graduated. He was talk, a lanky thin build, shaggy brown mop of curly hair with just a hint of red in it, and always a slightly goofy grin on his face. They had met just into their sophomore year, both a bit quiet and shy. Brian had been much more shy at the time though, and the two had become fast friends, then best friends. They spent much time together, doing the things teenage boys do. Chasing girls, playing video games, chasing girls, playing ball and, of course, chasing girls.
Also in high school there was Matt. The young man had met Matt in eighth grade after moving, both of them new to the school. There was the thing for them to bond with, both being the new kid and not knowing anyone else. Matt had complimented the young man perfectly, though in the opposite way. Matt was outgoing, personable, and instantly well liked by any who met him. This created a large pool of people for the young man to become friends with, since anytime Matt met someone, so did he.
The three of them; Matt, Brian, and the young man became a tight close knit group of friends, and for a while, the young man forgot about his feeling of incompletion.
Going to college brought it all back. While most of his friends, Brian and Matt included, attended the University of Georgia in Athens, the young man instead went to Savannah, to art school. Almost immediately, the sense of hollowness returned. He was unused to being alone after the many friends of high school and did not know how to meet others. Even worse, when he tried, to his horror he found he could not connect with anyone his age.
The students at art school are usually a bit... different than those that attend "regular" colleges.
Rebellion was the "thing" at college for most kids, but art students took it to the extreme. Piercings galore; any and every drug available was welcome; outrageous clothing became second nature. Hair in all the colors of the spectrum could be found by just walking down the street.
And amidst all this, the young man was lucky enough to find someone he _could_ connect with.
Jonathon Fox was as perplexed at the nature of the students he found as the young man was. Hailing from Burnsville, North Carolina, he had lived among "mountain folk" all his life. All the weirdness of Savannah was even more of a shock to him. Burnesville being near to Asheville (labeled by some the "freak capital" of the world), he thought he'd seen the worst of strange people. But living among them is much different from simply seeing them every once in a while.
So, when John met the young man, he was just as happy to have found a person he had something in common with. Their sophomore year, they had become roommates, and their junior year, this one, they had enveloped another person to live with.
Shawn was a very big guy, tall and broad shouldered. His shaggy dark hair hung past his jaw line, and he stood about six foot four inches tall.
Shawn was currently at work in the school's photography digital imaging lab, working the 8 pm - 1 am shift. John's girlfriend, Erin, was in visiting from Charleston, South Carolina.
A knocking to the young man's right, at the bathroom door, brought him back from his thoughts. It was John.
"Hey Will, we're going to Sakura. They've got an all you can eat sushi bar tonight. Gonna come?" John asked as William, the young man, opened the door.
"Sorry John," he replied, "I've got plans again. Got to finish up what I started last night."
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