a cold night. the lake didn't help things much. the woman woke from her sleep. an unnatural sleep. her head felt odd. swimmy. she felt like she was floating. her eyes opened. she was floating. she lifted her head. in the distance, she could see the shore and the Chicago skyline. she tried to sit up, but quickly realized she was bound to the small boat beneath her. a canoe. she paniced and struggled. nothing. she found no give in the ropes that bound her. her back was cold. wet. the lake was creeping in. how, she didn't know, nor would she be able to find out.

she wondered for a brief moment how she managed to get herself into this mess, but that thought vanished when she came fully aware of her situation. she was about 500 yards, by her figuring, from landfall and her boat was going down. she had no way of escaping. death would soon be hers. she cried. she saw her life leaving her. she could picture the whole scenario from above her position. she could see the boat slowly filling with water. she could see her face slip beneath it.

she held her breath. she hadn't noticed her hands and feet weren't connected to her body. too numb to realize she hadn't bled out because the wounds had been cauterized. probably for the best, though.

further and further she slipped beneath the surface. the moonlight was very dim by now, almost gone. what could possibly be taking it down so quick. she had no way of knowing, but a few cement blocks helped her passage to the bottom of the lake.

the pressure built on her, on her head, on her stomach, on her chest. it forced the air from her lungs. instinctually, she gasped for air. none to be had. her lungs filled with water, and that was her undoing. a rope kept her anchored to the shore, but that didn't matter now. the cold water, the fear... it had taken its toll and the woman was lifeless.

lucy carved into her forhead. another victim.

------------------------------------------------

*Claire had been sitting at her desk when Tim came into the office with a folder and a determined look. Without even saying hello to Claire, he put the folder on her desk, opened it, and placed pictures side-by-side. The image of the woman upside-down on the cross, the image of a face hanging from a tree limb, even the gaudy human jack-o-lantern, illuminated by a candle from within. In front of each picture, he placed another, quite similar picture. The woman on the cross became a naked bloody female scarecrow, the face on a limb was replaced by the face of a boy, and the jack-o-lantern became a sick angel atop a Christmas tree of body parts. Claire blinked, staring from picture to picture.* What is this, Tim? A copycat killer or killers?

*He shook his head.* ~Nope, Claire. The second set of images come from music videos. I believe the correct terminology is 'death metal'.~

They let them show this crap on TV?

*Tim nodded.* ~Yeah, about the only thing you can't show in a music video is drug use or nakedness. See, the scarecrow's all fuzzy in just the right spots.~

So, your theory is that the Lucy killer's a big fan of this 'death metal'. It would explain some of what we've seen..

~Yeah, it would. Unfortunately, when we searched what was left of the real Danny Ward's stuff, none of the albums he had matched the bands that made any of these videos. We're currently searching the CDs for any reference to a 'Lucy.~

*Claire nodded.* That's good, and Annie's probably having a blast.

*Tim chuckled, shaking his head.* ~Nope, she's more of a punk girl. Keeps talking about how 'pretend Goth' these people are.~

Oh really? *Claire laughed.

Ring!! *Claire answered the phone.* Hello?

*She listened to the voice on the other line for less than a minute, sighed heavily and nodded.* Thank you very much. We'll be right there.

~Another murder?~

Yeah, Tim, another murder. This one drowned in a boat in Chicago after he cut off her hands and feet. *Sighing again, she grabbed her bag and headed for the door.* Sick son of a bitch..

*Without saying a word, Tim left the folder and followed her out.*

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*When Tim and Claire were on the road to Chicago, they didn't talk. Discussing the weather or sports or television just seemed unimportant while the Lucy killer was out there taunting them and the FBI as a whole. That is why when Claire's cell started ringing it came as a shock to both of them.*

H-Hello?

~Well, hey there, Claire!~ *Claire could only here what must be the 'death metal' blaring in the background.*

Hi Annie..find anything?

~Only something that you, me, and Tim completely missed!~

Some new piece of evidence, a clue?

~Claire, how did the Lucy killer know what we were thinking, what our working theory on the case was? I didn't talk to anyone about it, and my boyfriend is -very- curious so he's constantly asking me about what I do at--~

Annie!

~Oh sorry, Claire. Anyway, I doubt you and Tim are giving interviews, either so how did he know? Either he's got someone watching the three of us, which is pretty darn creepy if you ask me, or-~

or, he's got a mole in the FBI. *Tim was watching her out of the corner of his eye with a growing look of concern.*

~Yep, and I don't like either of those options.~

I don't either. Shit. *Claire sighed heavily. It had been staring her in the face for several days now, and she missed it. Stupid rookie mistake. She -should- have known better.* From now on, I want all the evidence handled only by you, me, and Tim. I don't care if you have to live in your office, Annie, -nobody- touches anything else relating to this case but the three of us, got it?

~Got it, boss lady.~

Now, get back to work. We'll be bringing you more soon enough.

-Click.-

~We've got a mole in the FBI?~

Either that, Tim, or that fucker's got someone watching us, very closely.

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*En route to the body, Claire received another phone call.*

Hello?

~Hey, Claire. I got more news for you!~

Good, Annie. What is it?

~I've identified the Stanton baby's father. A search of birth certificates yielded nothing. Mr. Stanton was the one listed, but we all know that's impossible. So, I looked into Mrs. Stanton's life. She worked as a legal secretary for Cranston, Stokes, and Peterson. Her boss was a Mr. Daniel McGovern. The DMV verifies his blood type is B, and the police report indicates that she'd been having an affair that ended just over 6 months ago. ~

And a nickname for Daniel is Danny. Good work, Annie, but I don't know how helpful it will be.

~Well, I can prove Daniel didn't do the killing himself. He was in Oahu on vacation with Mrs. McGovern and the triplets. Doesn't mean he couldn't have hired it out, though.~

Was McGovern loaded?

~Not really. They could have tried extortion, but wouldn't have got much. He was in debt up to his eyeballs. His portfolio's really taken a dump and I haven't been able to find any offshore transfers.~

Ok, Annie. Thanks.