Part 4

(Please visit https://www.squidge.org/~candy_a/13-main.htm for warnings, disclaimers and author's notes)

* * *

 A small, bright yellow car wove through the congested street, finally pulling up in the driveway next door, as the drive to the house itself was blocked. Once the VW Beetle was stopped, two young women got out, both running across the lawn toward the house. They were intercepted by police, and when Blair recognized them as Theresa and her sister, he got out of the truck and rushed over to them.

"My roommates were all in there!" Theresa screamed at Taggert as he tried unsuccessfully to calm the attractive blonde who was verging on hysteria. Her younger sister, Julia, was also trying to console her sister, watching the house with her own terrified eyes.

"Blair! Have you seen Allan or Mike or--"

"Theresa, I don't know any more than you do right now." He took a hold of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders. "You've got to try to stay as calm as you can. The police are in there now. They'll let us know as soon as they can--"

"It's him, isn't it? That psycho who killed Danny Cohen and Tim Pierce and-- Oh, my God!" she screamed and began to sob, both Blair and her tearful sister trying to console her as they steered her away from the house, toward Taggert's car.

"We don't know that for sure yet. It's possible," Blair admitted, hoping to prepare her somewhat without sending her into a worse fit of hysterics. "Right now the best thing you can do is be calm, and let Captain Taggert here take you someplace safe where you can be with friends until you get the news on what's happening here."

"Is there someplace else you girls could stay tonight?" Joel asked gently as he walked along with the group.

"M-my f-friend...S-Sarah...we were j-just at her house."

Joel nodded. "I'll take you two over to Sarah's, and we'll be sure to have someone call you as soon as we can."

"I promise, I'll call you later and see how you're doing. Can you give me Sarah's number?" Blair asked, taking out a small notepad. Theresa managed to give the number, which Blair copied down and stashed the notepad in his pocket again. "Joel's a good friend of mine. He'll take good care of you two," Blair reassured as the two girls climbed into the back of Joel's car. Julia, a bit shorter than her sister, with reddish hair and a few freckles, pinned Blair with an intent look.

"Why are you guys beating around the bush here? They're all dead, and it's that nutcase. Why not just tell us the truth?"

"I haven't been in the house myself, Julia. I don't know what's in there."

"Ladies, I know that there has been a multiple homicide in there. I don't have official IDs on any of the victims, and I don't have authorization to release any specific information to anyone at this point," Taggert added.

"Trust me--I work with most of these guys, and nobody's trying to hide anything. But they've got rules to play by, and we don't want to release names or information prematurely and have the families getting upset before they can be notified--or getting upset for nothing, in case, like with you two, that their son or daughter lived here, but wasn't at home at the time."

"Call me later, Blair?" Theresa asked.

"I promise. As soon as I know anything."

"Thanks." With that, she leaned back in the seat and Joel closed the door.

"Shit."

"What?" Blair probed at Joel's frustrated utterance.

"Channel 12 just arrived, along with KCAW and a couple other van loads of gore-mongers from the press."

"Better go head 'em off, huh?" Blair suggested.

"You stay out of sight. No point flaunting yourself at this sicko."

"Good point. I'll go back and wait in the truck for Jim." Blair had no sooner said that when the man in question came down the front steps and walked briskly across the lawn, just avoiding the onslaught of press caught and detained by Taggert and the uniformed officers at the scene.

"Let's get back to headquarters. The lab folks still have work to do here, and I'm just getting in the way. I also don't want you on candid camera." Jim and Blair hurried toward the truck and once they were inside, Jim started it up. "Duck and cover your face. Now!" Jim ordered Blair, who obeyed just in time to avoid the onslaught of reporters swarming around the truck. Angered at the difficulty negotiating through the press of bodies, Jim turned on the lights and siren and honked the horn. That moved most of them, and when he hung out the window and threatened the others with criminal charges for interfering in a police investigation, they, too, moved aside. "Son of a bitch," Jim muttered, raring the engine as they headed back toward the station.

"Tell me about it." Blair's statement was firm, flat and controlled. "I want to know what you saw."

"There was one body downstairs, decapitated," Jim responded, not embellishing the description further. "Upstairs, there were four more corpses. The two girls were in one bedroom--looks like they were roommates. The other male victims were in the other bedroom." Jim ran a hand over his face. "He's getting more savage, more brutal. The dismemberment was more elaborate and less carefully executed. It's the worst murder scene I've ever visited. There was blood everywhere upstairs, and..." Jim shook his head, letting the account end. His next statement would have been to describe the message that had been scrawled in blood on the wall of the girls' room.

"There was something more," Blair said calmly, staring straight ahead out the windshield. He knew Jim too well, and he knew that it was more than the general gore and mayhem of an axe murder that had sent him out into the shrubs to puke.

"One of the victims looked too damned much like you to suit me," Jim shot out, hoping that Blair already realized he had a look alike in one of the students living in the house.

"Allan looks a lot like me. We joke..." Blair shook his head. "We used to joke about it all the time." Blair bit his lip a moment and took a deep breath. "Why is he doing this to my students? First Danny, and now--all these kids--they were honor students, kids I worked with all the time..."

"I don't know, Chief. I'm not sure if he's targeting them for any other reason than his M.O. is apparently to kill students in shared housing. There was the sorority in Seattle, then the fraternity killing you witnessed, and now this."

"This is like something out of a horror movie."

"There are no leads in the Seattle case--no fingerprints that aren't accounted for, no witnesses... I've been in touch with the FBI. Even their database is coming up empty. The only other thing they had on file was a murder from fifty years ago in Seattle--a frat house, similar to the first killing here in Cascade. The guy who did that was shot and killed by police trying to escape from custody. Besides, he'd be up in his eighties by now even if he'd lived."

"What if it was the wrong guy? What if the real killer wasn't caught?"

"First of all, they had an airtight case against the guy they arrested, and secondly, even if we assumed he was a teenager when he committed the crime, he'd be pushing seventy now. Isn't that a little old for the guy you saw?"

"Yeah, way too old." Blair paused. "What makes these lunatics just go off and start killing?"

"If we understood that, we'd probably be as crazy as they are." Jim added, "He's just getting more brazen now."

"There's gotta be a reason. Something that drives him."

"I think we might have more insight into that after tonight." Jim paused, turning the corner and heading down the final few blocks toward the station. "He painted an upside down cross on one of the walls, and beneath it, one of the victims was arranged on a long, low coffee table, making it look like some sort of sacrifice. Upstairs, there was a pentagram on the wall in the girls' room. He's screwing with the thermostats in these places so it's abnormally cold when you go in there."

"You think it's a cult?"

"That would explain a lot. It's not common to find killers this brutal traveling in packs, and yet, it's hard to believe that one guy can do all this damage to all these people at once. You only saw one guy. That doesn't mean he didn't have reinforcements."

"So you're thinking some sort of...Satanic Manson Family type thing?"

"Something like that. Maybe the others, if there are others at the scene, are just there to help. Maybe this freakshow you saw does the actual killing. I'm not sure what I think yet, but we definitely know now he's sending out a Satanic message of some sort here, and I'm not comfortable with the notion that one killer could do this much damage by himself."

"Are you sure the thermostat is turned down...or...is it just cold?"

"Don't start. Connor already tried to sell me on the supernatural cold angle."

"How come you didn't mention it?"

"Because it didn't bear mentioning until it turned into a pattern. Plus, she's looking at it as some sort of hocus pocus instead of a gimmick. At first I thought maybe the frat house just had a faulty furnace."

"You know, come to think of it, it was getting cold in Danny's room, and I remember looking around to see if he'd left his window open or something."

"Did Danny notice it?"

"Yeah, but he just shrugged and said that they probably either got disconnected by the utility company for forgetting the bill again, or someone turned the heat way down because they were pissed about someone turning it up. I guess a couple of the guys were always fighting about the thermostat settings. So we didn't say any more about it, and it just kept getting colder--but by the time it was really uncomfortable, we heard something going on, and I went out to check..."

"All this is a new angle to investigate, Chief. Let's not turn it into anything else, okay?"

"Jim, you know better than most people that not everything is explainable--that there is power in the spirit world, and--"

"This is precisely why I didn't mention it to you before. I knew you'd be off and running in ten thousand directions. What I need here is your expertise about real live human Satanists, if you have any."

"Not a lot. I know a few things. It's not an area I've really felt compelled to study very much. But what I don't know, I can find out. Either through research or a couple friends at the U."

 * * *

 By the time Jim had completed his report, the Forensics team had returned from the house. Cassie arrived in the bullpen, folder in hand, to update Jim and Blair on what had been found at the house.

"Not a lot of surprises from what you saw," she began, pulling up a chair near the desk. "Our missing limb this time is a foot, from one of the female victims. Dan's preliminary assumption is that it was removed post mortem. We've got dozens of hair and fiber samples yet to go through." Cassie shook her head. "Working on these frat houses and student housing is really tricky--most of the time, those kids have people coming and going, plus we have seven people who belonged there to match up samples with. At any rate, the blood on the wall is most likely not human blood--that's not too surprising. Not that he wouldn't have enough to work with ultimately, but it would be tough to get it all in one place and usable to paint on the walls for the size symbols he was doing. Our guess is goat's blood, but that'll be confirmed in a little while."

"That would fit. Goats are often sacrificed during Satanic rituals," Blair added.

"Although, the message about Blair was written in human blood, from the victim closest to it."

"What?" Blair's eyes widened a bit as he pinned her with an intent stare.

"We hadn't gotten around to discussing that yet, Welles," Jim commented, leaning back in his chair with a less than pleased expression.

"I'm sorry. I thought he knew--"

"Knew what?"

"On the wall in the male victim's bedroom, there was a message written in blood. It said 'Twelve Souls and Blair'."

"I would assume he was referring to the number of victims," Cassie added. "If you counted Seattle, he's over twelve. But if you count only the murders in Cascade, he's at twelve exactly."

"If we exclude Seattle last month, that would mean there was one more either not accounted for or yet to be killed before he hits twelve."

"But if he was watching the house, he probably thought he'd get six on this outing--assuming he didn't know about the visiting sister--meaning that after this killing, he'd be coming after Blair," Cassie said.

"Thanks for putting it that way," Blair interjected. "Why me? I mean, I don't even know this guy."

Jim nodded toward the phone. "I've got a call in to Christine Logan in Homicide. She's got quite a background on cult activity here in Cascade. I thought she might be able to help us sort this out."

"Maybe the Seattle killing was part of another set of twelve," Cassie suggested.

"But there hasn't been another mass murder of a similar M.O. anytime recently. The last one was that case back in the Fifties," Jim responded.

"How many were killed then?" Blair asked.

"Six."

"How many were killed in Seattle?"

"Six," Jim said, nodding. "So maybe this is some nut who thought he was completing a cycle the other nut started?"

"If the guy who committed the murders in the Fifties was tied into a cult, he might be some sort of...hero to these people. If so, it's possible someone could see it as 'finishing his work' to kill six more, and then...what? They kill someone else?" Cassie frowned. "I don't get it."

"Maybe the thirteenth sacrifice is special for some reason. Maybe that person is chosen for something that sets him apart from others," Jim suggested.

"No offense intended here, Blair, but what makes you so special?" Cassie asked. "Damned if I know," Blair responded, leaning his chin on his palm, his elbow on the desk. "Satanists who practice human sacrifice go for victims like babies or virgins. I don't really fit the profile."

"But maybe you have something in common with the last thirteenth victim," Jim suggested. "What we need to look for now is a ritual homicide somewhere in the Seattle area that would have followed the murders at the sorority house. Maybe there's something specific that makes someone a target as the 'special sacrifice'."

"Incidentally, Jim," Cassie said, rising from her chair and heading toward the door, "I spoke to Serena. We'll be collaborating on this case."

"Good," Jim responded, nodding.

"Well, I'll be in the lab most of tonight, if you guys think of anything you'd like me--or Serena--to check out. I think we're all planning on pulling an all-nighter. Dan's already got the first victim on the table downstairs."

"Great. Thanks, Cassie," Blair added, smiling slightly. She returned the expression and headed out the door. "What was the bit about Serena?" he asked, frowning and looking at Jim.

"Serena's been working this case since the night of the first murders. Cassie decided to grab the glory and pulled rank on her as Chief of Forensics and took over with tonight's homicide. I guess she thought better of that maneuver."

"You know, in the old days, she would have been dogging our every step on this case."

"Yeah, well, she dogged some guys in Vice once too often, and I guess they got Chief Warren on her back about it. She nearly blew one of their undercover operations--and trust me, you don't want to piss off Pocelli and Garner. They were nasty SOBs when I was in Vice and word has it they've only become more of a delight to work with now than they were then."

"You never mentioned anything."

"I guess it slipped my mind."

"When did you hear about it?"

"What?" Jim frowned, looking back at Blair from the file of crime scene photos Cassie had left for him to go over. "I don't remember exactly when. I guess it was a few months ago. I went out for a couple beers with a few of the Vice guys. It was probably while you were in classes or something." Jim went back to the file, then looked back at Blair. "What's with the third degree, Chief?"

"I just wondered...you know...I never see you with those guys, and we never do anything with any of them..." He shrugged. "It's probably easier for you to interact with them without me."

"I hadn't really thought about it," Jim responded, closing the file and turning in his chair to face Blair. "Hey." He waited until the dark blue eyes raised to meet his. "You want to tell me what this is really all about?"

"It just bothers me sometimes that your old buddies from Vice don't have anything to do with you when I'm around. Makes me wonder how...how your life is going to be with me always in the way like that."

"For somebody coming close to having a Ph.D.," Jim began, taking hold of Blair's chair and moving it until Blair was facing him, and much closer, "you sure are stupid sometimes. How in the hell could you figure you were in my way?"

"I'm sorry. It was a dumb thing to say."

"Yeah, it was, but since you said it, there must be a reason. Did I do something or leave you out of something? Tell me."

"I think I'm just getting the jitters."

"About the case?"

"That, too, but no." Blair paused. "This is really embarrassing."

"Tell me."

"You're the only... I've never loved anybody as much as I love you, and I've never made love with anybody the way we made love," Blair began, then paused. "It scares me because sometimes it feels like things are easier for you when I'm not around."

"Aside from anything that happened between us in bed, you've always been my best friend, Blair. Best friend, best partner...nothing would change that. Do you really think that having a couple beers with some guys from Vice means more to me than making love to you?" Jim asked in a whisper, mindful of their less than secure surroundings. The bullpen was deserted at the moment, but other cops were in the area, and it was likely that Taggert and the others from the murder scene would be coming in soon to work on their own reports.

"It's more than a couple of beers. Your old friends from Vice never ask you to do anything when I'm around. As soon as I disappear for a while, you've got friends again."

"You want to know why that is?" Jim asked gently, smiling a little. "Because when I have the chance to do something with you, or go somewhere with you, I always want to do that. I think everybody knows that already. So most people don't ask me to do very much when you're around because they knew I'm gonna turn 'em down. And as far as the Vice guys are concerned, yeah, they're a cliquey lot, and they probably wouldn't ask us both to hang out with them, and I don't miss it." Jim stole a quick look around, and then looked back at Blair again. Moving forward, he pulled Blair into a slightly awkward hug. "Don't have any doubts, okay, Chief?" he asked, squeezing Blair tightly against him. "Not about us."

"I think I just really needed one of these right now."

"Yeah, me, too," Jim admitted, smiling. "I love you. Don't forget that."

"I won't. Not ever. I love you, too."

Jim released his hold and kissed Blair's forehead.

"I hear voices. We're going to have company soon."

"I'm sorry I made such a big deal out of the Vice thing. It's okay. I really don't mind that they don't include me in things--I wouldn't expect that. I was just worried that maybe I was stopping you from doing things you liked to do."

"Let me clue you in on something, Chief." Jim took Blair's hand in both of his. "When you were lying next to that fountain, I was real close to having this freedom you seem to think I want. Those minutes when you weren't breathing, when they pulled me off you, when the paramedics were shaking their heads and giving up...those were the worst minutes of my life. I don't ever want to be 'free' of you--do you understand me?"

"Yeah, I think I'm starting to," Blair said, smiling slightly and brushing past his eyes with his free hand.

"Good. It's been a long night. Let's go home, get a couple hours' sleep, and then tackle this stuff again, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm really wasted."

As a few cops straggled into the bullpen, Jim and Blair grabbed their coats and made their way toward the truck. Counting on their close proximity and coat sleeves to block the security cameras' prying eyes, Jim indulged in walking hand in hand with Blair through most of the deserted parking garage until they got into the truck and headed for home.

* * *

 A deep, dreamless sleep was a hard-won commodity, and something Blair was loathe to surrender. But something else was intruding now, something even better. It was hot, wet and velvety, and it had taken a keen interest in his left nipple. Smiling, he opened one eye and looked down at Jim, who continued to suck at the little nub. Groaning, Blair lazily raised an arm up to stroke the soft brown hair while Jim's tongue did more of its devilish business. Apparently content his job was done on the left side, Jim kissed his way to the right side and went to work there, smiling as Blair squirmed and moaned in pleasure at the stimulation. Moving his mouth, he looked up at his lover.

"'Morning."

"Oh, God," Blair gasped, trying to move his chest in the direction of Jim's mouth.

"That's the first time I've been called 'God'." Jim kissed Blair's mouth soundly. "I'll have to make a note of that nipple thing."

"You're a real smart ass, Ellison."

Jim just grinned evilly in response to that and began trailing kisses to Blair's navel, where he swirled his tongue and then continued lower, nuzzling the moist heat of Blair's groin. In a gesture that surprised him as much as it did Blair, he took most of the thick cock into his mouth, wrapping his hand around the base. His other hand rolled and fondled the velvety sacs below.

Blair called out Jim's name, holding onto the sheets and willing himself not to thrust too hard into Jim's mouth. Jim had managed to take it easy on him when he was inside Blair's body, and Blair wanted to be no less considerate as Jim made his first attempt at giving what was turning out to be one of the best blow jobs Blair had ever experienced. Wishing it wouldn't end, but relishing the building climax, Blair let out another loud shout as his body spasmed and he came, Jim working hard at swallowing all he had to give.

"Oh, yeah," Blair gasped, still breathing heavily. Realizing that Jim was probably still hard as a rock and not relieved yet, Blair pulled his knees up, exposing his center. He was still a little tender, but he trusted Jim to take it easy, and judging by the raw lust in the other man's eyes in the moment before he caught himself, it was just what Jim really wanted.

"Still sore?" he asked, stroking the undersides of Blair's thighs.

"I'll be okay if you take it slow and easy. I want it," he said, meaning it sincerely, but primarily because he knew how badly Jim wanted it. And Blair wanted that magical moment of watching Jim lose it, of seeing his face this time as he came, pumping in and out of his body.

Willing himself to relax, he watched while Jim found the lube, and after squeezing some on his finger, began slowly working it up into the tight little hole. Blair realized he was a bit sore, but Jim's finger felt incredibly, intensely stimulating as it stretched and coated the sensitive tissue. Blair could feel his body working hard at starting another erection, and he pulled his knees back further, hoping Jim would probe deeper, and find the little knob that would have him shrieking in pleasure, losing all remaining shreds of dignity.

But Jim was relaxing into a long, slow rub, and Blair had a feeling he'd be begging for it before he actually got it. Finally, one finger slid out and was replaced by two. Muscles protested a bit and Blair groaned slightly. Jim froze.

"It's okay. Just my muscles complaining a little. Do not listen to them," Blair said firmly, and Jim chuckled. "They just got overruled, man," Blair managed, wiggling his ass to increase the stretching.

"Relax, baby. Gonna find your little hot button and make you scream," Jim growled in a low voice. He began pumping Blair's slightly hardening cock, and at the same moment found the little knob that made Blair scream out Jim's name. The second stroke made him cry out something incoherent as his head thrashed back on the bed.

"Bet it still remembers what it got night before last, huh?" Jim teased, rubbing over it again. Blair cried out again and bore down on the fingers, shamelessly seeking more intense stimulation. Jim removed the two fingers and came back with three now, stretching the little opening more. It was a bit uncomfortable at first, but as soon as Jim found Blair's prostate again, Blair forgot discomfort and grabbed the railing over his head, squeezing the metal and screaming out at the intensity of the sensation.

"Jim...now..."

"Shhh... Relax, sweetheart. Want you nice and ready for me. You ready for me yet?"

"Yes!" Blair shouted, writhing as Jim's finger rubbed firmly over his prostate again. Finally convinced that it was time, Jim coated his own hard shaft and guided it to the entrance. Moving up over Blair, between the spread thighs, Jim slid slowly but steadily into the tight heat until they were joined, freezing there and letting Blair adjust.

Blair's muscles weren't sure if they were pleased or offended by the intrusion, but his cock and the rest of his body knew the answer.

"Move, lover. Give it to me," Blair grunted as the first stroke was delivered at the same time as his words. With his heightened senses, Blair imagined Jim could tell when his body was adjusted, and when it was safe to move. He was pumping in and out steadily now, keeping the strokes gentle enough not to injure, but firm enough to keep Blair groaning out his pleasure with each one. This time, the tentativeness of the first time was gone, and he was letting himself go, enjoying the sex as well as the intimacy. Clutching at the railing above his head, Blair started rocking his own hips faster, meeting Jim's thrusts. "Oh, yeah, fuck me... ooooh...ooohhhhh...ugh...ugh..."

The litany of nonsensical grunts of pleasure continued as Jim kept up the firm, rhythmic pace, finally angling his strokes to start nailing Blair's prostate in earnest.

"So good, baby...yeah...uh, yeah...God, you're good...so tight..." Jim gasped, wrapping his hand around Blair's cock, pumping it firmly in time with his thrusts.

Unable to stand the intensity of the workout his prostate was getting, Blair screamed out Jim's name as his body began shuddering, working its way to climax. Obviously knowing he had Blair at the point of no return, Jim picked up his pace, jerking his hips back and forth in a rhythm that pushed Blair over the edge until he was shouting again, calling out Jim's name, begging for it harder and faster. Finally, Blair felt his muscles clamp down around Jim's cock, and his cock was pulsing, shooting its load over Jim's chest, belly and hand. He could feel things getting slicker and wetter inside himself as Jim came, with a few strangled cries of his own.

"God, you're beautiful," Jim gasped, bracing himself on his hands on either side of Blair's body, his cock still buried deeply in the wet heat of Blair's ass.

"Mmmm..." Blair purred, faintly annoyed with himself for not coming up with something more eloquent. But right now he was savoring the sweet soreness in his ass, and the hot, hard invader that was still lurking in there, though softening now.

"I'm moving now, baby." Jim slid out carefully, then lowered himself gently over Blair, claiming his mouth in a long, fiery kiss as Blair's legs wrapped around Jim's hips, pulling him close. "Everything okay?"

"I probably won't sit down until Spring, but it felt great, man," Blair said, grinning up at Jim.

"You're sure about that?"

"Positive."

"I love you."

"I love you, too. I wish we could stay in bed all day," Blair whispered, stroking Jim's cheek with a single finger.

"We can stay here a couple more hours." Jim kissed Blair again, longer and deeper this time. "There's nothing like being in you, baby. God, it feels...incredible."

"Sleep?" Blair suggested. Jim smiled at that and moved off Blair so they could get settled in for a nap. Spooning around the smaller body, Jim kissed Blair's shoulder and squeezed him tightly.

"When this is over, we'll go somewhere and have some time for us."

"Somewhere secluded with a good bed," Blair added.

"Where have you been all my life?" Jim quipped, chortling and kissing Blair's ear before they dozed off to sleep.

 * * *

 Jim stirred, then smiled, soaking up the sensation of being wrapped around a warm, slightly damp, sleeping Blair. His sated cock was nestled contentedly against the cleft of the firm, perfect ass he had claimed so passionately a few hours ago. He hoped he'd managed to take it easy enough on Blair not to hurt him. Making love this way again so soon probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but when he'd been so hot for Blair, and there he was, legs spread wide with invitation, it would have taken more willpower than Jim ever recalled possessing not to accept the offer.

After what he'd seen at that house, there had been more to their union than sex. Blair would never really know how horrific the mental imagery had been. In that instant, if Blair had not been safe and sound in the truck, Jim would have believed it was his lover lying there murdered. The unfortunate young man's hair was partially across his face, and from a distance, it could have just as easily been Blair.

Coming home and making love, sinking to the hilt inside the warm, slick passage, feeling Blair's responses, his heartbeat, his life force... The sex was magnificent, but the reaffirmation of Blair's life and presence had been equally vital.

Now reality was intruding again, and Jim knew he had to wake Blair from his sound sleep and get them both moving. He spotted a dark passion mark on Blair's neck, and decided that was as good a place as any to start. Leaning forward, he licked over the spot, and soon found himself licking the sweet, salty skin of Blair's neck and shoulder, not unlike a big panther tending to its mate. Blair wiggled a little, then finally twitched a bit, then came to, chuckling.

"Hungry?" he teased.

Jim smiled and kept up his tongue work, pausing only to ask, "Feeling okay, sweetheart?"

"I was until I moved," Blair responded, still grinning as he shifted his legs a bit. "I'll be okay. You were careful."

"Not careful enough. It was too soon."

"Yeah, you really twisted my arm, man. I wanted it probably worse than you did."

"Not possible," Jim concluded, chuckling a little himself and hugging Blair close.

"We both wanted it, we enjoyed it, and there's nothing wrong with me beyond my butt being a little sore. I can live with that."

"Come here." Jim encouraged Blair to turn, and he did, until the two of them were nose to nose. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Blair smiled and initiated the first of many kisses.

"We have to go back to work."

"I know. I have a class this afternoon, and a departmental meeting I have to go to. I can be back at the PD by dinner time." It was already noon, since their rest hadn't even started until early morning.

"Okay." Jim moved both hands down to cup Blair's buttocks, squeezing gently. "This afternoon, while you're in that meeting, shifting around on those hard chairs," Jim paused, letting a finger stray to dance over the slightly inflamed pucker, "remember this morning."

"Mmmmm..." Blair responded eloquently, moving his pelvis against Jim's.

"That's good, baby," Jim encouraged, returning the motion. Before long, they were humping together wildly, Jim still holding onto Blair's ass with both hands, squeezing and rubbing, while Blair's hands roamed somewhat frantically over the entire surface of Jim's body that he could reach. Their mouths covered each other in awkward kisses until they broke apart to cry out, sharing a climax that was almost simultaneous.

"Shower," Blair muttered against Jim's chest.

"A hot one with lots of soap." Jim sniffed the air, and Blair laughed.

"We'll have to get really, really clean...everywhere," he added, still grinning evilly.

"Come on, Chief. Time to rise and shine." Jim got up and held a hand out to Blair, who took it with a groan that got a bit louder when he sat up. With a determined push, he was on his feet and they made their way downstairs. After sharing a very thorough shower, both men got dressed and moved about the kitchen, snacking out of the cupboards for what was a late lunch on the run.

"Are you going to get more details on that old case today?" Blair asked, eating left over pasta salad out of the container.

"That, and I'm also going to be looking for ritual murders--the thirteenth victim after the Seattle homicides--if we assumed he committed those murders to add on to the six from back in the Fifties."

"Man, I wish I could get somebody to cover this class. Hey, maybe I can."

"Chief--"

"No, I'd rather work on the case, and Rachel owes me one."

"Rachel?" Jim lifted an eyebrow.

"She's a T.A., Jim--a married T.A. We're just friends."

"That's fine. I didn't say anything," Jim defended.

"You didn't have to. I kind of like you jealous." Blair slid his arms around Jim's waist and rested his head against the broad back. "But you've got no reason to be. Nobody's any competition for you."

"Ditto, sweetheart," Jim turned around and took Blair in his arms. "Why go out for hamburger when you've got steak at home?" He patted Blair's butt.

"I'll see about getting Rachel to cover the class, and I'll tell the department chair I have to miss the meeting due to security reasons. With the press hanging around since Danny's mother leaked my name, they really don't like seeing me show up on campus, anyway."

"We're going to nail this bastard, Chief." Jim kissed the top of Blair's head and squeezed him tighter. "I won't let anything happen to you. You know that, right?"

"I know. I trust you." The words were simple, but the way Blair said them, they meant everything. His trust in Jim was so complete and so deep that even the threat of a serial mass murderer didn't seem like too big a threat for Jim to hold at bay--if he said he could.

 * * *

 "The fax just came in from the Seattle PD," Rhonda said, handing Jim a thick manila folder. "Looks like quite a case file."

"There was a homicide back in the Fifties that matches our current killer's M.O. It's worth checking out--see if we have a copy cat."

"By the way, Simon expects to be in by five--he didn't get out of here until noon. He said if you needed him, use his cell number."

"Thanks, Rhonda," Jim said, opening the file. He was relieved that Blair had made a quick trip to the restroom when he spread out the faxed copies of the crime scene photos. The similarity in the brutality and patterns of dismemberment were remarkably similar. When he opened the new case file and placed a couple of photos side-by-side, the placement of the bodies was almost identical. Hearing Blair approaching, Jim warned him, "I'm going through photos here, Chief."

"Find anything?" Blair said, sitting down and setting a 20-ounce plastic bottle of cola in front of Jim, and opening his own. He averted his eyes from the carnage depicted in the photos.

"There are some strong similarities in the dismemberment, and also in the placement of the bodies. There was one victim placed on a dining room table in the old case who was positioned almost exactly like Allan Masters was last night." Jim pulled out the arrest photo of the killer who was later shot while trying to escape. "Son of a..." He stared at it, shocked. The similarity to the composite of the man Blair saw was nothing short of frightening.

"What?"

"This is Warren Yates, the killer who committed the murders in 1952." He handed Blair the photo.

"No, wait...this is the man I saw. This can't be. I don't mean he looks like him. I mean this is the man I saw, Jim." Blair snatched the file from Jim, quickly scanning the information on Yates. He was a stereotypical serial killer, with a dark childhood background of abuse and neglect, an adolescence of committing various acts of violence against other children and small animals, and an adulthood characterized by solitude and sporadic outbursts of violence.

"It can't be. This guy would be an old man now. He certainly wouldn't look like this, and he wouldn't have the strength to pull off these more recent murders."

"Dammit, Jim, I know what I'm talking about!" Blair's raised voice attracted the attention of the other detectives, and Rhonda, who looked up from her computer, startled. "This is the guy. It's not someone who looks like him. It's him!"

"Okay, Chief, just chill out. Maybe it's a father-son thing. Once in a while, you get a father and son who are nearly identical--"

"It's in the eyes, man," Blair said, his voice lower now. "It's the same guy."

"If it'll make you feel better, we'll compare the prints they have on record with the prints we found at the house that didn't match the victims. You said this guy wasn't wearing gloves, so he had to have touched something." Jim picked up the phone to call Forensics. "You do understand that there's no way that it could be the same man, don't you?"

"I know what I saw, and I know what I...felt when I looked into his eyes. And I felt that same thing when I looked at this photo. I know you think I'm nuts, and I don't know how this is possible, but I know that I'm right."

"Yeah, Serena, it's Jim. I'm going to bring some prints down. I need somebody down there to run a check on them against the prints found at either of the two recent murder scenes." Jim paused, listening. "Definitely top priority." Another pause. "We'll be right down." Jim hung up the phone and stood, gathering up the old file. "Let's go, Chief."

Serena studied the prints on the sheet in front of her. Squinting, she moved a little closer to it.

"I can give you an unofficial comparison, but in order for this to hold up or be certain, I'd need to see the original print card. This is probably a copy that's been faxed, and the quality isn't that spectacular," she concluded, holding a magnifying glass between herself and the paper.

"Official can come later. We just need to know if we're on the right track with something."

"Well, hang on a minute, then." Serena retrieved the samples from the frat house where Blair had narrowly escaped death. "These are the unidentified prints." She inspected the samples, comparing them against the set of prints Jim had presented her. "This one." She laid the two side by side. "We found these prints on the back door, the railing leading upstairs, and on the telephone in the utility room in the basement. They look like a match. If you get me a better copy of these, I can confirm it officially."

"This can't be." Jim let out an uneasy little laugh that sounded sickly at best. "This guy is dead."

"I don't get it," Serena challenged. "You wanted me to check prints on a dead guy as a suspect?" She rolled her eyes. "Well, whatever games you're playing with this, I already told you that I could be mistaken. Apparently, I'm missing something because of the poor quality of the copy."

"But you don't think you're wrong, do you?" Blair probed.

"I'm very surprised, but I have to be wrong. Dead men don't commit multiple homicides."

"This one did. Jim, I'm telling you--"

"Give it a rest, Chief."

"Give it a rest?!" Blair demanded angrily. "You've got proof, man. What else are you waiting for here? It's bad enough you won't believe me, but now you're going to question Serena's expertise?"

"I'm not questioning it. She said herself she wasn't sure--"

"You're really reaching here, man. You wanted proof, and now you've got that, and you still won't believe me."

"This isn't about believing you, Blair. I do believe that you saw someone who looked enough like Warren Yates that when you saw his photo, you thought it was him. I'm not calling you a liar. I don't even think you're wrong in your I.D.--it's just that it actually being this particular man is impossible. So it has to be someone similar enough to convince someone who has just witnessed an axe murder and is hiding in fear of his own life that it's Yates."

"I was scared, yeah, that's true. But there was nothing wrong with my I.D. I know who I saw."

"When I got there, you weren't wearing your glasses, Chief."

"I don't believe this. Jim--I know who I saw!"

"Let me get this straight. You identified a dead man as the killer?" Serena asked, finally interrupting the bickering between the two men.

"This guy named Warren Yates committed a very similar crime back in 1952, in Seattle. I'll want you to take a look at that case file--even the positioning of one of the corpses is almost identical. He was shot and killed while trying to escape from custody. Now my theory is that maybe this is some sort of copy cat."

"Given the possibility of a cult being involved, and the Satanic symbolism, it wouldn't surprise me. Maybe this Yates character is some kind of...idol to these people. Even Charles Manson has fans," Serena added, shaking her head. "Were there any occult symbols left at the old homicide?"

"A pentagram and an inverted cross, just like the second homicide here."

"Then that makes perfect sense, Blair," Serena stated. "Someone who idolizes this nut is using his M.O. to commit new murders."

"How much information out of this file went public, that's what I wanna know," Blair said. "Just like with our cases, we don't tell the papers everything."

"It wouldn't have to be in the paper. It could be word-of-mouth, it could have been something the killer confided to one of his cohorts before he was caught. There are a lot of ways that a recent killing could parallel an old one without it being the same guy, Chief. Look, I'm not trying to discredit your I.D. I just think we have to stick with logic here."

"Since when is this kind of killing logical? Some lunatic who hacks people to death with an axe isn't logical!" Blair shouted, drawing the attention of a few other lab technicians. Seemingly frustrated with the disagreement, as well as his own outburst, Blair turned and rushed out of the room.

"Get me a good copy of these prints, Jim. Maybe if I can give a firm answer on this, it'll help."

"Thanks, Serena. I'll do that as soon as possible."

 * * *