Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Goblin King Killer

By MightyMightyMunson

Litha - Part 1

Friday, June 21, 2002

4:55 PM EDT

New York City

Central Park

It was late in the New York afternoon, when the two police officers finally made their way towards Central Park and an unplanned and frankly unwanted rendezvous. Though only half way through the month of June, it was unseasonably hot and humid, the heat creating micro illusions on the piping hot street asphalt as bright yellow taxi cabs honked and weaved through thick afternoon traffic. It was so busy that those on foot or bike were making better headway, but without the benefit of AC.

The unmatched pair stopped at a hotdog vendor and waited in line for a dog with plenty of onions, relish and hot, yellow mustard. Ketchup, being for heathens, was not asked for, nor offered to the plainclothes detectives. Cans of ice-cold Coke were also purchased. While both men had been planning on an evening meal of freshly caught fish and a couple of cold brews, this was all they were getting for their repast and neither of them were really happy about it.

The unhappiest of the pair was tall and lanky, six and a half feet of wiriness and lean muscle. Several years past middle age, the senior profiler for the New York City Police Department was still in good shape and sported an unruly shock of ramrod straight salt and pepper hair that had been only half-tamed via a tight crew cut, a hold over from his academy days decades prior. His hooded, slate blue eyes were bright and piercing, his slightly beaked nose and chin sharp and jutting from a rather sunburned face. Never really enjoying his hot dog, rather wolfing it up while he carefully watched the passers by, the lean detective was sporting a rather battered looking fishing hat and a dark scowl that made the already severe looking man downright intimidating.

If detective Jerry Kowalski was all sharp angles and lines, his best friend and partner of 15 years, Maurice Cadet, was a short man, barely five feet eight inches, and stocky - the bright, tropical flowers and palm trees on his slightly too-small Hawaiian shirt revealing a slightly softer and certainly more approachable physique. Laughing and jovial, whether with the hotdog vendor or any tourists who meandered by him, the profiling specialist had a round midsection and broad shoulders. Despite having gained a few pounds since getting promoted to a desk job, there was still muscle there. His job was a dangerous one and being able to run and outrun people was important.

Motioning towards the Metropolitan Museum of Art, munching on his dog and telling his partner about one of the recent exhibits that he'd taken his grandchildren to, Cadet was affable despite the disappointments of a day gone sideways. It was the matter and the source (or rather the person) of the disappointment that was top of mind and in-between bites of hotdog and swigs of icy Coke, the detective was trying to turn his partner's attention away from a lost fishing trip and towards the possibilities of something better.

"Pay up sucker," Detective Cadet laughed deeply, motioning towards his partner with his free hand, a half-eaten hotdog balancing precariously in the other as the two police officers crossed the street and headed into one of the entrances of Central Park. As both men transitioned from a humid concrete jungle into one that was leafy and green, they looked around the park. The hot, humid air was filled with the sounds of mostly happy, universally sweaty people seeking soaking up the sun that wove and danced through the thick canopy of oaks, birch and maple trees.

"Jesus Christ! I should have known better than to bet against you," Detective Jerry Kowalski groused grumpily, fishing into his pocket for his wallet. His hotdog was gone and thanks to an impulsive wager in last night's Yankees / Padres baseball game, so was the rest of his beer money. His wife was going to give him shit until payday once she found out he'd been betting again. "C'mon, Partner, you've got to stop holding out on me. How are you doin' it? At this rate, you're gonna be able to retire on the betting pool alone."

A twenty was fished out and was sourly handed to the victor.

"Thanks, Pal." Cadet popped the rest of the hotdog into his mouth and waved the wrinkled twenty dollar bill in his partner's face before slipping the monkey into a Star Wars wallet that his grandson had gotten him for Christmas, "and for the record, you should watch your blasphemous mouth. Our dear Lord and Savior had nothing to do with my streak of luck," the older officer's mouth lit up into a triumphant smile, his dark Haitian complexion striking against his even white teeth, "my recent good fortune has everything to do with my temporary partner in crime, I'll have you know."

Kowalski stopped in his tracks, "No fuckin' way." He looked at his friend and partner of nearly fifteen years, wondering if more shenanigans were afoot. His already scowling lips twisted into a lopsided , disbelieving scowl. "Williams? She's been your ace in the hole?"

"Guilty as charged, your honor. Screw my 401K, Williams is gonna help me make it to the major leagues," Cadet laughed again, the rich baritone warm and welcoming, "I don't know how she does it, but the results speak for themselves, as does the fact she doesn't even ask for a cut." He nodded at the taller man and wondered if this tidbit might help and begin to loosen up whatever stick had firmly embedded itself up his friend's ass when it came to the field agent he'd been assigned to partner with for the last several months, "look, Jerry, we're both bummed about getting called back here, but Williams wouldn't have reached out unless she had a damn good reason to. Besides, who knows, you play your cards right, she might even let you in on her betting pool secrets. "

At the rate Cadet was raking in money from his gambling prone partner, getting his pal a cut of the action wouldn't be a bad thing at all.

The other officer scowled, annoyed at himself and the fact that the agent he'd been bitching about since getting a phone call and turning around from their long-planned fishing trip was apparently responsible for his friend's unbelievable winning streak. To make matters more annoying, he'd already pegged the woman as an icy, one trick pony. Cadets' confession suggested that profiler from Quantico might be more than one dimensional, throwing a curve ball towards his set opinion, a possibility that he didn't find appealing. He was the best profiler in the precinct and being wrong wasn't something he was fond of.

"I don't know," Kowalski shoved his wallet into his dark gray khaki cargo shorts, then began to walk, his long, lanky strides making it hard for his former partner to keep up with him, "she's still a pain in the ass AND made us miss our fishing trip!"

"That she is and that she did," Cadet agreed easily as he tossed the hot dog foil wrapper into a garbage bin, "she's also one hell of a profiler and has a good head on her shoulders." He bent down and picked up some litter that hadn't made it into the garbage, then hurried to catch up to Kowalski. What the 55 year old cop lacked in height, he made up for in muscle that even his fondness for hotdogs and beignets couldn't put a dent in and he was able to close the distance quickly.

"She's helped us close some cold cases that we'd given up on years ago."

"Whatever, Maurice. I still don't like her style," Kowalski shrugged dismissively as he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and lit up, never bothering to stop. He scanned the area carefully, his lean, almost lupine expression taking note of anyone or anything that stood out from the crowds of people, "FBI or not, she still didn't need to alienate the entire precinct. When it comes to catching bad guys, we're all still on the same team."

Special Agent Sarah Williams didn't burn bridges. She blew them up and with the singular exception of her partner, the woman had managed to piss off the entire Bureau of Criminal Investigation of the NYPD in less than eight months. The only thing keeping her from being sent straight back to Quantitco was her performance record. That he couldn't even find fault in.

"For Hell's sake, she could at least try and get along with us." At first the precinct where they all worked had tried to make the green-eyed, prickly woman feel welcome - she'd been invited to bars after shift, encouraged to take part in good-natured ribbing and even had been offered her fair share of coffee and donuts. Nothing had taken and all efforts at extending the hand of friendship, whether personal or professional, had been coldly rebuffed.

Cadet sighed and looked around the verdant part of the park they were walking through. His brown eyes hovered on the sun bathers, frisbee throwers and power walkers while his mind mulled about his partner's comment. It was the hottest day of the year so far, people were just getting off work and the park was already jam packed with tourists and locals alike. Everyone was looking to beat the heat and have a good weekend the best they knew how.

"It's a front, Jerry. Plain and simple."

Cadet wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and continued walking towards the agreed upon rendezvous point that Agent Williams had left in her voicemail, heading North in an easy going meander, ignoring his partner's pithy retort to the contrary. "Sure, she's built one hell of a wall up."

His smile faded as his thoughts centered on the personnel file he'd poured over when he'd been first assigned to partner with the FBI Agent. Struggling to find any sort of common ground with the difficult, sharp tongued woman, he'd looked for anything - a clue, a hint, as to why she was so unapproachable. He'd found his answers and so much more in the benign looking, thick manila envelope, that to his surprise and sorrow held so much suffering for someone who was only a year younger than his eldest daughter.

"Can't say I blame her though," his voice became soft, almost paternal and protective, "not after what she's been through."

Kowalski frowned, "I…heard about that. You know…that she was the one. Wasn't sure how much of the rumor mill was real and how much was just bullshitting." The officer ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, "seems impossible that a girl and her kid brother were the only ones left standing after…."

The rest didn't need explanation. Everyone who'd been on part of the NYPD during the Winter of 89 had a particular December night seared into their memories. A rash of killings, right before Christmas, each more savage than the next had culminated in a night of carnage that had left a prominent New York businessman and his wife, along with several neighbors and a hapless doorman dead, along with ten of New York's finest, who had tried and failed to intercept and arrest the killer.

In the aftermath, three floors of an apartment building in the Upper West Side had been completely destroyed. The only survivors were a three year old boy, seriously wounded and rendered non-verbal for several years, and a nineteen year old girl, nearly killed and so traumatized by the events she was unable to even recall what had happened or give evidence as to the nature of the killer.

"You've seen what violent crime can do to people, especially kids," Cadet sighed, a lifetime's worth of work as a police investigator giving him far too many examples of trauma, "the fact she's not insane or has off'd herself speaks volumes."

He thought of the spreadsheet Agent Williams had sent him, with all sorts of tabs and highlighted cells and whatnot, each tab showing the statistical likelihood of which team would win at various events. He'd not asked for it, he'd just had mentioned in a very one-sided conversation with his new partner that he was having shitty luck with the precinct game pool and wished for once that he might choose the right team. A few days later, an email in his inbox contained the file along with the simple message of "You don't need luck. You need this."

An unlikely, and sometimes lopsided, partnership of sorts had resulted.

"So do me a favor, Jerry, and cut the woman some slack," Cadet suggested, turning the corner towards the location that he'd agreed to meet Agent Williams at to discuss the ongoing case of what had been dubbed by a growingly hysterical media as the "Goblin King Killer". Of course, he didn't refer to the serial killer in such a manner when his partner was around. For some reason, the very term "Goblin King" sent the FBI Agent around the bend and rendered her truly angry, a state he tried to prevent at all costs, both for his sake and anyone within shooting distance.

"If I do, do you think she'll share her secret sauce and let me in on how she predicts the games?"

"Don't hold your breath," a steely voice sliced evenly through Kowalski's hopes for precinct betting pool glory and the conversation.

Both officers looked up at once. Emerging from behind a bend in the trees, a dark haired woman was waking quickly towards them. Glaring at both of them, her pale lips were pressed into an unbecoming scowl. She was a little taller than the average woman and was thin, any hint of softness hidden beneath a tailored black jacket, trousers and a plain white, perfectly tucked in oxford. Her pace was quick, her stride almost militaristic and in a few moments, she was standing in front of them.

"You're late and please don't tell me it was because of traffic," she sniffed slightly and shook her head, "you both have hotdog breath."

Agent Williams was wearing dark, sensible black leather shoes and carried a black leather satchel, knuckling the strap so hard that her slender fingers were bloodless. In her other hand, she held a large manila binder against her chest. Her long hair was captured in a tight, braided bun and her face was devoid of anything but annoyance mixed with a familiar sense of urgency.

"Look, Williams, you should be glad we're even here at all so cut with the attitude," Kowalski said warningly, ``Maurice and I were on vacation, so we're doing you a favor, got it?"

Sarah Williams glanced at her partner, green eyes hard and flat. "You told him." The accusation, while evenly spoken, held an undercurrent of disappointment and hurt that made Cadet inwardly wince. She stared balefully at both men for a second, then turned sharply on her heel and began walking rapidly away towards the location that she'd specified in her voicemail, hugging the files she was holding against her chest like they were some sort of ballistic armor.

"Williams, wait up!" Cadet called, cursing under his breath. A well-intentioned attempt at painting his partner in a better light had just backfired. Badly.

(I've got to make things up to her…)

"Hey now, don't get your panties in a twist," Kowalski began, then grimaced and nearly tripped over his own shoes as the FBI agent shot him a murderous look that could peel the paint off the left side of a barn. "We were just talking about the case!"

Sarah didn't even bother to respond to the lie. She was furious, mostly at herself for making the mistake of getting involved in anything outside of the tightly controlled world she'd carved out for herself.

"Agent Williams, you said you had an update on the case," Cadet tried again, jabbing Kowalski sharply in the ribs and giving him a look to SHUT UP, "one that was urgent."

Sarah stopped in her tracks, gritting her teeth in annoyance and hugging the file folders tighter against her stupid, aching heart. She wanted to leave both men, one a clear and present traitor, damn him, well behind and get back to her office. Cadet's bringing up the case prevented that hasty exit because what she'd found was urgent and could not wait for Monday to roll around.

"Agent Williams?" Cadet finally made it to his partner and reached for her shoulder, then thought better of it and let his hand drop before he really did something so stupid that he couldn't fix it whatever hint of a friendship they had fashioned and ended up with a broken wrist and his teeth replaced with dentures.

For a moment, Sarah said nothing, settling on a glare aimed at both men that she hoped was withering.

"What did you need to tell me?" Cadet pressed again quietly, forcing his tone to be as professional as he knew hers would be once she settled down. Apologies would have to come later, if she would allow them to come at all. "And why did it need to be today and at Central Park?" He didn't have many days off and he and Jerry's fishing trip had been planned for months. Still, he trusted the FBI agent's instincts to stop what he was doing and haul ass back to the city, dragging his pissed off friend with him.

"Because it's going to happen today, here at the park, before the sun goes down," Sarah's reply was to the point, "I've been trying to get someone…anyone at the precinct to listen to me all day. We only have a few hours before another attack occurs."

She motioned towards the thick file folder she'd brought along with her, "This morning, I found the data gap that we've been looking for." She cracked the folder open, balancing it in the cook of her arm and pulled out a printed document and offered it to the two detectives, "we finally have a profile we can work with."

"Impossible," Kowalski shook his head emphatically, exhaling a plume of gray smoke. Exasperated with the stubbornness of the other profiler, he ran his free hand through his hair, "there isn't a pattern with the Goblin King Killer because the bastard doesn't have one. He's a textbook DO. We've been over this a hundred times, Williams."

"How many times do I need to tell you not to call him that?" Sarah angrily slammed the file folder shut, going toe to toe with the senior detective, glaring hotly up at him while her nose wrinkled from the cigarette smoke, "giving a serial killer "imaginary" attributes and "supernatural" powers," she made impossibly sarcastic air quotes with her fingers, "only encourages them and that, Kowalski, is the last thing we need right now."

"Quit talking down to me, Williams." Kowalski growled, taking a drag of his cigarette, "I've been doing this longer than you've had a driver's license."

"Elevate your IQ above ground level and I won't have to," Sarah shot back caustically, coughing slightly when the taller man exhaled in her face. "The only monsters in this world are human beings and that's more than enough."

"Oh, and you'd know that, huh?" Kowalski sneered as he tossed his cigarette to the sidewalk and ground it angrily beneath his heel, "better than any of the rest of us?"

"Yes, I would!" Sarah shouted, no longer bothering to keep their argument quiet. She felt anger surging through her, her white hot temper threatening to ignite and fought down the urge to smack the tall detective over the head with her research file. She'd been met with a similar response at the precinct - disbelief, contempt and worst of all, condescension. "People are going to DIE, dammit!"

Everyone around them froze. A young woman dropped an ice cream cone that fell sweet side down on the sizzling sidewalk and instantly began to melt.

"Both of you ease up. Right now. " Cadet said firmly and stepped between his past and present partners, "we're attracting attention." He pulled the two arguing profilers away from the center sidewalk and under the shade of some large oak trees and prayed for patience with the both of them.

"Why won't you listen to me?" Sarah said to Kowalski through gritted teeth, looking as if she was about to come to blows.

"Because you're wrong," Kowalski wasn't far behind her, "look, I don't care about your fancy FBI training. The facts are…"

"The facts are about to bite you in the ass," Sarah said flatly as she slapped the large manila folder with several colored bookmarks into Cadet's hands. "By sundown, we will have a serious situation to contend with. She looked at her watch and held it up. "It's currently 5:15 PM".

Knowing that Kowalski was a lost cause, she turned to her assigned partner, "You've got to believe me," she said, urgency bleeding into her tone, "I wouldn't have asked you to come back…to miss your fishing trip unless I was absolutely sure that this was going down."

"Agent Williams, I believe that you had a reason to call me and I trust your instincts," Cadet held up a warning hand before either Williams or Kowalski could interrupt him, "but to say you've calculated not only the time but also the location of an attack from a Disorganized Offender is exceptionally unlikely."

This was not how profiling worked. A strange alchemy of art, psychology and science, this branch of criminal justice was still in its infancy and time and time again, even the best profilers had been proven wrong, sometimes to disastrous consequences. He looked carefully at the younger woman, hidden from the harsh, late afternoon sunlight by tree shadow, he could see that she was exhausted, the shadows under her green eyes more pronounced. While she had seen terrible things in her life and was by the nature of her profession no stranger to the savagery of serial killers she was, at the end of things, still early in her career.

"He's not a Disorganized Offender!" Sarah threw up her hands, struggling to keep her voice down, 'My God, it's like I'm talking to a couple of broken records! This serial is an Organized Offender, one of the most methodical one's I've ever seen."

"And you've seen, what…five?" Ignoring his former partner's look to do the contrary, Kowalski couldn't keep quiet, "No, this is bullshit, Maurice, and you know it! There's always been plenty of forensic evidence, disjointed patterning, no logic to the time or space of the killings, proof of sudden and overwhelming assaults and the bodies left where the victims have been killed. If that's not textbook DO, I don't know what is."

Like Jack the Ripper, one of the first documented disorganized serial killers, the "Goblin King Killer" of New York City had always seemed to materialize as a nightmare, with no rhyme or reason to his brutality.

An entrepreneurial, but slightly clueless Gyro cart vendor sauntered towards the bickering trio, then caught the topic of discussion and veered quickly away, face pale. The blinking "Hot and Fresh" neon lights of his cart quickly disappeared towards more friendly people and polite conversations.

"The attacks are not as randomized as they seem, nor have the killings been occurring for only eight months." Sarah said emphatically, crossing her arms tightly across her chest rather than continuing to pick at her fingers, a nervous habit she'd acquired over the years, "He's also not working alone. He has a team - two or perhaps three others are helping him, though this is a recent development."

"We've got months of computer data backing me on this, Williams. No patterns. No partners. No premeditation," Kowalski shook his head, "you know what happens if we call for an evacuation of Central Fuckin' Park on a Friday night and nothing happens?" Unlike the brash FBI agent, Kowalski knew the politics of profiling and that one wrong call, especially of this magnitude, would wash someone out. "We all get shit canned and then no one's gonna be able to stop the bastard. We'll all be back at square one."

He squirmed slightly, then offered what he felt was a sizable olive branch, "you've got good skills, Williams, don't get me wrong. You're just off the mark on this."

Sarah felt vulnerable and she hated it. While Kowalski's response wasn't at all surprising, she'd extended the hand of Excel sheet friendship to Cadet and he'd gone and blabbed about it to his old partner. The sense of betrayal still stung. If the situation were not so dire, she'd wash her hands of the both of them and to hell with the consequences.

(If I don't get someone to help me, everything is going to go to hell…)

It was this knowledge that forced Sarah to swallow her pride and go for broke.

"Detective Cadet...Maurice…" she stumbled over the man's first name for the first time since meeting him, struggling with the familiarity and all that it stood for in her eyes, "please…look at the data. I don't have anywhere else to turn and we are literally running out of time."

Moments passed in the shade beneath the oak trees as the three person stand-off continued.

"I'll look at the data, Agent Williams," Cadet said after carefully considering the request, he gave the agent a warm smile, knowing that her request had not come easily. He'd never heard the woman refer to anyone in the familiar sense with the exception of her younger brother. She was putting herself on the line, both professionally and personally for this and the least he could do was meet her half way, "we both will." He'd done her wrong by sharing things that he shouldn't have, and hopefully this would help make up for that oversight.

"Hey, I never agreed to…" Kowalski began to argue, then took a look at his friend's face and sighed.

"Fine. I'll take a look."

(Not that it will matter…)

Friday, June 21, 2002

6:48 PM EDT

New York City

Central Park

Delacorte Theater

As with many things in New York City, the New York Shakespeare Festival had begun with a nasty fight and ended with something beautiful. In this case, the fight had been over grass erosion and whether or not a group of actors led by Joseph Papp should be charging fees for their performances and ended up with the Delacorte Theater. Since 1954, a series of Shakespeare workshops and plays had been presented, free to the public and to wide acclaim.

Falling in the shadow of the gray stoned Belvedere Castle, the modern, open-air theater had seating for 1,800 and skirted the edges of Turtle Pond, a beautiful little man made lake filled with fish and other aquatic creatures. Large lily pads and beautiful blue, white, and purple lotus blossoms covered the water's surface that occasionally rippled as one of the resident turtles swam underneath or a soft, summer breeze passed above. Wooden bridges and rambling walkways were built around the water allowing passers by to lose themselves in nature. Surrounding the theater were stately trees that rather than being savaged by the construction had been spared. It was agreed upon, both by tourists and locals alike, that the pond and theater was one of the most beautiful parts of Central Park.

It was under one of these trees that Adyota Grian came upon a black haired woman in a black Calvin Klein suit sitting all by herself on the grass, half hidden in the lengthening shadows of pre-twilight. It was the golden hour and the park was bathed in warm, fiery light that lit everything up beautifully.

He was back from dinner early and a mixture of boredom and natural curiosity made him set aside the natural wariness of a native New Yorker and gingerly approach the woman, whose knees were up against her chest and head down, a picture of dejection. The young man looked left, then right, then carefully looked over his shoulder, a sly smile forming.

(She looks frightened and angry and absolutely miserable…)

Not sure if she was crying, sleeping or something in-between the young man sauntered up beside her and spoke, fishing out an unopened bottle of Snapple Kiwi and offering it to the stranger.

"You okay?"

Sarah jumped at the sound of a man's voice and looked up. Half backlit by the late afternoon sun, she was able to make out that he was young and slim, no more than in his early twenties, handsome, with ink black hair that ran in riotous curls down the back of his neck and twinkling golden eyes that were slightly crinkled up in a warm smile. His flawless skin was the shade of dark Chai Tea and his lilting accent sounded vaguely like he was from London or thereabouts. He was wearing a faded Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt, cut-off denim jeans and flip flops, a study in effortlessly looking like he'd spent hours getting ready to go nowhere.

It wasn't fair.

"What do you want?" she asked without pretense, in no mood for small talk.

Adyota blinked at the bluntness of the question, then gave the slender woman a quiet laugh as he put the cold drink down beside her, sat down and took her features, his warm, sun-hued eyes becoming thoughtful as he fully took in the solemn woman's measure.

"I asked if you were okay - which you are not," he could be equally as blunt, "rough day, huh?"

"Not yet, but it will be if they don't hurry up." Sarah said darkly, looking past the young man at a couple of detectives who were hunched over a file folder on the other side of the theater. Both of the men's heads were down over her case work and they appeared to be arguing over a couple of pieces of paper.

Sarah glanced at her phone clock and inwardly screamed with frustration.

"You here for the play?" Adotya reached into his backpack and pulled out an iced tea, opened the top with a twist and took a long drink. "If not, you should stay and watch. I can get you some tickets. They're free, you know, and the play is a good one, or so I've heard."

Sarah blinked at the younger man, her expression slightly owlish in the face of the unasked for and surprisingly cheery one-sided conversation. "Is that so?"

Adotya nodded, grinning impishly when the woman sitting beside him poked at the proffered bottle of Snapple like it might be a coiled rattlesnake. Even though she was old - at least thirty by his estimation, she was very pretty and looked like someone he'd seen before. He racked his mind looking for the connection.

"One of the Bard's finest, if you ask me," he took another drink, then picked up the Snapple bottle, opened it and put it in the woman's pale hand, ignoring her protests that she wasn't thirsty. "Do you know it's been ten years since "A Midsummers Night's Dream" has been performed here?"

Sarah shook her head and against her better judgment cautiously took a sip of the Snapple. It was cold and very sweet. She swallowed, running her tongue against her moistened lips and added cautiously, as if she was a nervous child dipping a toe into unknown waters, "it's one of my favorite plays."

It was technically true - at one time, it had been her favorite play in the world.

"Oh, really?" Adotya laughed merrily, taking another drink of iced tea, "see - I had you totally pegged as a tragedy trouper, you know one those dour sorts that only watch "Macbeth" or "Hamlet" or heaven forfend, "King Lear". He motioned grandly at the mostly empty theater, his hand over his heart, "I can usually spot them a mile away."

Sarah took another tentative sip of Snapple, "there's nothing wrong with any of those plays - each of them is a masterpiece," she added, feeling strangely protective of an author she'd once adored beyond words, "Hamlet particularly shines - I think it's the greatest play ever written."

"Those are strong words, my Lady," Adotya laughed and saluted the woman with ice tea and drank deeply, "but can you back up your opinion, I wonder?" he said teasingly as he saw hints and glimmers of something warm and fascinating beneath what certainly seemed to be stormy seas.

For a moment, she said nothing. Cadet and Kowalski were still going over her research. She was short on time and beyond frustrated. Sarah looked across the theater at the two detectives then back at the enigmatic stranger and considered his question, which was oddly beguiling, his warm and open smile inviting.

Unbidden, a small, cautious smile formed on Sarah's lips, "I can," and to her surprise, for some strange reason she didn't understand until much later, she did.

Minutes passed and then a half hour went by and she stopped looking up to try and read the expressions of Cadet and Kowalski every five minutes. Confidence building, Sarah's deep and abiding love of literature and poetry, though long buried, wormed its way up to the surface, like a dormant bulb in early Spring blossoming at the first hint of warmth and sunshine. At the 45 minute mark, she laughed. At the one hour mark, she cried, but they were tears of joy rather than sorrow and her new friend wept with her, his warm hand over hers and as he carefully listened to what her heart rather than her head had to say. The time passed quickly, like she was in a beautiful daydream, one that had been far too long delayed.

"Ahh - now I know who you remind me of, Lady Sarah!" Adotya beamed many minutes later despite the fact they were both out of Snapple and Iced Tea. Laughing he wagged his finger at the now merry woman sitting beside him as if she'd been hiding something secret from him.

(She has been hiding and not just from me…)

She was much better this way, he decided, as he took in rosy cheeks, almond eyes the shade of emeralds, glittering with sharp wit and a welcome measure of warmth. Before, she had simply been a striking stranger. Now it was nearly eventide, the yellow-white fire of the late afternoon was almost gone, replaced by sultrier hues of ale, purple, amber and burgundy and his new friend was positively glowing with life and vibrancy. With her black hair undone in a cascade of soft curls and jacket off, exposing her pale skin to the fading sun, she was absolutely stunning, a beauty who was a dead ringer for someone he'd met many years before.

"Linda Williams! That is who you remind me of, Lady Sarah," Adotya crowed happily, pleased that he'd made the connection. "She was a famous actress, bless her, a muse old Will himself would have sold his soul for." Full lips curled in a mischievous grin, he looked over at the woman sitting and laughing by his side, waiting for his friend to confirm what he already knew, "why, you look like you could be her daughter."

"What did you say?"

Sarah recoiled as if she'd just been slapped hard across the face. She blinked, once…twice, and looked around her with a sleepy expression, as if she'd just woken up from an unplanned and very pleasant nap.

(Where am I?)

Sarah rubbed her hands across her eyes as if to rid her vision of cobwebs.

(What am I doing?)

She looked down at herself, puzzled and then alarmed at the realization that her jacket was off and her holstered semi-automatic was in plain sight. Her hair was down, unbound against her back and Heaven help her, she'd kicked off her shoes somewhere!

Cursing, she scrambled to her bare feet, and backed away from both the young man looking up at her with guileless, golden eyes and the empty bottle of Snapple that she'd foolishly consumed. She'd been drugged. That was the only plausible explanation for what had just transpired.

(Idiot!) she screamed at herself and took two more steps back until her back was up against a large rowan tree. Her shadow and his stretched out behind them, strangely elongated and distorted in the nearly setting sun.

"Lady Sarah?" Adotya also stood up, his expression torn between sorrow and disappointment, "are you all right?"

"What did you put in that drink?" she demanded, no hint of warmth or merriness to be found, "answer me!"

"Nothing, my friend," the young man said sincerely and took a step towards her, one hand up as if to beckon her to come back to him, the other slipping into his backpack, "it was only a bottle of Snapple and you were only being you, that is to say who you really are supposed to be. Here, you need to come with me, Lady Sarah. It's important."

Before he could take another step forward, he was looking straight into the barrel of a dull, black handgun, the wielder aiming the weapon squarely at his chest. He blinked, unused to a human moving that fast.

"You even think of pulling a gun out of that backpack and I will shoot you. Do you understand?" Sarah said flatly, adjusting her footing in the event she had to fire. She could hear the inane part of her that had been laughing and weeping and sharing all sorts of things she shouldn't have crying out for her to stop, to listen to what the young man had to say. It was ruthlessly smothered by the smarter side of her mind that had kept her alive and sane for the past 13 years.

"What do you want?"

"To make you smile. To listen to your stories." Adotya said gently, pulling his hand slowly out of the backpack and raising both to show he was unarmed. "You are in such pain, Lady Sarah, I couldn't help myself."

The fine hairs at the back of Sarah's neck stood on end. A cold, horrible thought began to form.

"Are you working with him?" She had a feeling they both knew who she was talking about. The realization made her feel like throwing up.

Adotya cocked his head and looked at Sarah, as if he was dissecting the armed woman before him with a sad smile. "No, I'm trying to help you, my Lady, but you've run out of time." The handsome young man turned his head in one direction, then another and finally focused his attention, not on the firearm less than two meters away from him, but the rippling lake behind them both. His features stilled as he fixed his strange colored eyes on one ripple larger than the rest. "I have to go now."

"No, You stay right where you are, dammit!" Sarah ordered, her eyes also shifting for a split second to the agitated waters of Turtle Pond. When she turned her focus back to the young man in flip flops, he was gone and there were only a pair of theater tickets in his place, the soft, sweet smell of something both floral and musky filling her nostrils.

"Agent Williams!"

Sarah wrenched her line of sight away from the theater tickets and towards the sound of Detective Cadet calling her name. Both he and Detective Kowalkski were running towards her. Her partner was clutching her file folder. Kowalski had his Nokia 6100 to his year and was shouting into it.

Still feeling like she'd slept overlong, Sarah looked around once more, then re-holstered her firearm, shrugged on her jacket and picked up the pair of theater tickets. Her shoes were nowhere to be found. Beyond discombobulated, Sarah brushed her hair back and stumbled towards the police officers, the concrete and steel theater floors rough against her bare feet.

"Agent Williams? Are you all right?" Cadet asked cautiously, looking the special agent up and down with confusion. The normally professional woman seemed half-asleep, almost in a daze. He adjusted his clammy hold on the now very well read file folder. "Didn't you hear us calling you?"

Sarah pinched her lips together, face flushing with embarrassment and tugged uncomfortably at her now badly wrinkled jacket, "I was….um…." she muttered something about having a discussion with a potential person of interest, "...occupied."

"You're not wearing shoes," her partner said carefully, "and you weren't answering your phone." Cadet looked at his partner again, shocked at the change in her appearance. Barefoot, disheveled, and hair undone, the normally tight laced woman seemed wilder, as if she'd wandered out from a woodland dream rather than working on a serial killer investigation.

Her hair was waist length and curly and then sun shining through it made the locks seem like they were bleeding red or were on fire, the shade contrasting beautifully with the deep green of her eyes. For the first time since meeting her, the realization that the FBI agent was also beautiful registered in the back of his mind.

Mortified, Sarah pulled her Samsung SGH out of her pocket and flipped it open, seeing line after line of unanswered calls, "I…I can explain what happened."

"The only thing you need to explain to us is how you figured out the pattern. I'll say it straight, Williams, you're onto something that looks good - a working profile that we can take to the boys at the precinct and up the chain of command without getting our balls and err…"

"Our cute little lady bits?" Sarah offered sarcastically, gathering her normally sharp wits about her once again. .

"Yeah - those bits too. If you're wrong about this call…" Cadet tried to temper the hope he saw blossoming in her eyes with caution.

"I'm not," Sarah interjected firmly, blowing an errant lock of hair from out of her eyes.

"Good thing, cause Jerry and I are calling in every card, bribe, or favor we've ever collected, " Cadet said quietly, motioning back towards where Kowalski was hollering into the phone. "He has brass on the line and we're trying to get an evacuation of the park started. I don't know how you managed to figure the son of a bitch out…"

"It was the Wheel of the Year that helped everything make sense," Sara pushed aside any concerns she had about her missing shoes, the tickets, being drugged with a Kiwi Snapple and the golden eyed young man who'd managed to weasel a lifetime of memories out of her. Those worries could wait. This one could not. She wasn't sure why she was suddenly being believed. That question too, would have to bide its time.

"The killer is timing his attacks based on every chief solar event and midpoint," she said, all business now.

No longer feeling self-conscious, she grabbed the file folder, rummaged through it and fished out a beautifully drawn set of concentric circles with symbols, colors and figures, her small, neat handwriting annotated in several places.

"See?" She pointed at the bottom of the page at a symbol of a fiery sun, "today is the Summer Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere. It's called Litha on this calendar." Her finger moved counterclockwise going up and to the right of the diagram, "The last attack occurred on Beltane, Wednesday May 1, and the one before it on Ostara, the Spring Equinox on March 20th."

"Okay - that gives us the date - I figured that out already, but what about the time? Kowalski and I can't make sense of any time schedule or pattern." Cadet nervously caught a printed page with a purple bookmark as it blew out of the folder and looked at it, then at the somber faced, slender woman standing in front of him. She'd been trying desperately to get anyone on the force to give her a chance and look at her research, to take her seriously. Hours had been lost and if he and his partner had not come back to the city on a gut hunch, the woman would be facing this shit show by herself.

Cadet closed his eyes, absolutely heartsick. The precinct's lack of faith in her abilities and no small measure of professional pride might now result in the loss of innocent life, if she was right about the timing of one of the most brutal serial killers in history. A few hours of light reading in her file folder from Hell left him quite sure which side of the fence he was standing on.

"That's because the time isn't set in a traditional sense," Sarah muttered, fumbling to open the cover of her satchel, "the equinoxes, solstices and other Sabbats are based on the position of the sun, moon and stars…" she pulled out a worn, leather bound book and began flipping through page after page.

"I saw your time stamps - but we're already past what you wrote, by a few hours, in fact." His voice wasn't as even as he would have hoped, but he had to stay calm. Too much was on the line. He smiled tightly as a happy, laughing family of four moved past them. His eyes fixed on the back of two small children, laughing as they played with balloons that their parents had tied around their little wrists. The girl had curly pigtails with green bows and the boy was missing several baby teeth.

He thought of his grandchildren. He thought of Sarah and her brother and the awful pictures he'd seen in the police file.

"Astrological and astronomical times are usually measured in GMT, Greenwich Mean Time." Sarah explained as she found the page that she was looking for and held it open for inspection, "we're five hours behind GMT in the Winter and four hours behind GMT in the Summer in New York City," she pointed to a timetable in the book. "Yes, it's all right here. The Solstice began at sunrise, which was at…5:25 AM. The highpoint of the Solstice was at 9:24 AM and the sun will set at…." she double checked the time table, stabbing at it with her finger like a knife, "8:31 PM."

Sarah looked up at her partner. His face was sweaty. Ashen - almost gray.

"You said that Kowalski is getting an evacuation going," Sarah prompted, beyond thankful she was being listened to and that actions were being taken after a whole day's worth of disappointment and slammed doors, "we've still got at least an hour or so before the sundown. We can get these people to safety." She motioned to the now large crowd of people milling about, finding seats no doubt for an evening of theater beneath the stars and trees.

"Sarah," the older man looked up at the sky, then back down at the earnest face of his partner. She looked so serious. So hopeful for the first time in months. His dark brown eyes caught the details in her countenance as well as her unbound hair and bare feet, wondering once again what the hell had happened to the woman while he and Kowalski had been reviewing her data, "look at your phone."

Sarah looked at her phone and gasped, nearly dropping it onto the theater floor.

8:15 PM

"I don't understand!" Panicking, she looked at her phone watch again, horrified that her hot date with a young man and a dubious bottle of Snapple had resulted in over an hour of lost time. "Goddammit, that son of a bitch did drug me!"

"What !?" Kowalski ran over, shoving his phone into the pocket of his shorts, "who got drugged up?"

"It doesn't matter," Sarah groaned, fisting her fingers through her long, tangled hair as she looked frantically at the mostly full theater, trying to fight down a wave of panic from pulling her under, "we've got to get these people out of here. Now!"

"There are seven units on their way," Kowalski said, checking his watch, "ETA in about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Every cop on the park beat is headed here as well. Same goes for the Met and the Natural Museum of History."

"They'll be too late," Cadet said grimly to his friend. Both men looked up at the sky. The sun was already behind all the trees, hugging close to an invisible horizon line that the city had long since swallowed up.

"Theater staff and attendees! I need your attention, please!" Sarah shouted as she sprinted to the theater stage and bounded up to the center of it. She pulled her FBI badge from her jacket and held it aloft. "There is an emergency situation underway and we need you to calmly and quickly evacuate this area and head to the nearest park exit."

Her urgent warning was met with silence and then some scattered laughter, a singular boo and a few rounds of applause, some members of the audience wondering if she was part of the Green Show, or just another New York City crazy with a plastic badge and no shoes.

She looked down at her bare feet and swore.

"Excuse me, uh…Ma'am, you can't be up here," a middle aged man, an usher, came up to Sarah and took her gently by the arm, "you need to come with me."

"FBI - I'm special agent Williams and we have an emergency situation here. I need to speak with your manager immediately." She brandished her badge in the usher's face and looked around urgently, scanning for any sign of trouble.

"Of course you do, Dear," the usher said kindly as if he was well practiced at diffusing such situations with unsettled people, "now, please come with me."

"Cadet! Kowalski! Some assistance here would be appreciated!" Sarah bellowed out as the two plain clothes detectives ran up to the stage, each of them also showing their police badges and demanding to speak with whoever was in charge.

Friday, June 21, 2002

8:26 PM EDT

New York City

Central Park

Delacorte Theater

Main Center Stage

"Yes, head down to the right, then follow the office's directions," Sarah said in a firm, professional tone, motioning for a family of four to leave everything they had behind and head for the emergency exits of the theater, "please hurry. No - don't bother taking the stroller with you. Just carry your children and get out of here as quickly as you can."

"Five minutes to go," Cadet called out, scanning all of the exits as a steady stream of people filed out, led by some of the theater staff, others being guided by a handful of park patrol and museum officers who had arrived on the scene before anyone else. The theater was almost empty, save for the actors, stage hands, volunteers and a director who all categorically refused to leave before their patrons and a few dozen attendees who were either demanding a refund to a free show or were too slow or too occupied to understand the severity of the situation.

"No, Sir! There are no damn refunds!" Kowalski was frog marching an irate tourist and his wife out of the seats and towards an exit, "now get the hell out of here before I arrest the both of you!"

"Agent Williams, the musicians are wondering what to do with their instruments?" The frazzled director ran up, pressing his fingers against the black, radio headset he was wearing.

"Leave them and evacuate with everyone else," Sarah ordered as she took an elderly woman's elbow and helped her towards the exit. The woman's husband came behind, holding a cane in one hand and a picnic basket in the other. To say that the senior citizens were slowly tottering was generous. Urgency and an increasing sense of dread licked at her heels. She could see the concern in Cadet's expression as he ordered two park patrol cops to start checking the dressing rooms and make sure that no one was in the wings of the theater. She could hear it in the strained press of Kowalski's voice. She looked around the theater, trying to see blue or red police or fire department lights coming to the rescue or hear sirens.

There was nothing.

Sarah glanced at her phone.

8:27 PM

(We're running out of time!)

"Do you need some help?" One of the actors, a beautiful young woman with white-blonde hair and light blue eyes ran over to Sarah. She was in costume, her long hair braided up intricately with ribbons, wearing a cornflower blue gown from the Medieval era that was dotted with dainty seed pearls and delicate cream lace.

For a moment, Sarah stared at the beautiful dress as if she was seeing a ghost, recalling against her will a memory of wearing something similar on a hot summer afternoon in a park many years before. There had been a crown of flowers in her hair and she'd been reading lines from a little, red, leather book while her dog, Merlin, watched from beneath a shade tree.

(Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered,

I have fought my way here

To the castle beyond the Goblin City…)

"Agent Williams?" the actor's voice cut through the unwelcome reverie.

"What? Oh! I'm sorry." Sarah managed, inwardly berating herself for getting caught up in aberrant fantasy and navel gazing for the second time that afternoon.

(What in the hell is wrong with me?)

For years, she'd not allowed herself to think of earlier times. Viciously shoving thoughts of the past back into the dark places of her mind, she refocused. Blaming her lack of focus on a drugged bottle of Snapple and several days with little sleep, Sarah thanked the actor for her assistance and together, they led the elderly couple away from the theater, taking a winding path along the edge of Turtle Pond towards the nearest exit.

8:30 PM

"Harold?" Gladys Gubler, once again, had stopped walking and was pointing to the pond, squinting through slightly smudged trifocals. "My goodness, would you look at that!" She'd been of a mind to get new glasses for quite some time, and now, deep in the shade of trees and in the low light of early evening, she was struggling to focus on what she was seeing. Yes, a new prescription was definitely in order.

"Look at what, Dear?" her husband, on the arm of a lovely blonde girl in a pretty blue dress, responded with decades of patience. He was out of breath, not accustomed to the rapid walking pace that he and his sweetheart were being subjected to.

"Ma'am, we need to keep going," Sarah said impatiently. Glancing over her shoulder she counted the number of people remaining at the theater and swore under her breath. They weren't moving fast enough.

"Don't you think it's strange?"

Harold also stopped and peered towards where his wife was pointing, not heeding the soft protests of the young girl who had been leading him toward the exit. His white, bushy eyebrows went up beneath his sweat-damped combover in surprise. "Well, I'll be!"

"Folks, we need to get moving!" Sarah said urgently, looking up at the darkening silhouette of trees that were backlit by clearly dwindling light.

"But what about the water?"

Sarah looked over to the elderly man, then over to where he and his wife were pointing. There were bubbles coming from Turtle Pond. Big ones. In fact, the dark water at the center of the pond looked like it was boiling, sending ripples out through the water, disturbing the water lilies and lotus blossoms. Dragonflies, frogs and even the resident turtles fled. Beneath the waves and roils of water, Sarah could barely make out the shape of something moving - moving slowly towards the shore.

(Oh my God…)

"I need you all to listen to me carefully," Sarah said quietly, trying to keep her voice calm and even as she let go of the old woman's hand and motioned for everyone in the group to keep moving towards the exit. Her eyes fixed on the younger woman's pale face. She too was staring at the churning pond, every hint of color bleeding out as if she'd received a mortal blow. "No matter what happens, I want you to keep heading towards the exit. Once you get outside of the theater, don't stop until you are clear of the park or find a police officer."

Sarah stepped in front of the evacuating couple and actor, settling into a neutral stance as she slid her hand beneath her jacket and pulled out her semi-automatic 9mm Glock19. She'd confirmed before entering the park that the 15 round magazine was full and that she had two spares ready. As she warily eyed the bubbles moving closer and closer to the walkway she wished she'd had the forethought to bring something bigger.

"Do I make myself clear?" Sarah said harshly, motioning with her head for the little group to keep going, never letting her eyes stray from the line of bubbles. She could now feel vibrations coming up from the agitated water, into the wooden walkway and through to her bare feet, "Now, go, dammit! GO!"

A phone alarm that she'd set earlier that morning began to go off, beeping loudly in the pre-dark that had saturated the theater.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

It was sundown. They were out of time.

8:31 PM

The trees high above them suddenly began to stir as a black crow cawed mid flight. A red balloon slipped the bounds of a child's sweaty fingers and bolted up into the brilliant crimson streaked sky. Branches both big and small began to rustle while the sounds of birdsong, scampering squirrels and even the sounds of the people evacuating the theater about them suddenly became silent.

A split second later, Turtle Pond erupted, sending fountains of murky water spewing up over twenty feet in the air, filling Sarah's nostrils with the odor of pond slime, cold mud and something acrid and tainted with sulfur. A concussive blast of light and sound came with it, knocking over Sarah and the evacuees as the wooden walkway splintered and then split, wooden beams coming undone from steel girders.

Thrown flat on her back, Sarah looked up at the sky, stunned - the breath knocked out of her as three shapes came up and out of the water, the trio leaping impossibly high out of the pond, clearing at least fifteen feet, bounding over the now shattered walkway and unto the grass surrounding the theater. Instinctively, Sarah rolled to her side, grabbed her gun, and forced herself to her feet, trying to maintain her balance on the now sinking path.

To her right, she heard the old man and woman screaming in terror. A quick glance showed they were lying on what was left of the walkway. The picnic basket that the old man had been holding was now sinking into the pond. The elderly woman was now missing a show and she was cradling a clearly broken wrist against her chest, tears flowing down her wrinkled cheeks. The pale haired actress was nowhere to be seen.

Sarah shielded her eyes with her arm as another concussive blast tore through the air. She felt like the hot, afternoon air was being siphoned out of her lungs. Her eyes burned like she'd been suddenly exposed to tear gas and her ears hurt, like she was coming down with an infection. A slithering, soft sensation washed over her almost as if cold, wet silk fabric was being rapidly dragged over her body, leaving her chilled and shaken in its passing.

Stunned, Sarah looked around as every inch of the pond and theater began to shimmer and then adjust, as if everything was nothing more than a mirage. The world dissolved, first around the feet of the trio that had come from the lake, then onward and outward. Where there had been two non-descript men and a woman, there were now monsters standing.

The first was easily over 9 feet tall with huge, muscle bound shoulders and arms as thick around as Sarah's waist. The dirty, torn gray tunic that the creature was wearing did nothing to hide a powerful back tapered down into muscled hips, then down to leather bound legs bigger than tree trunks and huge, fur booted feet. His skin was stone colored, a granite shade of gray that was mottled in places like lichen had taken hold somehow. Arms that were overlong hung down menacingly, nearly to the ground. Rather than fingers, the creature was sporting massive, gnarled sized hands, each with eight black clawed fingers. Its face was misshapen, a twisted parody of something not quite human. Small beady, dark eyes stared out from under a sickly thatch of thin, black chin length hair while a smashed up snotty nose sniffed hungrily. Its mouth was half open, the severe underbite highlighting dirty, yellow teeth, half-rotten and jagged.

To the giant's right a woman stood, at least something in the shape of a woman. She was several inches shorter than Sarah and very curvaceous, the wet, dark green silk looking fabric clinging obscenely to every valley and curve of her body. She only wore the wet shift of fabric and her arms and feet were bare. A riot of bright, seaweed hued curls fell in waves down the woman-thing's back, falling nearly to her ankles, some of the tresses moving of their own accord. Her skin was as pale as bleached bones, but her cheeks and full lips were rosy and her emerald eyes were bright and shining, fringed by overdark lashes. Her lips parted into a dangerous smile, revealing cooked broccoli colored teeth, the canines sharper than a human's could ever be. She laughed, a sound that reminded Sarah somehow of rotting fruit and looked around eagerly.

The third member of the trio looked the most human, but that wasn't saying much. Shorter than average for a human male and very slender, the brown eyed figure slunched as if bored, his hands in the pockets of dark trousers that ended in dark red boots. He was wearing a cream colored tunic, almost knee length, the upper part of the tunic was badly stained with what looked to Sarah like dried blood, despite the fabric being wet. Oddly, the figure was wearing a hat - a red, woolen looking hat to be precise, almost comical in its design with a long tapering end that sported a crimson tassel that was dripping, not with water, she realized, but with blood. Sarah could smell the coppery tang coming from the creature in waves. He stank of death and the cruel looking curled caping knife at his side was the likely cause of it.

The sensation of a mirage melting continued in an ever widening circle, exposing reality as it really was rather than what Sarah realized humans wanted it to be. A handful of theater goers began to shift and slide into their true shapes along with most of the actors and the director. Where people had stood before, there were fantastical creatures that Sarah had read about in fairy tales or seen in cartoons when she was a little girl. Fauns with delicate goat legs and curling horns looked around in fright, while beautiful water and tree nymphs tried to flee, clad respectively in soft, water rushes and reeds and rustling tree leaves and brown or white, supple bark.

Imps and sprites bounded over theater seats. Others vanished into thin air with a loud pop. Ethereal looking men and women, all with delicately pointed ears, clad in shimmering fabrics or resplendent in heavily embroidered silks ran, arms outstretched towards the trees that surrounded the theater. There were other creatures, some that she didn't recognize because no fairy tale contained them. They seemed to be born of the elements themselves - some of fire, some of earth, some of water and air. There were, to Sarah's horror, even goblins amid the bedlam, though they paid her no mind as they skittered this way and that to escape.

"Sarah Williams, why are you just standing there?" A frightened, familiar voice called out to her.

Sarah looked around and spotted the young actress hiding behind a partially broken stone bridge that had once spanned the width of Turtle Pond. No longer human, blue-tinted skin flawless, the clearly terrified girl motioned for Sarah to join her in the hiding space, the watery waves of her now pure white hair glistening wet with the last rays of the sun. Her sheer gown also rippled and flowed as if water was running merrily over rocks.

"You must come with me. It isn't safe!" the water nymph whispered, trembling with fear, holding out a shimmering hand towards Sarah. "If they are here," she motioned towards the trio of monsters who were now heading towards the remaining theater staff and attendees, "then he will surely follow. We must go now!"

"I can't leave these people," Rather than running to the nymphs' hiding place, Sarah hurried over to where the elderly couple lay stunned on the now half-submerged walkway, both in danger of drowning. She put her semi-automatic back in her holster. "What's going on - who is coming?" Sarah wrapped her arms around the injured old woman and with a grunt, began to slowly drag her towards the grass, whispering an apology as the woman cried out in pain.

"The veil has been lifted and I can see you now for who you are, just as you can see me," the water nymph pleaded, "You are one of us, not them," the girl motioned dismissively towards the old couple, "leave them where they are."

"What do you mean I'm one of you?" Sarah panicked at what the implications of that statement might mean as she panted with effort, settling the now sobbing elderly woman on her side a few feet away from the pond and running to where her husband was struggling to get up. Knees nearly buckling, she lifted the old man up into a fireman's carry and stumbled towards the grass through the half submerged walkway, water and weeds. "Please…tell me who he is. Is he human? Or like you?"

(Or Like us?)

Spooked, she looked around at the bedlam in the theater and the fantastical creatures that were running amok and in fear and realized that whatever the veil was that the nymph was referring to was continuing to break down, not just for her, but for the other people in the park as well. Theater goers went mad with terror as stories were made manifest and creatures and beings of dreams and children's bedtime tales now stood before them or were hunting them down. The sense of panic churned in her belly until she ferociously tried to force it down to a manageable numbness, trying to focus on the task and the danger at hand.

"He is a hunter, that flies through the night," the nymph whispered, her blue eyes wide with horror as the sounds of both creatures and people screaming filled the air, "the king who once was, and will be again, a fell lord of goblins and smallfolk, of Sidhe and of men!" she moaned and half-fainted against what was left of the stone bridge, "What will become of our kind? He has broken the Great Law!"

A shiver ran down the length of Sarah's spine at the mention of kingship and goblins. She felt sick to her stomach now.

"I am hunting a killer of men," Sarah swallowed reflexively, then chose her words very carefully as she set the old man on the ground, her heart aching as she watched the elderly couple reach for each other in an instinctual embrace, "his path led me here to this park."

"Your path leads to him, yes," the nymph said faintly, her expression mournful now, "as once it did, for your fate is not kind. You are no stranger to his magic or his malice, Lady Sarah."

Sarah nearly wretched, both at the unwanted title and a horrifying realization, "I've already met this man." It was a statement at this point, not a question. She thought of headlines screaming about a supernatural killer and her steely, adamant dismissal of any explanation that wasn't founded firmly in the realms of science and psychology. She watched as what she could only assume was a troll or something troll-like ripped up a section of theatre seating and began swinging it at hapless civilians like it was a makeshift baseball bat, crushing both them and all of her logical assumptions that she had defensively built up around her since she'd turned 19.

Sarah felt like she'd fallen headlong into a waking nightmare.

"He's a monster, not a man," the nymph began, then froze, her bright blue eyes locking on something behind Sarah's shoulder.

Sarah whirled on instinct, gun up and out. Something black and inky swirled past her, blinding her in shadow and cold. She fired off two shots into the center of the blackness, but neither heard nor felt any sign of impact. She heard the nymph shriek out in terror, then less than a second later, the older, entirely human sounds of a man and woman in pain sounded and were silenced just as quickly.

Still unable to see beyond the utter blackness that had engulfed her, Sarah struggled against the sensation of being wrapped up in an embrace of something icy and hard. Vaguely, she could hear screams of people and the more animalistic cries of beings who were anything but human. She could smell blood and other bodily fluids. She heard a low, deep chuckle, the sound a roaring blizzard in her head.

The cold suddenly returned and then redoubled. Her black eyebrows furrowed as she fought to free herself from the numbing void that had now clamped down around her arms, pinning her in place. "I don't know who…or what you are…" Sarah growled, kicking and twisting savagely, her teeth now chattering from the cold, body violently shivering. The inky wind about her intensified, now accompanied by snowflakes and ice flurries, "but let me go!"

"As you wish."

Instantly, the cold and darkness was gone, as if it had never existed. The sounds of fighting, screaming and unwanted scents that came with such violence assaulted her senses. With a startled cry, Sarah was freed of her invisible, icy bonds and was hurled back at least ten feet from where she had been standing, landing on her back in the churned up pond water and amid the broken wooden walkway. She tried to reposition her body as she flew through the air and only years of hard training prevented her from dropping her gun when she hit the water.

Cold, dirty water went over her head and up her nose. Pond scum and water weeds clutched at her ankles and arms. Fighting against the urge to scream, Sarah kicked up, breaking free and was able to get her head above water. Her eyes stung and she coughed harshly as she tried to clear her airway.

Sarah blinked and looked around, trying to get her bearings, then cried out as she took stock of her situation and the fate of those she'd been trying to evacuate from the park. Herald, who'd been so careful not to jostle the wicker picnic basket with a bottle of cheap wine and a checkered cloth was on his side, his broken arms covering the body of the wife he loved. His last living act had been one of protection. Gladys was on her back, her arms and legs bent at impossible angles. One of the lenses in her glasses was cracked in two and her once warm brown eyes were faded and wide with fear, her face a rictus of horror and pain.

Newly dead, blood was still pooling out from beneath the bodies, staining broken wooden beams and turning the pond water crimson-black. They'd been hacked with what Sarah could only assume was a sword, nearly to the point of bi-section, a grotesque pattern in the crimson markings that she'd seen before in evidence photographs.

She knew in a split second not only how they had been killed, but who the killer was - the seed of fear that was planted when she'd spoken with the strange golden-eyed man now germinated.

"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed, voice rough from being half drowned and pitched high with fear.

Spitting out pond water, Sarah whirled around, treading water like a madwoman, only to see what was left of the water nymph lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the now broken stone bridge. She'd been trying to run when she's been struck down from behind and bore the same telling cut pattern on her back, shoulders and thighs. Her neck was also broken.

"Wrong deity, I'm afraid," a dry, mocking voice to her left made Sarah jerk around, one hand trying to keep treading water while she hefted up her semi-automatic, ready to fire the second she had a target to shoot at. Slightly concussed, she shook her head as she watched black, swirling shadows manifest into the form of a man.

A man she knew.

A man she'd dreamt of.

A man she hated and had been hunting for years and had vowed to destroy.

"Hello, Poppet. Did you miss me?"

Chapter Text

The year is 2002 and FBI Special Agent Sarah Williams has been sent to New York City to investigate, locate and detain a notorious serial killer whose unsolved, savage crimes have left the city paralyzed with fear and the residents crying out for the capture of the "Goblin King Killer". As the story unfolds, the question of who is the hunter and who is the prey becomes blurry.

The Goblin King Killer

By MightyMightyMunson

Litha - Part 2

There are rules in the world we live in, some made by humans and others defined by nature itself. While the laws that govern human beings are, like their makers, sometimes mercurial and fleeting - changing from leader to leader or age to age, there are older laws, created by far older beings that are hewn into the earth and rock, seared into fire, frozen into water and signed into the air. These laws were made to be inviolate, the consequences of breaking them severe.

And until the early evening of Friday, June 21st, 2002 in the human metropolis of New York City in a beautiful green park, next to a once tranquil pond, the greatest of these laws, enacted over a millennium before to ensure the survival of their kind, a law that clearly stated that the creatures and beings of the Otherworld may not openly prey upon large numbers of humankind in their true form or openly use magic against them, had never been truly broken.

The sundering of the ancient agreement was felt by all and sent shockwaves through the entire Otherworld, eliciting ripples of dismay, fear or anger from most beings, while some darker and decidedly more dangerous elements found only pleasure and long-awaited anticipation in the news that spread through the lands. If the ban could be broken by one of their kind, what would stop others from also seeking their fill?

In one small kingdom, situated far East of the Otherworld's center, the sleeping ruler of the realm also felt the disturbance, as if a soft breeze on still waters heralded the coming of a great storm.

Otherworld Year 10,475

Thirteen O'clock - Goblin Standard Time

The Castle beyond the Goblin City

Jareth awoke as the first whispers of the oath breaking moved through this kingdom, like a sigh on a cold, winter night. On his back, staring up at a beautifully colored mosaic tiled ceiling that flickered and reflected the light of a low fire that had not quite gone out, the Goblin King remained outwardly still while his sharp mind traversed the many possible roads this violation of law could meander down. None were pleasant

A quiet, almost weary sigh escaped him, the sound mostly hidden by a crackle of burning logs, and seconds later, a soft knock on his bedroom door.

"Enter," he said, his low voice still a muzzy from sleep. He sat up in the large canopy bed, black silken sheets sliding down his bare chest, pooling at his hips. Made of ancient oak from forests that had been destroyed centuries before, his bed was resplendent with carvings of stylistic goblins hunting woodland creatures and a winding, elaborate maze design that covered the legs and posts of the bed.

"Your Majesty," A small, slightly misshapen head poked out from behind the door, as if the goblin at the door was leery of entering his sovereign's sleeping area. Wild tufts of blue-black hair, sparse in the sides and back and thick at the crown clashed with a pair of beady, wide set, red eyes, half hidden by bristly brows.

The short, squat creature was clad in the armor of the goblin army and was dragging a too heavy mace behind him, the weapon leaving scrape marks on the stone floor, "''Sorry to bother your worshipfulness, but there's been a disturbance, though I can't rightly say what it's about." The little goblin summoned his courage and stepped through the threshold into his King's bedroom. Wisely, he left the mace at the door.

"What I can tell you, my Lord…" his voice dropped and he looked both left and right as if making sure there weren't unwanted eyes and ears in the bedchamber, "...is that the attack chickens are restless."

Jareth blinked.

"And what, pray tell…" at this point in his existence, he found that there were few things his subjects could do or say that would elicit so much as a raised eyebrow from him, but this goblin, Lickspittle if he recalled, was apparently one for surprises, "...are attack chickens?"

"Special project, Sire. Made em' too keep the castle safe at night. If I do say so myself, there are a fearsome lot, sharp beaked and sure clawed," Lickspittle chuffed proudly, his smile revealing a row of disturbingly sharp, uneven teeth, "they alerted me to," the goblin paused, bushy eyebrows crinkling with the force of thought, "well, whatever it is that moved through the castle."

"It would seem that your...attack chickens are the most perceptive creatures in my army." Jareth's lips twitched slightly, though whether in annoyance or mirth it was hard to say. The realization was not a pleasant one, though not entirely surprising.

"I bred them 'specially for their brains, if you catch my meaning, Sire," Lickspittle tried to wink but didn't quite manage it. "Say…" he shuffled his feet, then took a few steps towards the bed where his sovereign lord rested, "...you know what this is about?" he motioned around the room and then towards the large open balcony that was letting in cool, fresh air. "Must say, it felt…odd. That's the word, Sire. Odd."

Jareth cocked his head at an angle the way a bird of prey might and regarded the goblin for a moment. It had been days…or even perhaps weeks since he'd held any sort of conversation with another living being and despite still being weary, this minion of his had shown what had to be considered a form of initiative, a rarity indeed for an enlisted goblin.

(I suppose he deserves an answer…)

"What you sensed," he looked at the goblin's armor and a singular, faded cloth medallion on the goblin's chest, "Third Class Private Lickspittle, " the goblin beamed at being named correctly, "was the Great Law of the Otherworld being broken."

"You mean the law about not locking up the gates at night or lettin' fairies near the ale?"

"Worse than that," Jareth rose from the bed with a sigh, unencumbered by clothing and strode slowly over the fire and the warmth if offered against the deep night, his mismatched eyes lambent as he stared into the dying flames. The goblin behind him gasped, struggling to imagine what could be worse than fairie infected ale.

"An Otherworlder has attacked humans in the mortal realm in their true form, using unveiled magic."

"That's it ?" Lickspittle considered this lackluster news for a moment. "All this fuss is about mortal folk?" That hardly sounded worthy of rousing his crack squad of attack chickens

"Oh, the fuss hasn't even started," Jareth muttered ominously as he leaned one arm against the fireplace mantle, the weariness he felt having little to do with lack of sleep, "but it will."

"Beggin' your pardon, but we goblins don't like humans, much, Sire. Messy business they are, prone to causing all sorts of mischief." Lickspittle thought of one human in particular who'd quite literally turned the world upside down, but did not dare say her name as that would be an instant ticket to getting bogged for eternity.

"So…what does it matter if a few of 'em get squashed?"

Jareth looked over his shoulder at the small goblin. His angular features were half-hidden in fire and shadow as he considered the question and how to respond in a way that the creature would comprehend.

"Because humans are very dangerous and don't react well to being squashed by things they don't understand."

"That's fair, I 'spose," the Third Class Private conceded. Feeling like he'd wandered accidentally into deep conversational waters, the goblin thought about squashings and mortals and all the messes that they were wont to make. The prohibition of fairies fiddling around with the castle ale reserves seemed a much more serious threat.

Jareth could almost hear the rusty gears in the goblin's pea brain seizing up.

"There are also far many more of them than there are of us," he added for good measure.

Lickspittle scowled, thinking ferociously as he gave his beaked nose a thorough picking for good measure, "so, we're outnumbered?"

"Quite."

The goblin soldier rocked back on his booted feet, then forward again, his thinking reserves nearly spent. "So, what's gonna happen to the one who did it? You gonna bog 'em?"

There was nothing worse than being bogged.

"I'm not going to do anything or the sort," Jareth's turned away from the fire and the weariness in his voice and bearing retreated, leaving behind a calculating, almost cold expression as he gave voice to his thoughts for the first time, "my kingdom will remain neutral in these matters and by doing so, avoid the fallout that is to come."

The intricately woven carpet beneath his bare feet gave way to cold stone as he walked out of his bedroom onto the spacious balcony and looked out at the moonlit expanse of his kingdom. It looked very different from the land a young human girl had torn apart years before. He'd seen to that.

"The oath breaker will be punished by the greater powers that be and that will be the end of it."

(I hope…)

"So, no attack chickens, then, Your Majesty?" the little goblin's shoulders drooped despondently.

The Goblin King stepped up onto the ledge of the balcony. Balancing easily on a precarious ledge, his naked body backlit by a full moon and a dusting of stars, he looked down at the now sniffling goblin, "Not this time, First Class Private Lickspittle." A faint smile slid across his face like a fleeting shadow, and then he stepped off the ledge and was gone.

Half a wing-beat later, a large, tawny-white owl flew up and around the stone castle turret, circling higher until it disappeared into the night, oblivious to the sounds of the cleverest goblin in the realm rejoicing in his sudden promotion.

Friday, June 21, 2002

8:35 PM EDT

New York City

Central Park

Delacorte Theater

The remains of Turtle Pond

Wide eyed with shock and still treading water, Sarah stared up, mouth agape, as a tall figure materialized before her eyes as corrupted tendrils or darkness twisted together, making shape and form where only shadow had been before.

A girlish part of her heart that she'd banished right along with every flight of fancy she'd been able to capture began to traitorously clench as she watched dark armor appear. She hated the bewildering sensation of betrayal and despised herself for being so weak. Yes, she had seen this sort of armor before, on a dark night when she, to her everlasting regret, had become enmeshed in a little red book and in a fit of anger and childish resentment, had wished her brother away to the King of the Goblins.

(Wait…)

She looked again, squinting, trying to see past the shifting smoke and darkness.

No - something wasn't right.

Sarah kicked in the water, trying to make distance between herself and the figure emerging from a swath of churning darkness with an awkward one armed backstroke, all the while trying to keep her weapon up and out of the water with one hand.

The illogical, yet stabbing sense of treachery that made the marrow of her bones ache began to twist and warp just like the dark plackart began to take its final shape, the surface not shiny like the overlapped wings of night beetles and made of supple, studded black leather that her foolish fingers had always wanted to touch. The pauldron also lacked the beautiful details, the whorls and lines that were vaguely a dark sort of art deco mixed with a wicked Victorian aesthetic.

The only motif to be found here was one of death. The armored breastplate was an abomination of design, looking like a stylistically charred sternum and set of ribs that covered a broad chest. The lines of the tightly fitted gauntlets were designed to mimic the ulna and radius, likewise burnt and the color of a spent fire. The rest of the armor was the same, a skeletal mockery fashioned into something dull and metallic, as if death and suffering had somehow sandblasted itself upon the figure's armor.

While the first figure of her long repressed memory had worn a cape like the night sky, spattered with starlight and an imposing curved collar, the raiment this figure wore was a dark shroud, a blackened, winding sheet that fell in tatters around tall black boots, the tips of which were sharpened with metal spikes.

No, this was not him . The realization brought with it an irrational surge of relief, the emotion followed swiftly by raw terror as there was only one otherworldly alternative.

"Hello, Poppet. Did you miss me?"

Unable to stop, Sarah closed her eyes in horror of the voice. More than anything, it was proof that the man-shaped creature standing before her was not the one who had asked for so little and so much at the same time, demanding that she fear him, love him, and obey him and that in return her would be her slave.

With him , there had been silk over steel, low and damningly winning, a voice she sometimes still heard in her sleeping mind in the middle of the night when she tossed and turned fitfully in bed, insatiated and alone. This voice - this abomination of sound was like a loathsome, wriggling thing, many legged and filthy, burrowing into her ears and skull.

Sarah felt the bottom of the pond with one foot and kept swimming backward until she felt a broken section of the wooden walkway against her back. Her eyes were open now, fixed on the face of a killer, both of men and every hope and dream she'd ever held for herself.

"You seem disappointed, Sweetling," the man looked down at her with obvious amusement, his posture askance and relaxed as he regarded her in turn as if they were old friends, reacquainted after years apart.

"Were you expecting someone else, I wonder?"

He crouched down beside the pond edge, balancing his elbows on his knees and looked at the water soaked woman who was treading water one-handed, as if examining a strange insect or shiny pebble that he wanted to take home.

Not trusting herself to speak, Sarah shook her head, then grabbed a section of wooden walkway and pulled herself up out of the water, scrambling to get to her feet, so she could properly face her adversary. Soaking wet and shaking, she forced herself to look at the black clad killer squarely in the face.

He was pale - far too pale for a human being. His skin was stretched tightly over too-sharp cheek and brow bones. The pallor of his complexion was further washed out by his jet-black hair that was darker than his macabre armor. Falling down his back in soft waves, it seemed out of place. Save his hair, he was all angles, acute and obtuse, lacking any hint of curves. His nose was aquiline and his lips were thin.

"Still a liar, I see."

The curve of the man's pallid mouth curved into what would have been a winning smile if a long, jagged scar that started above his right eyebrow and ended a little beneath his sharp chin hadn't twisted one side of his lips into something crooked and cruel. It was a deep scar, still red and angry as if it were newly made and it ran through one of his eyes as well, leaving the orb a useless, milky white. His other eye though was inky black, save for the corona of his iris that was a shocking blue.

She remembered his eyes. From before. The blindness and scarring was new. Viciously, she commended whoever it had been who'd managed to cause such hurt and hoped she'd be able to do as good or better.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked, almost playfully as he turned his attention towards the wet grass beside the ruined pond and a dead young woman in blue. Ignoring Sarah's cry of anger and dismay, he casually used the hem of the dead water nymph's gown to clean the blood off his sword before standing again, then took a step towards where the FBI agent was standing.

Gun up in an instant, Sarah aimed it squarely at his chest, ready to fire if he took one more step.

"Drop the weapon," she inwardly swore as her voice came out as a croak rather than a confident command, "you're under arrest."

The heat of Summer suddenly vanished and charged air around them became brisk and crisp as if they were in late Autumn, weeks past a hard frost. The sudden change in temperature sent shivers through Sarah, who was already wet and chilled. When she took a steadying breath, her exhalation came out in a faint cloud.

"Sarah…my dear Sarah." The serial killer laughed. While his face was badly scarred - a proper fit for the monster she knew him to be, his laugh was obscenely rich and as hot as freshly spilt blood, "you never cease to amuse me with your theatrical antics."

The temperature continued to drop. It now felt like early winter. A sprinkling of snowflakes floated down from a clear summer sky, landing on Sarah's cheeks and nose. Her bare feet prickled with cold as the wet wood she was standing on began to show delicate spirals and jetties of frost patterns on it.

"And if I refuse to do your bidding and lay down my sword, what will you do I wonder?" his smile widened, "will you cry, like you did before? Scream for help?"

The roof of Sarah's mouth felt like icy sandpaper and she reflexively swallowed as waves of deepening cold began to buffet her, trying to moisten her lips, to do anything but gawk at the man she'd been hunting for over a decade. Over the years, she'd rehearsed this moment of finally facing the monster that had taken her family from her, of bringing his many victims a measure of justice. In none of those mental rehearsals had she frozen, in no scenario had she been anything but brave and sure and decisive.

(Robert, there's someone at the door…)

A memory, thick and sticky like a cobweb strung itself in her head, catching her like a spider might a foolish fly.

(Sarah! Take Toby and run!)

Sarah swallowed again as traitorous tears welled up, spilled over the embankment of her frost coated lashes and instantly froze on her cheeks as other faint, muffled sounds and images played at the back of her mind as if from a shaky, ill-kept movie projector. A door splintering, the sounds of her step-mother screaming, her father falling, the taste of blood in her mouth, the sight of Toby being dragged away from her, crying out in pain and fear. Fragmented memories hit her like a tsunami, threatening to pull her under.

"Tell me, sweetest Sarah…" the man's condescending tone was a mockery of concern, "will you beg for your father to come save you? You do remember that night, don't you? How you were powerless to save your family, let alone yourself?"

"Stop it!" Sarah shook her head, trying to rid it of unwanted webs of memory and suffocating fear.

"You're just as helpless now, I assure you," the man in black took a step forward, the words and tone the epitome of malice and cruelty.

"I think not," Sarah hissed, the mere mention of her murdered father was a stinging blow, lacing the infection-like fear in her heart and limbs and replacing it with white hot anger.

Before the killer's foot had fallen, Sarah fired three shots in rapid succession, the cluster pattern tight, just as she'd been taught and had practiced, first as an undergraduate, then through the crucible that was the FBI Academy at Quantico.

The first shot went a little high and tore into the bottom of the man's left shoulder. She heard the sharp pop of a bullet going through armor and the duller sound of splintering bone. The second and third shots were three inches apart, one directly into the center of his chest, the last a little to the left, close to the heart.

The man who had no name that she could remember dropped his sword, then staggered back a little and fell, landing awkwardly on his haunches and looked down at his ruined, apparently useless armor, his expression one of surprise. Blood was freely flowing from the three entry wounds, the one on the left side of his chest an arterial hit that spurt in time with his heartbeat.

"Now, who's helpless, you sick son of a bitch," Sarah growled, leveling her semi-automatic again, this time aiming squarely for the man's head.

Rather than begging for mercy or simply doing Sarah the courtesy of bleeding to death, he muttered a strange word, something caught between a hiss and a whisper and extended a hand towards her, one finger flicking up.

In an instant - faster than Sarah could pull the trigger again, the ice and freezing cold that she'd felt before tore into her, binding her fast in a vice grip, stealing both her ability to move or speak. Her semi-automatic became a block of ice that fell from frozen fingers. The wet, wooden footpath immediately iced over, the broken planks becoming jagged with hoarfrost and icicles. The pond near her also froze clear though, killing the lilies and lotus blossoms and anything swimming beneath the surface instantly. Her lips and the tips of her fingers and toes began to turn blue. Caught in a vortex of ice and snow, a blizzard screaming in her ears, she could only watch the predator come closer.

"That was hardly polite," the black haired chided as he easily got to his feet and picked up his sword from what was left of the wooden walkway. Sarah, half blinded by the blizzard about her, watched in disbelief as the arterial spurts of blood slowed, then stopped all together. His shoulder cracked once, repositioning itself. Even his blood-soaked armor repaired itself. In moments he stood before her, unharmed and hale.

"Now, where were we?" Chuckling, as if greatly amused, he motioned up lightly with one hand, lifting the ice and snow bound woman six inches up into the air, savoring her cry of pain.

"Ahh - yes. I believe we were discussing how helpless you are."

Friday, June 21, 2002

8:36 PM EDT

New York City

Central Park

Delacorte Theater

"We don't have fifteen fuckin' minutes!" Kowalski screamed into his phone at the dispatch center, "you get your asses here now! We've got mass casualties and…" he looked over his shoulder as he ran, a small, seriously injured child secure in his free arm as he sprinted towards the theater proper, hoping to find some decent cover.

Long past caring that the bleeding child had feet like a deer and little horns poking out of a head of blond curly hair, his concern was with what was pursuing them, "...multiple assailants of…of…unknown origins!"

(Unknown origins my ass…)

The thing gaining ground on him was a monster. Plain and simple.

She was shaped like woman, but the familiarity of the fairer sex ended there. Kowalski had seen her take down at least six people, using her freaky, long, green hair to catch them and her long deceptively delicate hands to strangle them. Sometimes, she used her mouth. He shuddered and forced his long legs to move faster. The memory of seeing that woman-thing sucking face with a bike officer and watching the color and life drain from the man's body had been warning enough that the bitch was nothing to mess with.

Hurdling over a turned up section of seating, Kowalski came face to face with the director of the play that should have been presented that evening. He could tell it was the director because the man's face looked mostly the same and he was wearing the radio headset from earlier. The rest of the director looked like a horse from his torso down. A fleeting memory of a Disney movie he'd watched as a kid that had weird horse people and Mickey Mouse making brooms dance filled his mind.

(Jesus H. Christ, I've gone crazy…)

Except that he hadn't.

"Give me the child," the director's voice was gruffer now, more animalistic. He was taller than Kowalski, at least 18 hands high and muscled.

"Take him and get the hell out of here," Kowalski handed the injured boy up to the director, then turned and faced down the woman that was now only twenty feet away and closing fast, "I'll cover you both."

"I will see the boy to safety then return with others," the director's hoofs bit sharply into the green grass. He looked down at the lanky police officer with surprise. Rather than panicking as the veil was lifted, this tall human in shorts who smelled of cigarette smoke was fighting rather than fleeing like most of his kind.

"Whatever, man - just get going!"

Kowalski waited until the green haired woman was within 10 feet of him then opened fire with his Colt.1911, emptying his gun in two seconds flat. The woman was hit multiple times in the chest, abdomen and twice in the head. With an eerie, high pitched screech she flew back several feet from the force of the impact and collapsed onto the grass, face down, her body twitching violently.

"Gotcha," he muttered, ejecting his spent magazine and slapping a new one into the chamber. Thanking his lucky stars that Maurice had been paranoid enough on their return to the city to insist they weapon up, he looked around the theater that had now turned into a field of battle.

The god-ugly big thing that he had no name for was ripping the theater apart, using a row of ripped off seats that was six feet in length. Kowalski swore as he watched three humans and a being that wasn't, get hit with the bastard's improvised weapon. What was left of them flew back at least fifteen - maybe twenty feet, crashing into the trees that surrounded the theater, all broken and bloody.

"Fuck," the profiler crouched down behind a part of the theater seating that was still in-tact and looked around, trying to figure out what in the hell to do. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a dinky little man in a red cap that would have been silly looking had the man not been armed with what looked like some sort of carving knife and was menacing two bike cops with it. They too opened fire and in seconds, the small man was down on his back.

"Atta boys!" Kowalski called out, before looking around for his partner.

"Maurice!" he yelled, looking left and right, only to see his older partner running as fast as he could towards Turtle Pond as several gunshots were fired. Kowalski's eyes tracked the path that the officer was taking and saw Agent Williams fire her weapon into a tall man in black, knocking the asshole on his spindly butt.

(Good on ya kid…) he might not like the FBI agent, but the woman knew how to shoot.

"Three down, one to go, Maurice!" he called out cockily, confident that things were finally on the upswing, then his voice caught in his throat as he watched the black armored man slowly stand up and make a motion with his hands towards the slender agent standing before him.

"Oh, shit!" Kowalski couldn't believe his eyes as the FBI agent was caught up in some sort of cloud of white snow like an invisible fist was squeezing her and the whole fucking pond and everything around it turned to ice.

"Maurice! Hold up!" Kowalski burst out from behind the seating and began racing towards his partner, every gut instinct that he'd earned from years on the force screaming in warning, "Wait for me!"

He'd closed the distance by half when something white hot and searing wrapped around one wrist and a leg. Stumbling, he looked down at his wrist and saw that green, glowing wires were wrapped around his shooting hand, burning into the exposed skin. He screamed as the smell of his own skin burning filled his nostrils, and fell hard on his side.

Grunting as he hit the ground, he clawed at the green wires that were burning him only to realize they weren't wires at all, but hair. Green hair. Rolling onto his back, he looked up into the face of the short woman in an emerald shift that he'd just killed a few moments earlier. She was panting heavily and her red lips were open and expectant, revealing bright green teeth.

'Auggh!" Kowalski screamed, and kicked hard at the woman's mid-section, sending her stumbling back a few feet, enough that her hair hold on him was released. He shot her at her again, but his shooting hand was badly burnt and a few shots went wide. The few that did find their target tore through her slight body, but did not kill her. Her pale white skin shimmered and the massive entry wounds of the 45 caliber hollow point slowly began to close up.

"You ruined my dress," she pouted petulantly, advancing on him with predatory grace, "you'll pay for that." Several locks of her hair lashed out with prehensile accuracy, wrapping around the gun and pulling it out of reach, while other tendrils caught him by the leg and dragged him towards her, "but first, I think a lesson is in order, pathetic human. You seem fond of your comrade."

More tendrils flew out, faster than Kowalski could dodge and in seconds he was pinned, legs, throat and hands bound by the burning strands of hair that left him writhing in agony. "Now watch him die."

"Agent Williams!" Cadet bellowed as he ran as fast as he could towards Turtle Pond. He could see three fatalities already and his new partner was clearly in trouble. Vaguely he heard Kowalski calling his name, but ignored it. There wasn't time for him to wait. Something terrible was happening.

As a child growing up in the Louisiana Bayou, he and his cousins told each other stories at night about a strange, witch-woman who lived in the darkest parts of the swamps. Black Water Annie they called her. An ill-advised expedition into the swamp one night had left Cadet with nightmares for years and a deep appreciation that the world wasn't nearly as simple as one might wish it to be.

"Let her go!" He skidded to a stop, aiming his semi-automatic at the back of a tall man in black who he guessed was the source of what was holding his partner captive.

Nestled in a dream of swirling ice and snow, Sarah stirred. Far past being cold, she felt warm. Sleepy. Content. The voice in her head called her name again, urging her to come and join him, to give into sweet sleep and for the first time in many years, to finally find a measure of rest. She sighed, finally ready to acquiesce to the demands of the voice and her own weariness, when she caught the hint of another voice, barely discernible about the howling wind.

It was the voice of her partner, a good man who, despite being pushed away many times, had still tried to be her friend.

"Agent Williams!"

Maurice screamed her name again, shielding his eyes from the stinging snow, trying to get a good look and see if the FBI agent was even responsive. Her eyes were closed, body limp, motionless in the middle of an impossible winter maelstrom in the middle of summer, save for her now unbound hair whipping violently about her ashen hued face. Her now tattered jacket, trousers and shirt were frozen stiff with ice and sleet. Her lips were blue and her black, long lashes encrusted in ice crystals. An illogical part of his brain offered that she looked like a beautiful sleeping ice princess from fairy tales that he told his grandchildren. The logical part of his mind screamed that she looked dead - that she looked like a corpse on a freezer slab at the coroner's office.

A groan barely escaped Sarah's ice sealed lips as she began to struggle. "No" she gasped as if trying to wake from a nightmare. She tried to blink but her eyes were frozen shut.

"How interesting," the man in black murmured, at once both pleased and slightly perplexed that the human in his thrall was capable of fighting against the spell he'd put her under. Curious, he inhaled sharply and caught a strange undercurrent of magic coming off the woman. Rather than from a bespelled object or incantation, it was coming from within her, buried deeply in her bones and blood.

(Not so human after all…) He'd sensed this magic many years ago when he'd tried to take back what was his and been thwarted at the last possible moment. Knowing that it still existed within this once and future victim was a delicious realization, an unforeseen opportunity at revenge.

"We have much to discuss, Sarah."

Further examination proved impossible as the annoying older human law officer decided to shoot him.

Snarling with fury and no little measure of pain, the man in black whirled around, letting Sarah fall roughly to the ground, though he kept her pinioned, unable to move by the force of his will. He glared balefully at the stocky, dark skinned human wearing a ridiculously colorful flowered shirt. The man looked like a buffoon. Another soft word was uttered, this one more guttural and low, a command.

"Detective Cadet!" Sarah warned as she came to her senses, her teeth still chattering from the cold, "get the hell out of there!" She looked at her friend - yes, dammit, he was her friend, the only one who'd taken the trouble to tolerate her bullshit and offer back a measure of kindness. Sarah screamed out another warning as she saw the troll coming down in long, lumbering strides towards the pond as if it had been called by its master.

"Not gonna happen, Sarah," Detective Cadet said quietly, his own dark eyes tracking the monster as she slid a fresh magazine into his semi-automatic. "I don't leave my partners behind."

"I see you fancy yourself her champion. How quaint."

As his wounds, both internal and external, began to heal, he caught Sarah by her unbound hair and hauled her up until she was kneeling beside him.

"Beg me, and I will spare his life and yours. I give you my word."

Still dazed, Sarah looked up at the man, her head swimming with pain and memory. She'd heard the same promise, thirteen years earlier.

December 21, 1989

(Give me the girl and I will spare your life and that of your son…)

After her father had told her to make a run for it, she'd taken Toby and hidden him in her bedroom closet, stuffing bedding and stuffed animals all around her brother in hopes that he would remain unseen and unheard. For her part, she skittered under her bed and lay still. Unable to find a weapon worth wielding, she tried to remain absolutely silent.

Her father was already dead, she'd heard enough to be sure of that.

Irene was the only adult left in their house and she was hysterical.

(Tell me where the girl is and I swear that I will let you and your child go free. You have my word…) Sarah screwed her eyes shut at the lie she heard in the monster's honeyed voice.

Her step mother began to cry harder, alternating between wailing for her husband and begging for mercy.

( If you want your son to live past this night, give me the girl. She's not of your blood or body, merely a burden born from another woman…)

Irene's wail reached a crescendo, then faltered and in that second, Sarah knew the choice her step-mother had made.

"Sarah!" I'm sorry, but I have no choice!"

Clapping a hand over her mouth so her sobs wouldn't carry, Sarah began to weep, abandoned yet again by the only mother figure she had left.

"She's got to be hiding in her room. It's down the hall, first door on the right! Now, please…" Irene began to cry again, "let me take my son and leave. You promised!"

There was the sound of crashing furniture and an agonized woman's scream that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Such was the weight of the black clad monster's word.

Present Day..

"Save your breath, Sarah. This dude's full of shit!" Detective Cadet was having none of it. He'd worked too many cases where promises were made by killers and not one had ever been kept.

"Beg me, Sarah…" the man in black pitched his voice into a sickening mockery of a croon, "You can end this suffering with just a word," fisting her hair, he pulled, forcing her to look up at him like a supplicant.

She turned her head to the side, ignoring the pulling of her hair, so she could make eye contact with Cadet. Her green eyes met his dark brown ones. Her partner had such kind eyes, even after a life of hunting down monsters like the one who held her life in his hands.

A hundred words, apologies and regrets passed between them in a second.

Cadet nodded and brought his semi-automatic up to bear. Sarah nodded in return and gave him a sad smile, before turning her attention to the man in black.

"Go fuck yourself," she said, all the hate in the world balled up into three little words, "you're going to kill us both. I know how you operate."

The man in black laughed, his smile now manic, "do you now?"

Detective Cadet began to shoot at the troll. The beast roared in pain, but shook off the gunshot wounds as Sarah feared it would, and continued to lumber towards the stocky detective.

She swallowed, her throat dry. This was the endgame and the object wasn't to survive, it was to draw out as much time as possible for the NYPD to arrive and give innocent people an opportunity to escape both the man in black and the troll who had killed so many of them. This was also a tactic that she'd trained for as an FBI agent, a play of last resort, a game she was determined to play well.

Sarah gave the man who'd pinned her by his side a withering look, then spoke, her voice dripping with pure condescension.

"You're nothing special, just a pathetic man with an overblown ego who was abandoned by his father at a young age."

Sarah continued without pity, pouring as much scorn as she could into each barbed word that left her mouth. While she had many faults, her ability to create a dead to rights criminal psychological profile wasn't one of them.

"You tortured and killed animals as a child to compensate for the loss and to try and garner the attention of your one remaining parent," Eyes blazing hot with defiance, she glared up at the monster she'd spent her adult life tracking down, "it didn't work. Your mother rejected you, probably in favor of another sibling, one who I have no doubt you terrorized."

With a snarl, the man in black backhanded Sarah with enough force to split her lip down the middle. He hit her again, snapping her head back and sending her sprawling to the wreckage of the wooden walkway.

His second magazine spent, Cadet slipped his third and final one into the gun and took aim at the beast that was nearly twice his height.

(I am going to die…) he acknowledged to himself in between shots as he retreated towards a broken stone bridge where a young woman and an elderly couple already lay dead. He thought of his sweetheart of forty years, of his children and grandchildren that would never see him come home. Trying to make each and every last shot count, he aimed carefully for the monster's face, hoping to blind or at least incapacitate in some small way and give people more time to escape.

He fired his fourth shot, and it grazed the temple of the mottled, gray skinned creature. The fifth shot took out a black beady eye. For a second, the troll roared and staggered in pain, clutching at the gaping hole where its eye had been, then a minute later straightened up, the bullet wound closing up. The monster roared at him and then began to lope forward, its massive knuckles dragging on the ground as it picked up speed.

Sarah coughed raggedly, her mouth tasting of coppery blood. She heard another gunshot and saw the troll take a swipe at her partner. It was a hideous game of cat and mouse with only one outcome.

The unfairness of it all made her furious and spiteful and she glared up at the man in black, unaware that her expression was nearly as cold and cruel as his.

"You wet the bed as a child" she taunted, savoring the look of shock and a fleeting shadow of embarrassment on the man's face, "and you struggle to maintain an erection when it matters most." She laughed mockingly even as blood ran in rivulets down her mouth and chin. "I know you better than you know yourself."

Maurice was now within earshot of Agent Williams and to his surprise and then dark amusement, he could hear the woman ripping the serial killer a new asshole, savaging the bastard as best she knew how. He laughed, despite his time on earth being nearly over, a warm, life-affirming laugh when she archly declared the monster an impotent bed-wetter and told him he had mommy issues.

(That's it, Partner…give him hell…)

He fired his seventh and then eighth shot, as he intentionally retreated away from the theater, trying to buy the evacuees as much time as he could. Sarah, he knew, was doing the same thing in her own acerbic way.

"Sarah, I'm sorry that I told Kowalski," he called out in farewell, his low voice cracking a little with emotion as he barely missed a crushing blow from the troll that had already taken out scores of innocent bystanders, "but the poor bastard needs all the breaks he can get. Promise me that you'll keep an eye out for him."

Sarah closed her eyes when Cadet's final shot rang out, her eyes filling up with tears. There was the answering roar of a troll and then a few seconds later, the sound of a man screaming out in pain and a sickening, crunching sound.

Then there was silence.

"No, you're nothing special at all," she repeated between clenched teeth, tears running down both cheeks as she glanced over to where her partner was laying, half hidden beneath an oak tree. Sarah groaned when another blow knocked her to her side, clutching at ribs that were at best badly bruised and most likely broken, "I knew when and where you would strike tonight and I was right. I can track you like the animal you are."

"Once again, you are lying to me, Sarah," the tall man snarled as he kicked her in the stomach, relishing the sound of the air being knocked out of her. Inwardly, however, there was a filament of worry in the back of his mind. Before emerging from the veil of the Otherworld, he'd heard the bitch speaking to the empty-headed nymph about tracking him to the park. "When this is over and you've given me the answers I need, I look forward to peeling your tongue from your throat."

Summoning up every last vestige of strength, Sarah staggered up into a half standing position, and gave the man who'd killed her family a scornful smile, defiant and triumphant even in the face a death that would come in seconds, rather than minutes, "The good man you just killed, he and his partner alerted the authorities that you were coming and every goddamn officer and unit in this city is on its way and will slaughter you and your freaks. You'll be outnumbered a hundred to one."

"Then I had better attend to the business at hand," for a moment, the man's mask of composure fractured, revealing something bestial beneath. His voice was no longer soft, but labored and rough, as if he was struggling terribly to stay in control, "but know this, Poppet," he hissed the word against Sarah's ear, flicking foamy spittle on her cheek, "I'm coming back for you."

He spoke another word, one of hate and malice that bound and broke and left Sarah shrieking in pain, unable to stand or move. Turning sharply on his heel, motioning for the troll to follow him like a hellish pet, the man in black called out to his companions who were wreaking havoc all around the theater, "Find the boy and bring him to me!"

Unable to stop the bastard from leaving, Sarah writhed on the half-sunk wooden walkway, eyes wide and mouth gaping open in agony. She'd felt this pain before and it had been dealt by the same man. Her mind was not spared from her torment, replaying the night her world had been turned upside down in a merciless loop that began to eat away at her sanity.

Convulsing from a sort of anguish that there were no words to describe, she felt herself slipping head first off the torn apart wooden boards and into the pond, now no longer frozen. Desperate, she tried to catch hold of something…anything…to keep her from going into the water, but her limbs were still bound in invisible bonds by whatever cruelty the man in black had cast upon her. With a strangled cry, she slid into the cold, murky water and disappeared from view.

Trying not to scream and fill her lungs with water, Sarah bit down on her lower lip savagely, her teeth tearing tender skin. She bucked and tried to twist in the water, trying to get her head up but it was to no avail. She was sinking to the bottom of the pond, doomed to join the other dead plants and flash-frozen animals.

A vicious ripple of pain impaled her, the shock and severity so great that she was unable to stop herself from screaming. Air bubbles escaped her badly bleeding mouth and floated up gently towards the surface of the pond. Her body shuddered and she snapped her mouth shut before water could race in and finish her off. Cold and afraid, she looked up at the surface a few feet above her head, an eternity away.

(Help me…)

It was a silent cry, wordless in the cold, muddy water.

Sarah tried to hold her breath, but her lungs, already badly bruised, were burning from a lack of oxygen,

(Please…help me…)

Long past the point in her life where she bothered praying, it was still an instinctual plea to the universe at large and even in the darkness of places as her body shook and her mouth opened of its own accord to draw in breath that wasn't there, there was a place in the universe that answered.

In the next chapter…

"It had been three days since the Great Law had been broken and not a word, not a blasted whisper of news had come to him from the outside realms of the Otherworld. While the passage of time varied greatly from one kingdom to the next, to say nothing of the human world, he should have heard something by now, Goblin neutrality be damned.

Jareth mulishly drank his wine and pondered what the ponderous silence could mean. It was as if the entirety of the Otherworld was poised on a knife's edge, holding its collective breath, each selfish faction waiting to see what the other would do.

(I'm half tempted to make the first move…) "

Author's Notes

Oh, my goodness! Thank you for taking the time to read, follow and review this story. It's been years since I tried to write, especially now that I am on medication that unfortunately can hamper the creative process in my mind. I feel wobbly and still uncertain and am trying to lock down the voices of the characters, but I'll do my best very best!

Your reviews and reading mean the world to me. Thank you.