Cold Case

Despite the frosty February weather outside, it was hot as fuck in the basement. The small 10” oscillating fan atop the metal filing cabinet did little to provide relief from the close sweltering heat in the small dingy subterranean office, the rustling of a handful of sheets of papers pinned to the tack board on the windowless wall to mark its passage as it moved back and forth. The ballast containing two fluorescent lights overhead hummed and the tube on the left occasionally flickered through the cracked plastic cover.

It was his first day back. Dropping the slender Manilla file folder on the desk, Abel Stafford slid into his chair, a darkened crescent moon shaped sweat stain already under each arm of his white dress shirt. Strumming his long fingers on the desk, he stared at the six inch tall worn file folder bound with elastic rubber bands sitting prominently on the blotter atop his cluttered desk, the outside covered in hand scribbled notes. He didn’t need to open the folder to know its contents. He knew it inside and out, front to back. It contained the dossiers and case information on twenty two unresolved missing persons. Lying next to it was the new file folder he had brought, a new missing person’s case though one not officially assigned to him, this one involved the all too recent and mysterious disappearance of his partner Gilbert Caine.

Thinking about Gil brought a ghost of smile to Abel’s flushed sweaty face. Only two short years ago Abel had completed his training at Quantico, a young hotshot gun toting FBI special agent eager for field assignment and ready to change the world. That drive, that ambition brought him into conflict with one of the senior instructors who, out of spite pulled a few strings, and instead of field duty for Abel, as he wanted, he found himself assigned to an office in the basement of the annex to the Justice Building with Gilbert as his partner. He didn’t know why the instructor had chosen this particular destination for assignment, other than maybe the old bastard thought it would be a funny play on names to team him with Gilbert, Caine and Abel. Whatever the reason, he wound up assigned to the shitty desk investigating missing persons cold case files, some dating back decades. Gil and he couldn’t be more unalike. Gil was a twenty three year veteran of the Bureau, short and fat to the point of almost being obese, while Abel was young, tall and leanly muscled. How Gil ever passed the original physical entry requirements to get into the FBI, Abel had no clue. Also, Abel wasn’t sure if Gil owned a razor or not, it seemed the stubble on his jowly face was always the same length. Despite his initial unfavorable impression of Gil based on appearance, Abel quickly discovered the man possessed an amazingly keen analytical mind with meticulous attention to subtle nuance.

As far as the cases the pair had been assigned, Gil had developed a theory over the years isolated in the basement, intimating there was something more nefarious at play, suggesting that thirteen of the cases were not only connected but not really missing persons at all. He fervently believed they should be treated as homicides and the work of a possible serial killer. Except, there were no bodies or other corroborating evidence supporting that assertion. None. The other special agents often mockingly referred to Gil as a fat Fox Mulder the conspiracy sensitive character from the TV program the X-Files, which of course had everyone referring to Abel as Mulder’s foil, Scully.

Good natured ribbing aside, even Abel had to concede, several of the threads Gil was using to try and connect the cases seemed pretty tenuous and a fair bit of a stretch. To make matter worse, Gil suggested the supposed identity of his shadowy killer was female. Given the infrequency of female serial killers, Aileen Wuornos, Jane Toppan, and Dorothea Puente notwithstanding, the notion was generally met with derision, with Rhett Dobson, one of the Bureau’s best profilers suggesting perhaps Gil had been too long in the perpetually overheated basement.

It was during one of those long afterhours nights of file review several weeks back, bored out of his skull, Abel suggested they take a break and go out and grab a bite, though somehow, at Gil’s insistence they found themselves at O’Shea’s draining a few too many pints. It was there Gil finally shared some of his more controversial thoughts regarding his theory about a lone female abductor with Abel.

“I’ve seen her, you know,” Gil slurred, nodding, bloodshot eyes glassy as he tilted his bottle to see if there was still some beer left in it.

“Who?” Abel queried, grinning back.

“The girl, the one taking all those people,” replied the old man, bringing the bottle up to his lips and draining it.

Abel chuckled, “What? You think one woman is responsible for more than half of those disappearances?” he asked, cheeky grin on his clean shaven face.

“She haunts me, in my dreams,” murmured the older man, expression forlorn.

“Who is she?”

Setting the now empty bottle back on the table, Gil nodded, or attempted to, his head flopping forward then back.

Laughing, Abel clapped a hand on his shoulder, “Yeah? Is she cute?”

The look coming across Gil’s face became almost serene, his voice low, “She is so beautiful,” he whispered. “I thought I had her one time, just before you were assigned to me, that’s when I caught an actual glimpse of her. I just missed,” he lamented, lips curling down into a face and etching lines deeply into his face.

“Did you get together with a sketch artist? You know, give us something a little more to go on,” Abel teased, finishing his own beer and holding the bottle up and making eye contact with the cocktail waitress.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t understand,” Gil hiccupped.

“Go on try me,” Abel encouraged.

“No, but I’ll tell you this much, she’s going to take another person soon. New Orleans during Mardi Gras,” he explained, bringing the empty bottle to his lips and trying to take another drink before looking at the bottle.

The girl Abel flagged appeared, smile on her pretty face as she set coasters down and placed the beers on them before removing the empties.

Handing the girl a bill, “Keep it,” Abel said, grinning at her.

Taking the bill between two slender fingers, she winked at him and vanished back into the bar.

“How do you know she is going to be New Orleans? You have a lead or something pointing you in that direction?” Abel asked.

Shaking his head, Gil shrugged, taking the fresh bottle, “I don’t know how I know, I just do,” he said, though his speech was becoming less coherent.

“You’re not giving us a whole lot to go on,” Abel chuckled, stumbling over his own words and feeling the effects of his own alcohol consumption.

“I don’t know if I should tell, no, I,” he said, exhaling and smacking his lips together and shaking his head.

Abel chuckled again, “I think the solution is simple, we just have to go to The Big Easy and check out every hot woman there, see if we can find her,” he said.

“She’ll make a point of letting me see her, to taunt me, it’s a game she plays,” he babbled.

“Does she have a name?”

Gil shook his head. “I don’t know, she changes it. I’ve got to take a piss,” he stated, pushing himself to his feet, teetering a moment before moving off toward the bathroom.

Abel chuckled to himself, dismissing the ramblings of a tired old drunkard.

And that had been that. As cryptic as the little tidbits of information had been, the old guy divulged nothing more about the mystery woman he claimed was haunting him. Instead, the day following, he submitted the appropriate forms and got the right clearances and just like that, two weeks later they were headed for Louisiana for a ten day field trip. How the old man had managed to sell the necessity of the trip to their supervisor Tom Trager, Abel never knew, not that he minded, he had never been to New Orleans before, though in all honestly, he was just glad to be anywhere other than in that accursed basement.

Mardi Gras in full swing was something to behold, the spectacle, pageantry, a truly amazing experience and feast for the senses. He hadn’t really known what they were looking for, but Gil had said he would know when he saw it as they weaved through the crowds for hours on end.

On the fourth day, the sun already down and night coming alive, Abel and Gil were out on the street amidst the milling throng of revelers. The sound of exploding fireworks sounded overhead, Abel glancing up to see a dazzling display of magenta and emerald colored pyrotechnic bursts. “Did you see that?” he asked, grinning and looking back down, but Gil was nowhere in sight. “Gil!” he called out, trying to catch a glimpse of the old man somewhere in the jubilant crowd. Maneuvering through the tight compacted mass of people, Abel ducked into an open alleyway, pulling out the cell phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Stepping back into the shadows, he swiped the screen and tried to call Gil’s number. Focused as he was, he didn’t hear the scantily clad woman approach from the darkness until she was right up on him, pressing her lean fit body into him. She was tallish, though not nearly as tall as his 6’3”. A bright green metal flecked masquerade mask with a lighter lime green plume concealed the upper part of her face, though he could clearly see her eyes, they appeared emerald in color, almost luminescent in the weak light spilling into the alley from the street. He got the impression of youth and vitality from her as she pressed amazingly firm breasts against him and leaned in, closing her luscious red painted lips over his mouth, her sweet tasting tongue slipping into his mouth and dancing over his. Breaking the buss, she took his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping him before pushing him back, mischievous grin on her face as she draped a string of pale amber colored glass beads over his head. Before he had recovered enough composure to speak, she was gone, disappeared into the sea of people moving through the streets leaving him with a hint of her gloss lingering on his taste buds and an erection in his pants.

That was also the night Gil vanished. He never returned to the hotel and didn’t answer his cell phone. Nothing. Abel checked with medical clinics and the hospital before going to the area field office, though he was re-directed to local police. There was no trace of the aged FBI special agent. Abel spent the remaining days searching for him, but it was fruitless, it was as if the city itself had just swallowed him up.

Contact

Leaning forward, Abel put his elbows on the desk, rubbing his unshaven face in his hands before looking up at the big board. Gil had laid it all out, not just the cases assigned to them, but a hundred other unresolved ones, a big map with the locations of each disappearance, blue pushpins for males, red for female. Abel had always found it odd there were easily twice as many blue pins as red on Gil’s map.

Abel supposed whatever obscure pattern it was Gil had seen or thought he had seen is what took them to New Orleans and now the old man was gone. Getting up, he walked over to the board and picked up a blue pin, tacking it to New Orleans.

“What was it you saw old man?” Abel asked rhetorically, eyes scouring over the plethora of information on the board looking for some fragment or kernel of understanding that would help him make sense of the case.

Shaking his head, he returned to his desk, pulling the large worn file folder full of dossiers toward himself, spotting a word he didn’t know written in blue ink down near the lower corner. Lamia. Looking at the word, he frowned.

“What the fuck is Lamia?” he asked, turning in his chair and firing up his computer before typing the word into Google Chrome. Right at the top was a Wikipedia entry identifying Lamia as some type of figure out of Greek mythology that eats children, likening the creature to a succubus or vampire. Shaking his head, Abel pushed the file away. Maybe Gil had been down here too long if he was honestly considering the culprit to be something out of folklore. What was next? The Bogeyman? A dragon?

He needed coffee. There was a Java Joe’s in the little strip mall just up from the annex. Grabbing his jacket, he made his way upstairs. “Fucking Lamia,” he snorted, stepping out into the cold.

Choosing to brave the elements and walk to the coffee house, he purchased a large black coffee before depositing himself at a vacant table. Pulling out his work phone, he clicked the button and swiped the screen, surprised to find a text message from an unknown number waiting for him.

“Hello Abel,” read the message.

He frowned. “Who is this?” he replied.

“Lily,” came the response.

“Lily who?”

A shadowy picture of naked man arrived, bound by what appeared to be fairly thick nylon rope encircling his body repeatedly, a wide piece of silver tape across his face. It was Gil.

“Jesus Christ,” Abel muttered aloud, shaking his head in disbelief. “Where’s Gil?” he inquired.

“He can’t come to the phone right now, he’s a LITTLE tied up,” came the next message.

“WHO THE FUCK IS THIS?!!” Abel typed back, getting to his feet and moving quickly toward the door.

“Lily.”

“Fuck you Lily!” he replied. Stepping out of Java Joe’s he kept his phone in his hand as he ran back toward the office.

“Maybe,” popped up with a winking faced emoticon.

“Tell me where Gil is!” he demanded, bursting through the front doors of the annex building, startling a handful of people in the lobby. Flashing his credentials, he passed through the security checkpoint and headed directly for Tom Trager’s office.

Another picture arrived, this time showing a close up of a woman’s smooth hairless vagina.

Ignoring courtesy, Abel burst into Tom’s office, phone in his hand.

“I’m busy here Stafford,” Tom said, rising from his desk, a scowl on his angular square jawed face.

“I think I have Gil’s abductor on the line right now,” Abel replied, holding the screen toward his supervisor.

“Jesus Abel. Is this some kind of stupid joke?” growled Tom, eyes narrowing at the pornographic picture on the phone.

Looking down at the picture, “Shit, sorry,” mumbled Abel, sliding his finger down the screen to bring it to the top of the conversation and handing the phone back to Tom.

Frowning, Tom took the phone and scrolled through the dialogue. Picking up his desk phone, he held between his shoulder and his ear, hastily stabbing buttons on the device. “Yeah, Trager, I want you to run an immediate trace!” he barked, providing the numbers for the phone on the other end of the conversation and slamming the receiver back into the cradle.

Abel nodded.

Holding the phone back to Abel, “Keep whoever the fuck this is on the line,” he instructed.

“You there Lily?” Abel typed.

“Not quite, but I’m close.”

“What do you want Lily?” he inquired.

The phone on the desk rang. Snapping it up, Tom nodded, “Do it now, have them secure the premises until we arrive. We’re on our way,” he stated, putting the phone down. “It’s a disposable but it’s local. DC metro can have a unit there in seven minutes. Another ten for us if we go now,” Tom stated, grabbing his suit jacket from the stand near the door. Striding through the office, he pointed at special agents Beckett and Davies, motioning for them to follow.

In the parking garage, Tom and Abel took one of the black Chevy Suburbans while the other two special agents took another and followed.

Checking his phone again, there were no additional responses from whoever was on the other end of the phone.

Tires squealing as they peeled out, Tom immediately turned on the blue and red dash flashers on the vehicle.

Still nothing on the phone.

Racing through the streets into a residential area, “There,” said Tom, braking to a halt in front of the marked police car parked on the street in front of a small older house.

“This is Gil’s house,” Abel murmured, climbing out of the truck.

Tom withdrew his sidearm, “Caine lives here?” he asked as a uniformed policeman walked up.

Abel nodded.

“No one in or out since we arrived,” stated the uniformed policeman, looking back up at the house. Grabbing the radio on his shoulder, “Fed’s are here,” he said into it.

“Your partner is around back?” Tom asked, motioning Beckett and Davies in that direction.

“Yes,” replied the officer.

Tom nodded, “Stafford, you’re with me,” he said, withdrawing his Glock before ascending the concrete steps leading up to the house and leaning to the side of the door. Pulling his own pistol, Abel followed, taking up position on the opposite side of the door.

Reaching down, Tom tested the doorknob, turning it slowly, “Open,” he whispered before pushing the door inward.

Moving systematically through the house, they found it empty, no trace of either Gil or the person who had identified themselves as Lily.

Back out near the vehicle, Tom shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he said. Calling John Beckett over, “I want the scene contained and I want a full forensics sweep of the house, hair, fiber, prints, tracks, every goddamn thing,” he ordered.

“Sir,” replied Beckett.

Looking up and down the street, Tom glanced up at the gray sky overhead. Motioning Davies over, “It’s the middle of the bloody day, I want the neighborhood canvased to see if anyone noticed anything,” he growled.

Second Contact

Despite the best efforts of everyone involved, the investigative team found nothing of any value, the only hairs were identified as belonging to Gil. Other than that, there was nothing.

Back at the Justice building annex, Abel was required to surrender his phone to IT, getting a replacement.

He had hoped because the possible kidnapper had made contact through him he would be invited into the case, but he wasn’t, instead Tom handed it over to Beckett and his partner Davies and relegated Abel back to the basement. He was supremely pissed but there was fuck all he could do about it, at the end of the day it was Trager’s call.

Surly mood etched visibly on his face, Abel left the office. Knowing there was nothing to eat in his apartment, he parked his car in the underground garage and then walked down to the little avant-garde bistro just up the block from his place. Sitting himself at a table, he ordered a soup and sandwich combo and a sparkling water, replaying the text conversation in his head. Why was the word, ‘little’ capitalized in that one response? From the look of the picture Gil had been trussed up pretty damn good. The person identified themselves as Lily, a woman’s name. No way in the world any one woman packed Gil around by herself. Gil was 260 if he was an ounce. So why the pussy shot? Misdirection? Some go fuck yourself passive aggressive stab? There was no list of demands. It was all so very confusing.

The barista returned with his water as one of the phones in his pocket made an electronic noise.

Frowning, he pulled out the work cell, nothing. Next he took out his personal phone, there was a text message on it.

“Hello Abel,” it read.

“Lily?”

“Yes. I must say, given the drab décor of your apartment, I think it’s pretty obvious you should consider a woman’s touch to give this place some feminine flair,” read the newest message.

“Are you in my apartment right now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you suggesting I could maybe use a woman like you in my life to help spruce my place up?” he replied. Motioning the young woman over, he showed her his ID and asked for a phone. She scooted off.

“Lol, you couldn’t handle a woman like me,” was the response.

“I think you would be surprised,” he provided.

“I don’t doubt you would be quite a handful,” she answered.

“Where’s Gil?” he asked, taking the cordless phone from the girl, he called 911.

“He is with me still, though I suppose for not very much longer.”

“Gilbert Caine is a good man, trying to make the world a better place. Please don’t hurt him,” he requested. Speaking to the 911 operator, he provided her his identification protocol and advised her there was an intruder in his home before supplying her with the address.

“Did you like my pictures?” she queried.

“Not the first one, Gil is my friend, my partner. Can you tell me what it is you want so we can have him back?” he inquired. Giving the girl back the bistro phone.

“I’m afraid you won’t want him back when I am finished with him.”

“Please Lily, it doesn’t have to be this way. You could just let him go,” Abel suggested.

“Tomorrow, he will be free of me,” she assured.

“Unharmed?” he asked.

No response.

“Lily?”

No response.

Taking his meal to go, he left the untouched water on his table and hurried back to his apartment, arriving just as the police cruiser pulled up. Two police officers stepped out of the vehicle, one man, one woman.

Abel walked toward them, “Here,” he said.

Looking in his direction, “You Stafford?” asked the female cop, a cute little blonde haired number with a pretty smile.

Abel nodded, pulling the leather wallet from his suit pocket and flashing his credentials.

“You called about an intruder?” questioned the male officer, circling around the front of the car.

Abel nodded, leading them to the glass security door into the building. Together the trio went upstairs to the fifth floor via elevator. At the door to his apartment, there were no indications or signs of any forced entry. Everything inside seemed undisturbed and the glass door to his balcony was locked. As with Gil’s house earlier in the day, there was no one there.

“Do you see anything missing?” inquired the lady police officer, holstering her pistol.

Putting his food on the counter, Abel shook his head, “Doesn’t look like it,” he answered.

The two police exchanged glances, the female stepping forward and handing Abel a card. “If you notice anything out of the ordinary, feel free to call me, Lisa, my number is there on the card,” she offered, smiling at him.

Abel smiled back and nodded, “Thanks,” he replied.

He waited until after the police left before putting the card on the counter. There was something amiss, though he chose not to share it with the police. There was an unfamiliar scent lingering in the air, a woman’s faint perfume, subtle, yet all throughout the apartment. He knew it hadn’t come from the lady cop.

He phoned Tom and advised him of the contact, forwarding the texts before grabbing a spoon from the drawer beside the sink taking his food out of the bag and opening the white Styrofoam container. Peeling the opaque plastic lid off the soup, he dropped it into the top half of the food container and leaned over the counter to eat his food.

This whole situation was so bizarre. He could only presume the perpetrator was contacting him because of his relationship to Gil. Was it like some type of Zodiac Killer thing? Taunting the authorities, daring them to catch him or her? How had Lily even known where he lived? Then again, she, if it truly was a she, had had possession of Gil for over a week and could easily have gotten or worse tortured the information out of him.

After eating, he rattled off a quick hundred fingertip pushups to burn off some of the pent up energy from earlier in the day before grabbing a quick shower. Clean, he threw on some pajama bottoms before getting settled on the couch and clicking on the TV.

Dream Weaver

It was Mardi Gras, noise of jubilation ringing in his ears as celebrants danced and writhed their way down the street. Gil was there, tailing someone wearing a dark cloak, he couldn’t see the person’s face, though by the narrowness of the shoulders, he got the impression it was a woman.

“Gil!” Abel called out, trying to work his way closer to the old man. Somewhere off to his left, fireworks went off, drawing his attention.

When he looked back, Gil was gone. There was a narrow path between two buildings. Against the flow of the sea of people, he barged through them, fighting to get to the opening of the dark narrow alley.

Stepping into the alley, the path beyond swallowed up by the tenebrous shadows betwixt the buildings. Fumbling with his phone to bring up the flashlight app, he didn’t see her emerge from the darkness until she was on him, same mask, same amazing verdant eyes, except now she was taller than him, pushing him back against the wall and holding him there as she tilted her head to the side and kissed him fiercely on the mouth, her tongue pushing inside his mouth, a sound of pleasure emanating from her throat. He tried to push her back, but she was too strong, her lips expanding, or maybe he was shrinking, either way, now her lips covered the entirely of his face, and it felt like she was sucking the air out of his lungs. Spots danced before his eyes. Releasing him, he dropped to his hands and knees, gasping as she vanished into the night.

Coughing and sputtering, he leaned back on his heels, wiping the saliva from his face. Picking up his phone from the ground, he stood up and found the flashlight. Flicking it on, he shone it into the fuliginous darkness.

The woman’s taste still strong in his mouth, “Gil?” he called out, shuffling deeper into the sooty blackness, the feeble light swallowed up only a few feet in front of him.

“Abel, is that you?” came the response from somewhere indistinct in the darkened distance.

“Here,” Abel replied, trying to move quicker toward the sound of his partner’s voice.

“I can hear you, but I can’t see you,” Gil said, voice sounding closer now.

“I’m right here, you’re close partner, keep talking,” Abel encouraged.

They was something ahead in the inky shroud, tall rising up. It was the body of an enormous nude woman, on her knees, legs parted, like some mammoth polished statue. There was something small and pale on the ground beneath her genitals. It was Gil rising to his feet, corpulent flesh naked. Abel stopped in his tracks. He could not see the face of the gargantuan woman, but her sculpted body was magnificent, perfect breasts each more than twice his height and crowned with small wine stained nipples, narrow waist, her pudenda smooth and free of hair. Large immense hands rested on her thighs, fingers ending in long nails painted deep ruby.

Broad smile splitting his jowly face, “I see you,” Gil said exuberantly, stumbling forward a handful of steps, seeming unaware of the unbelievably quiet gigantic woman looming directly above him.

Suddenly the woman inclined forward, her face coming into view, loose strands of long ebon hair like darkness itself coalescing around her head and spilling over her shoulders and onto her breasts, eyes focused on the tiny thing beneath her, lips the color of blood pulled back into a smile. Achingly beautiful, she was terrible at the same time and Abel felt afraid.

Motivated by fear for his partner, “Run!” he yelled, trying to coax some additional speed out of the rotund man.

Shuffling forward, “I’m coming,” Gil wheezed, his voice weak and breathless as he tried to jog.

Abel shook his head, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, like watching a car accident just before it happens.

The woman leaned her body over top of Gil, lifting her hands off her legs and placing them wide apart on the ground, her enormous exquisite breasts, still firm but shifting pendulously as she continued moving forward, to track Gil’s movements.

“Come on Gil, run!” Abel hollered, eyes moving from his partner to the descending head of the woman. Her posture appeared like she was doing one of the cheater pushups, knees on the ground as her upper body came down above him, her plump lips parting and the tip of her tongue tracing a path over the bottom one.

The portly man pulled up, hands on his side as he struggled for air.

“Gil you need to move like right now!” Abel screamed, the woman’s mouth opening wide above Gil as her face continued to descend.

Shaking his head, Gil waved a hand, “Give me a minute for crying out loud,” he said between pants, oblivious to what was happening.

“Gil!” shrieked Abel at the tops of his lungs, eyes round and full of panic as the woman’s enormous face came down over Gilbert, mouth closing around the older man’s thick mid body. “Gil!” he yelled again.

He could see Gil’s legs still protruding from between her dark lips, flailing away as she closed her eyes and reared back, hands coming up off the ground and caressing her enormous breasts, thumbs moving over hardened nipples.

Taking a tentative step forward, “Gil!” repeated Abel, voice filled with alarm.

He heard a guttural moan of pleasure coming from the woman as she touched herself, left hand leaving her breast, crossing over her taut stomach and down between her thighs seeking out the dewy wetness there, head swaying from side to side. Lifting her chin, he watched Gil’s legs vanish as she sucked his body entirely into her mouth. Then she swallowed, a slight movement in her throat as her lips parted and she gasped in pleasure, fingers increasing in speed as they played in gentle circles over her swollen pussy.

Letting out a sharp cry, she suddenly bucked forward, rising up onto her knees, head thrown back in ecstasy.

Unable to look away from the massive woman in the throes of release, Abel swallowed hard.

Groaning, she collapsed back on her heels, bringing her slick wet hand to her lips and sucking at her glistening fingers.

Opening gigantic her eyes, they settled on Abel, as if now for the first time seeing him, a smile playing on her beautiful face. Leaning forward, she settled onto all fours, moving toward him.

Turning away, he tried to run, but it was too late, he felt the moist skin of her left hand come down over him, the scent of her climax clinging to her digits as she bore him to the ground.

Jolting awake, Abel jerked backward in his bed, body slick with perspiration and breathing heavily, eyes frantically dancing about the darkness of his room, the sensation in his body akin to a dream of falling and awakening a split second before impact.

Still lying on his back, he chuckled, bringing his arm over his head, “What kind of fucked up dream was that?” he asked rhetorically.

The Morning After

The balance of Abel’s sleep after the dream was fitful at best, not really solid enough to allow him to slip into slumber and actually get any real rest. Climbing out of bed, he wandered into the bathroom and peed without bothering to click on the light. Finished urinating, he turned on the faucet, washing his hands before splashing some cold water up onto his face. What a fucked up dream. He wasn’t quite sure where it had come from, but he was certain it wasn’t some kind of psychobabble Oedipal Complex bullshit.

Yawning, he reached over and flicked on the light, catching his weary reflection in his periphery. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes, he frowned. Grabbing his toothbrush, he cleaned his teeth before going into the kitchen and making himself a fruit and vegetable shake.

Powering down the drink without really tasting it, he checked his phone for any new messages from Lily. None. Letting out a pent up breath, he still had time so despite a shit sleep decided to grab a run. Getting himself dressed in his cold weather gear for the frigid wind blowing up the Potomac, he put on his shoes and laced them up. He hoped starting the day with a good run might clear his the overabundance of noise in his head.

Grabbing wallet and keys, he left the apartment and made his way downstairs. Once outside, it was chilly. The first few rays of the sunrise spreading fiery colors across the clear eastern sky, he put his gloves and wool knit cap on and leaned against the edge of the building, stretching his legs to get some oxygenated blood into the muscles before running. Twisting from side to side at the waist several times, he set off at a quick clip, headed for Rock Creek Park

It was good to feel the brisk morning air in his lungs as he ran, invigorating him. He wanted to check the national database to cross reference the name Lily to see if anything unusual might pop up. She had said she would let Gil go today, he hoped she was as good as her word. Elements of the dream persisted in the recesses of his mind. It was so incredibly lucid, vivid. Gil had mentioned this mystery woman of his used to visit him in his sleep, haunt his dreams. Was there some type of connection? He snorted and shook his head, scoffing at the idea. He contemplated the idea of swinging by Marilyn Foster’s office, one of the bureau’s sketch artists. The girl in his dream resembled what he had seen of the woman who had given him the surprise kiss in New Orleans. Was it fishing? Probably. Feet padding over the trail, he chuckled to himself, impressed his subconscious could create such a hot girl minus the fact she would be like over a hundred feet tall.

Completing the leg out, he circled back, kicking up his speed to a sprint to maximize the run before drawing up near the trail exit, his heavy exhales sending plumes into the icy early morning air as he walked back.

Beckett and Davies were both solid agents and would do a good job dogging leads, but she wanted to play this game with him and he was more than up to the task. He needed to try and devise a way to draw this Lily out into the open, outwit her and take her down. He hoped Gil was okay.

Crossing the street back toward his apartment, he went inside. Checking his phone and finding no new messages, he had a quick shower, killing two birds with one stone by shaving at the same time.

Climbing out of the shower and feeling refreshed, he grabbed a plain white towel from the wall-mounted towel bar, drying himself as he exited the steamy bathroom. Walking toward his bedroom, flesh puckering slightly at the cooler air outside the bathroom, he dragged the towel across his chest and midriff, stopping dead at the door to his bedroom. There, on the bed, folded neatly were the clothes Gil had been wearing the night he disappeared, including his partner’s loaded service pistol still in the hogleg holster. There was no doubting it.

Dropping the towel, he hurried over to his closet and grabbed his own gun, sliding the safety off. Unconcerned for his state of undress, “I’m armed,” he threatened, moving silently on the balls of his feet back toward the hall, ears listening intently for any unfamiliar sounds from else place in the apartment.

He knew with certainty the clothes had not been there when he left for his run. He wasn’t sure whether or not he had been in the bedroom after his run so he didn’t know if the clothes had been put there during the run or while he was in the shower. Had she been here in the apartment while he was in the shower? Why the clothes? Had to be Lily fucking with his mind, the notion making him mad.

Sweeping the apartment, it was empty. The security chain on the door was still connected, leading him to believe she had probably slipped in when he went for his run. Engaging the safety, he lay his gun on top of the counter in the kitchen. Grabbing a large black garbage bag and a small white one from under the sink, he returned to the bedroom, sliding his hand in the little white bag and using it to put all of Gil’s clothing into the larger bag before knotting it.

“Fuck you Lily,” he said aloud as he walked over to his drawer and got some underwear. Getting dressed in a suit and tie, he retrieved his weapon and holstered it. Picking up the garbage bag, he made his way down to his car, eyes darting about the parkade and wondering if she was out there, watching him, waiting for him to leave before sneaking back into his apartment. A slow smile spread across his face as an idea formulated in his head. Tossing the bag onto the passenger seat, he went back into the building and returned to his floor, stopping at his neighbor Albert Kinney’s door. Albert was an annoying busy body who made a habit of lurking at the peephole and involving himself in everybody else’s business.

The Neighbor from Hell

Knocking on the door, Abel waited only a few seconds before it swung inward revealing Albert dressed in a housecoat standing there, wide grin on his gaunt face. He was an older man, maybe retirement age, emaciated and several inches shorter than Abel.

“Abel, I thought you had left for the day,” greeted the reed thin Albert, swiping a hand across the few remaining strands of salt and pepper hair decorating his pate and grinning with teeth bordering on yellow.

Smiling, “Albert, sorry to be bothering you this early in the morning, but I may need a bit of favor if you’re going to be around the building today?” he replied, glancing left then right furtively.

Albert’s face lit up as he swallowed the bait, “Oh? I’m pretty sure to be home today, well except maybe to go down and check the mail,” he answered. “I thought I saw some of DC’s finest here last night. I hope everything is okay?” he said, eyes burning feverishly with curiosity.

Abel nodded, “That’s kind of why I’m talking to you this morning. There may or may not be a person or persons coming by my apartment today, could be a lady, might not be. Now they’re not supposed to let themselves in, but if they do, I need you to call me right away. Do you think you could do that?” he inquired.

Licking his thin lips, Albert nodded, “Of course,” he nodded, smacking his lips. “Now it might help if I knew just who these people might be,” he suggested, eyes narrowing.

“You know who I work for?” Abel asked, tilting his head slightly to one side.

“You’re with the government,” he replied.

Abel smiled. “Actually it’s the FBI and I know I’m being kind of vague about all of this, but that’s only because of how limited our intelligence is at the moment and I don’t want to inadvertently expose you to any unnecessary risk,” Abel provided, grinning inwardly. Planting the seed of importance with Albert would keep the nosy man glued to the door for the entire day.

Rubbing his hands together, Albert nodded, “Do you want me to stop them?” he asked, eager to participate.

“No, no. I just need you to surveille the hall and report any unusual activity back to me. I cannot stress enough how important it is that you only watch. If you try to intervene you might be tipping this person or these people off that we’re onto them and that might jeopardize the overall operation,” Abel counseled.

“Operation,” Albert murmured, broad smile creasing lines into his gaunt face.

“The scope of this is pretty big, and you just might be the key that helps us crack this. Now do you have a pen and paper? I’ll give you my personal cell number,” Abel offered.

The slender man darted back into his apartment, returning almost instantaneously with pencil and yellow pad of sticky notes.

Abel provided his digits, watching to make sure Albert jotted them down correctly.

“Must be pretty important,” Albert commented, trying to ferret out additional morsels of information.

Abel nodded slowly, “It could be,” he conceded, raising a conspiratorial eyebrow and reaching out to clap a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder.

“Well, you can certainly rely on me,” Albert proclaimed emphatically.

Releasing Albert, Abel stepped back, “I have to go now, but remember, anything seems off, or someone is trying to sneak in there, you let me know,” he instructed, pointing an index finger at Albert’s skinny chest and turning away. He could hear incomprehensible mumbling coming from the intensely inquisitive man as he strode down the hall. The thought of unleashing Albert on whomever it was messing around with him put a satisfied smile on his face. He felt very confident Albert would hover around the peephole all day, like a cat over a mouse hole. If Lily or whomever was using that name showed up, he would know and that might just be the edge he needed to give him the upper hand and bring her down.

“Deal with that,” he smugly said as he stepped into the elevator.

Riding the lift back down to the parking garage, he walked over to his car. His personal phone buzzed.

Stopping, he pulled the phone out of his pocket. It was a message from Albert. “Just making sure this was the right number.”

Abel nodded, “Yes, but only text if you see someone,” he replied, sliding the phone back into his jacket and resuming his trek to the car.

The phone vibrated again. Another message from Albert. “What if it’s the police, do you want me to text you and let you know?”

Letting out a long breath, Abel shook his head. “If it’s anyone other than me,” he stipulated, remaining still and holding his phone in his hand and waiting, anticipating, knowing there would be another message.

Sure enough, “Copy, that’s the right term right? Copy? When you’re done?” came the response.

Chuckling ruefully, “You’re killing me here Albert,” he mumbled out loud, thumbs dexterously moving over the touch screen. “Yes, copy will suffice. I have to get in my car and drive to work now. Since I don’t have a text converter for Bluetooth, let’s maintain some radio silence unless there’s something to report,” he suggested.

“Copy.”

Looking toward the concrete ceiling, Abel shook his head and growled under his breath, slipping the phone into his pocket and walking with purpose. Arriving at his car and getting in, he fastened the seatbelt before sliding the key fob into the ignition. Turning it to the right, he started the engine. His phone buzzed, vibrating against his chest. Shaking his head and chuckling softly, he pulled the phone out of his pocket. It was Albert.

“I just saw that young woman from down the hall named Amy Wilkerson walk passed my door toward the elevator. It looked like she was carrying a laundry basket full of what looked like dirty clothes. Copy.”

Staring at the phone, a pang of regret stabbed him in the belly. Should he explain the difference between ‘over’ and ‘copy’ to Albert? Maybe it would just be simpler to just shoot him? No. “Copy,” he typed before putting the car in gear and steering his car out of the underground lot.

No News is Not Good News

Abel contemplated grabbing himself a coffee as he drove in, but chose instead not to, thinking the caffeine might make him jittery. Parking in the lot, he made his way into the building, bag full of Gil’s clothes in his hand. Going directly to Tom’s office, he dropped the plastic bag in the chair opposite the desk.

“What the hell is that?” Tom asked, face sour and in no mood for games.

“I went for a run this morning, when I came back, those were waiting for me. Gil’s clothes the night he vanished. His side arm is there too,” Abel explained.

Tom let out a breath and shook his head, thick callused hand sweeping overtop of his military style flat top haircut. “Fuck me,” he said, looking at the bag then back to Abel.

Abel nodded, noting the prominent throbbing vein on Tom’s forehead. “You want me to take it over to Forensics?”

“Just get it to Beckett, he can take it from there,” advised the supervisor.

Grabbing the bag again more forcefully than necessary, Abel snorted under his breath and turned to leave.

“I don’t like this either Abel, goddammit,” Tom said causing the junior agent to turn.

“Sorry?” Abel queried, expression softening but only slightly.

“I don’t like this shit. Whoever this Lily person is, she’s ass fucking us in our own house, I don’t like it,” he growled.

Abel nodded in agreement. Feeling there was no more to be said, he left, complying with the instruction and handing off the bag of Gil’s things before making his way down to the subterranean chamber that served as his office. Removing his jacket, he hung it on the rack and took out his phone before plunking down in the chair behind the desk. Checking the device, there were no new messages.

Lily had indicated she was going to ‘set Gil free’ today. Gil had no clothes. Forecast called for overcast skies, temperatures in the upper thirties to low forties. There was a surveillance team in a cube van disguised as a plumbing truck stationed at Gil’s house and two units on emergency intercept, another on standby recovery. If she released him in the DC area, they would find him quickly.

A light bulb flared in his brain. She had abducted Gil in Louisiana. There was no conceivable way she got him up all the north to DC other than by personal vehicle, which might mean out of state plates. Highly unlikely it was a car. Picking up his phone, he dialed Beckett’s extension.

“Beckett,” came the reply.

“John, it’s Abel, I just had a thought about Gil’s case,” he said.

“Normally I would tell to keep your hands off the case, but I know you and the old man got close. What have you got?” asked the other agent.

“We didn’t find a phone at Gil’s house, but we know the signal was coming from there, meaning Lily has probably has Gil here in DC. How did she get him up here? You know? I think she might be driving an out of state vehicle big enough to sneak the old bugger up here. What do you think?” Abel asked.

“Hmm, I don’t know, it places a pretty heavy emphasis on the assumption Lily is from out of state. Not to crap on your theory, but what’s to say she’s from Louisiana, or Texas, or New York, you know. What if she’s local and drove down to New Orleans and did what she did? I mean I can put DC Police on point to keep their eyes open, but it’s a needle in a field of haystacks. There’s also the grim possibility the picture of Gil wasn’t recent, meaning he may not necessarily have made the trip,” John replied solemnly.

He was right. “Just trying to help,” Abel said, feeling deflated.

“I know, I’m sorry. Doing what you and Gil do, you know better than most how this plays out. Each passing minute our chances of recovering him diminish and I am willing to entertain any effort or strategy you have to try and help get him back,” Beckett offered.

“Thanks,” Abel expressed, hanging up the phone.

As much as he didn’t want to think about it, he hadn’t considered the picture might not be recent. It would explain how Lily was able to get in and out of Gil’s house without drawing any attention to herself from the neighbors. Why was Gil so bound and determined to believe it was a woman? Abel shook his head, still not sold on the idea of Lily being a female, let alone a single person, Gil was just too bloody bulky to easily pack around unobtrusively. Which meant? If it was a collusion, who and why? Gil had been a cold case fixture for years. He had cleared dozens of cases and nothing in particular stood out, except... Wait. There was one. What the hell was it? It was years before Abel’s time. Knocking his knuckles against his forehead, he tried to remember. The girl’s name was something Kelley. And the group was what? The Hand? Snapping his fingers, the Red Hand, Satan’s Left.

The Red Hand had grabbed the daughter of one of their former members who had run away from the cult. What the hell was that girl’s name? The group had the Kelley girl for years before Gil was able to track her down. For a group of nut bars, they had been fairly well organized. Did they possess the wherewithal to pull something like this off? Believed disbanded, the inner circle of the group went underground or to jail.

Jumping up, he needed to get to archives and see the file. If that girl’s name was Lily, he just might be onto something.

Given his job assignment in Cold Case, one of the very few benefits the post offered was enhanced access to case files. With his clearance, he was able to check the physical file out of the archive. Grabbing the banker style box, he returned to his office.

Like an expectant child ripping open a Christmas present, he opened the box and cracked the file.

Elise Kelley. Fuck. Doing some more digging, both in the file and on the database, he was able to establish that of the seven persons originally convicted, four were still in jail, one was out on parole, one was dead, and the remaining person had completed her sentence. Her name, Elizabeth Jensen. Was Lily a nickname for Elizabeth? He couldn’t find anything on Google confirming it. Some stupid devil cult. Maybe that was the tie in to Gil’s scribbled notation ‘Lamia’?

The cell phone on his desk vibrated.

“Albert, I swear,” he said, reaching over and picking up the device. The message was from Lily.

Cat, Mouse, and a Shiny New Penny

Looking at the icon identifying a newly arrived message, Abel swiped the screen.

“Hello Abel,” read the message.

“You said you were going to let Gil go today??? Where is he???” he typed.

“Please, civility suggests the least you can do is offer a girl a proper salutation before making such demands,” chastised the response.

“You want play it this way, I’ll tell you what, you tell me where Gil is right now, then you and I can get all nice and chummy, hell I’ll even take you out for dinner and a movie tonight,” he offered.

“Alas, Gilbert is no longer with me, I released him almost an hour ago,” she answered, adding a little frowny face emoticon.

Grabbing his desk phone, he immediately called up to Tom’s office.

“Trager,” came the voice of his supervisor.

“I got her on the phone again, she says she let Gil go about an hour ago,” he said while typing, “If you cut him loose, where is he?” he queried, shaking his head and hoping like hell she would at least give him a district or starting point to initiate a search.

“Get me her phone number, we’ll run another trace,” Tom instructed.

Looking at the ID, “Her number is blocked,” Abel replied, shaking his head.

“I honestly have no idea where he might possibly be right now,” Lily answered.

“Where did you release him?” he asked.

No response.

“GODAMMIT LILY! WHERE DID YOU RELEASE HIM?”

No response.

“Fuck!” Abel yelled, cocking his arm back as if to throw his cell phone against the paper laden bulletin board with the colored pushpins in it.

“What is it?” came Tom’s gravelly voice through the receiver of the desk phone.

“She’s fucking gone again. She wouldn’t say where she turned him loose,” Abel explained.

“I’ll get the word out to local law enforcement from Baltimore to Alexandria and Arlington, if he’s out there, we’ll goddamn find him,” Tom avowed, hanging up.

Taking a moment to focus on his breathing, Abel looked down at the cell phone in his hand. “You are a fucking CUNT! How’s that for your goddamn salutation!” he snarled through clenched teeth.

“Um, excuse me,” said a soft sounding female voice from the doorway of his office.

Looking up from his desk, Abel blinked a couple of times, trying to process the woman standing in the doorway. She was medium height, youngish, slender, long dirty blonde hair pinned back in a utilitarian fashion. She was wearing a light grey pant suit, cardboard box in her hand. “Ah,” he said, uncertain what to say and letting the uncomfortable silence hang in the air.

She smiled. “I’m special agent Peribo, Penelope, everyone just calls me Penny. I was told to come down and report to special agent Stafford for temporary assignment?” she said, grinning as she raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders.

He smiled weakly back at her. Tom hadn’t said anything about assigning him a new partner. Given the current state of affairs, the timing couldn’t be any more inopportune, “Um, sorry about the, ah, you know the C word, it wasn’t directed at you,” he offered abashedly.

“I have to say it wasn’t quite the welcome I was expecting,” she said, an amused expression on her face.

He chuckled and then shook his head. “I was yelling at my phone,” he said, holding the device up for her to see, a touch of crimson still in his cheeks.

“It’s okay,” she forgave, shaking her head, “I’ll take the hit, I sort of snuck up on you.”

“Where are my manners,” he said, setting the phone on the desk and rising to his feet. “I’m Abel,” he said, moving forward and extending his hands to take the cumbersome looking box from her.

“It’s not that heavy, I’m able too,” she grinned, thinking he was saying he was able.

He shook his head, “No, sorry, my name is Abel, Abel Stafford,” he clarified.

“Oh,” she said, elongating the word, comprehending the homonym confusion and nodding her head.

“Here,” Abel said, scooping the box out of her hands, “there’s a vacant office just over here,” he added, nodding with his head.

Stepping out of the way, she let him pass and lead her to the unoccupied room, setting the box down on the desk.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling, eyes moving about the interior of the small room.

“I know, the splendor is almost underwhelming,” he said with a grin. “You must really have antagonized someone to get banished down here.”

“It’s kind of funny, Cold Case and it’s so hot down here,” she said, touching her fingers to her brow.

“Welcome to the bureau,” he said with a grin. “I’ll let you get situated, then I can bring you up to speed,” he stated, walking passed her to the door.

“Thanks,” she said.

Nothing against the girl, but why the hell did they send her down here now? Returning to his office, he called Tom.

“Trager,” Tom answered.

“I just got a little blonde chick down here telling me she’s been assigned to Cold Case,” he said.

“Shit, sorry. Yeah Peribo, just graduated and green as she is cute. With all the shit with Gil, I just forgot to forward you the memo. This is just a temp assignment and I figured putting her down there with you would keep the other wolves up here at bay until she moves on,” he explained.

“That’s fucking great, what am I a goddamn babysitter?” Abel growled, not happy.

“Stow it, you’ll rein that attitude of yours in while she’s on loan to us,” Trager ordered.

Scowling, Abel hung up the phone. No sense getting in a pissing match with Tom. Looking at Gil’s copy of the files piled on his desk, he let out a sigh. At least he could keep the girl out of his hair. Getting up, he opened the metal filing cabinet where he kept his own copies of the files and pulled them out before going over to Penny’s office, rapping his knuckles on the jamb of the open door.

Looking up from her desk, she smiled, “Yes?” she said.

“In case I come across like an asshole, let me bring you up to speed on the status of our current investigations,” he offered, half smile on his face.

She nodded, and he spent the better part of the next hour giving her a rough overview of the active cold case files before divulging information he thought might be relevant to Gil’s disappearance.

“Aren’t we supposed to be hands off on special agent Caine’s case?” she inquired, frowning slightly.

“Gil thought they were all related, so as long as we are focusing our energies on our cases under that presumption, then we’re not overstepping the ongoing efforts relating to his disappearance,” he justified.

Looking at the files, her frown deepened, “But?”

“For now, I want you to continue to familiarize yourself with the files,” Abel instructed before exiting her office and returning to his own.

Without a Trace

The day was long, Abel hovering in his office like an expectant father outside a delivery room, praying beyond hope for good news. While there was news, it wasn’t quite what he was hoping for. The extensive hunt through three states and the Capitol District turned up a deceased John Doe near the banks of the Potomac River. It wasn’t Gil. Of his partner there was no trace and he feared the worst.

To her credit, Penny remained in the office, staying hours after her day should have come to a close and periodically checking in on him while citing she was getting acquainted with the case load.

He told her to go home while he busied himself with the ins and outs of the Red Hand file. He wasn’t sure how long he had been scouring through the files when his personal cell phone vibrated on the desk.

Looking at the phone and seeing Albert’s number, he rolled his eyes. He supposed he shouldn’t be too upset given how Albert had actually remained fairly quiet throughout the day. “Abel,” read the one word message.

Grabbing the phone, “What is it?” he typed back, autocorrect fixing the words he misspelled in his irritation.

“Just checking,” read the reply, ending in a smiley face emoticon.

Abel looked at it for a moment, frowning. There was no copy at the end of the message. “Albert?”

“Unfortunately little Albert was swallowed up by something more pressing,” came the response.

Staring at the phone long and hard, Abel slowly shook his head. “Lily?”

“You are a natural born detective,” answered the person on Albert’s phone.

“Listen, you scheming bitch, why don’t you just sit tight and I will be right there and we can have ourselves a nice little face to face chat like where the hell is Gil,” he texted back, getting up from his desk and grabbing his jacket as he hurried out of the building,

“Scheming bitch? Such epithets are hurtful and can undermine a woman’s self esteem,” Lily answered, adding a crying face.

“The time for niceties is over. Where the fuck is Gil?” he typed and sent.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know, I really don’t.”

“Are you at Albert’s?” he queried. 

“Not anymore, I’m in your bedroom, on your bed texting you with my right hand. Do you want to know where my other hand is right now?” she supplied, adding a winky face emoticon.

Abel frowned, “I want to know where Albert is?”

“He’s here with me,” she sent back. 

“Alive?” he typed, hurrying through the parking lot to get to his car.

“For the moment, though for how much longer I can’t really say. He is struggling deliciously so,” she answered.

He suspected there was little point in getting the cops to go there as she would undoubtedly be gone by the time they got there once again making him look like the boy who cried wolf. “I’m on my way, alone, if you got the jam to face me one on one,” he sent, jumping in the car and firing it up.

There was no response.

Flicking on the red and blue lights built into the charcoal grey Crown Victoria ghost car, he raced back toward his apartment, shutting them off as he pulled up in front of the building. Moving quickly, he entered the building, stabbing a finger into the elevator call button panel and foot tapping as he waited for the elevator car to come to the lobby. Watching the numbers decrease as the lift descended, he reached into his jacket, fingers curling around the grip of his pistol, there was a ping and the doors opened. It was empty.

Taking the elevator back up to his floor, Abel exited and moved quickly but cautiously along the wall, stopping at the side of Albert’s door. Knocking, “Albert?” he called out.

No response. Testing the handle, the door was unlocked. Opening it, he glanced in, “Albert?” he repeated, using his foot to prevent the door from closing completely.

Easing his weapon out of the holster, he flicked the safety off and stepped into the apartment, controlling the door’s passage to prevent it from making a loud noise when it closed.

He had been in Albert’s apartment on a couple of occasions and the man was a hoarder, so  it was hard to tell if anything was truly amiss, except the fact that the omnipresent house coat Albert always wore was lying in the middle of the floor.

Growling under his breath, he checked the remainder of his neighbor’s abode, finding nothing else that suggested anything sinister save Albert’s absence and the disposition of the discarded housecoat.

Returning to the door, he stepped out and walked to his apartment. Further down the hall a door opened and the young woman Albert had identified earlier as doing laundry, Amy Wilkerson stepped out, dressed like she was going out for the evening. Walking toward him, she fussed with her purse before meeting his gaze and smiling shyly. Though they not yet had a chance to say anything more than a passing greeting in the hall on a couple of occasions.

Smiling, “Hello,” she said, shifting her purse over her shoulder and tucking a loose strand of dirty blonde hair behind her ear.

Smiling back, he nodded, “Hi,” he replied, hastily moving the hand with the gun around behind his back so as not to alarm her.

“Abel right?” she asked.

He smiled and nodded, “Yes,” he replied. “You’re Amy. Going out for the night?” he inquired.

She grinned and nodded back. They both lingered a moment, an uncomfortable silence in the air before he bid her a good night and she made her way down the hall toward the elevator.

He watched her walk to the elevator before opening the door to his apartment, greeted by a hint of perfume in the air that confirmed Lily had indeed been here earlier. Checking the place, it was now was empty. No sign of either Lily or Albert. Nothing.

“Fuck,” he muttered, sliding the pistol back into the holster and pulling out his cell phone. “Pussy!” he typed, sending the message to Albert’s phone before calling Tom and sharing the contents of the dialogue.

The only thing left to do now was wait for the forensics team.

No Stone Unturned

Trager urged Abel to grab some clothes and check into a hotel for the night while the forensics teams sifted through his and Albert’s apartments. Neither of them held out much hope they would be able to find anything in either place.

Getting his shit together, he drove to the Capitol Skyline Hotel on 10 I St. SW. Rooms were decent, cheap. Tossing his belongings on the first of the two double beds in the room, he clicked on the TV. He wanted white noise to quiet the maelstrom of shit in his head. There were too many questions, not the least of which was Gil’s location. Now Albert was MIA. Add to that the bullshit game Lily was playing with him, taunting him.

The failure to find Gil and the disappearance of Albert made Abel’s sleep fitful, shallow and dreamless. Climbing out of bed a few hours prior to sunup, without appropriate gear, he decided to forego his usual run, grabbing a quick shower instead before heading into the office early.

Hunkering down at his desk, he checked his computer. There were no new developments or updates on Gil’s case. Eyeing Gil’s stack of files, fingers strumming on the desktop, what was it about each of the cases there that made Gil think they were not only connected, but also perpetrated by the same person? It all seemed so completely random. There had to be something, some key he was missing. Three cups of coffee and a few hours later, he was no closer to unraveling the thread. Slamming closed the file folder, the word Lamia taunted him. Lamia. He googled it again, sifting through the information there. Why would Gil write this word? What did it mean to the case?

Checking his watch, the time was still a little early with Penny having yet to arrive. Typing Georgetown University into the computer, he got the contact number from the website and dialed it. After identifying himself and stating he was looking for some information on mythological creatures, the woman on the other end of the phone re-directed his call to an associate professor named Archibald Danforth.

After two rings, “Good morning, this is Professor Danforth,” answered a mildly accented male voice, giving Abel the impression of slender bespectacled man with white hair and a rumpled tweed suit.

“Professor, hi, my name is special agent Abel Stafford with the FBI. I have a couple of questions I’m looking to get some clarification on and was wondering if you might have a moment for me?” he inquired.

“Oh my, is this for a case?” queried the professor.

“Depending on what you’re able to tell me, it may hold some value,” Abel replied.

“Of course, of course, this is all very exciting how may I assist you agent Stafford?” invited the scholar.

“What can you tell me about Lamia?” Abel asked, direct and to the point.

“Oho, lamia, yes of course, well this is really rather quite a fascinating topic for discussion,” Professor Danforth replied jubilantly.

Book nerd lit up in Abel’s brain. “I did Google the subject before calling you, so maybe just give me the Coles’ notes version in the interest of brevity,” he suggested.

“Although a mythological archetype, the name Lamia derives from Greek wherein she was said to be a beautiful queen of Libya who was a mistress of Zeus. When Zeus’ wife Hera learned of the infidelity, the goddess cursed the queen and stole her children. In her torment, Lamia becomes a monster and steals others’ children, devouring them. As an archetype, there are earlier references to similar personifications of a similar sort, Abyzou, Lilith,” he stated.

“Hold up, wait, Lilith, Lily?” Abel questioned.

“Commonly identified as Adam’s first wife in Jewish mythology, she is actually derived from a class of female demon referenced as lilitu dating back to ancient Mesopotamia including the Sumerian, Akkadian, and Babylonian empires. In each of the incarnations, she also appears as a child-devouring monster, though the more ancient references are unfortunately obscure and lack support,” lamented the educator.

“So, like, what, a few thousand years ago kind of thing?” asked the FBI special agent.

“Quite, the earliest examples of pictographic script occur in this area during the Uruk IV period approximately four millennia BC. Fascinating enough, seven tablets recovered from the temple É dedicated to the goddess Inanna, but the subtleties are outside my area of expertise,” he explained apologetically.

While the good professor demonstrated a fair degree of zeal for the topic, Abel was less fervent. “I see,” he replied with a slight nod. What in the hell did this have anything to do with the case? Where was the old man going with this? What about the dream, the sequence where the giant woman swallowed Gil? Could it possibly be related to the ancient mumbo jumbo?

“There is however a young master’s candidate currently in my charge whose particular area of study parallels your line of inquiry. She might be able to better assist you,” he offered.

Was it worth it to get a better handle on it? Gil had written the word and circled it, why? Couldn’t hurt. “Sure, why not?” Abel answered, providing contact information.

“Positively smashing, I shall forward this along forthwith and post haste,” replied the professor.

Exchanging pleasantries and contact information with the good professor, Abel hung up the phone just as Penny appeared in the doorway, her arms burdened by the stack of cumbersome case files.

“Any word on special agent Caine?” she inquired, smiling hopefully.

Frown appearing on his face, Abel shook his head, “Nothing. No admissions to any area hospitals of anyone matching Gil’s description, nothing in the morgue that matches. It is like he vanished into nothingness,” he answered glumly.

“You were on the phone just now, a lead of some type?” she questioned, nodding at it.

Looking down at it, he shrugged, “Nothing really, maybe, I don’t know,” he replied.

Entering the doorway to his office, “Did we get a copy of the profile for the subject?” she asked.

Letting out a breath, “Not officially as you and I are not specifically assigned to the case, but yes we have a profile, pretty standard DSM-5 description of an antisocial personality disorder with elements of narcissism. Although calling themselves Lily does not discount the possibility this may be a transgendered individual presenting as female but suffering from a borderline personality or oppositional defiance disorder. Likely working alone. Blah, blah, blah,” he answered, shaking his head slightly and rolling his eyes.

“I see,” she replied, pursing her lips.

“Did you find anything in those? Some unifying link that will let us unravel the mystery?” he asked, glancing at the wealth of folders she was carrying.

“I’m still going through them, but nothing so far really stands out that I think binds them together,” she responded apologetically, offering him a shrug. “I could reach?”

Abel shook his head, “We start trying to make things fit the theory and we’re screwed. Just an FYI, there was another disappearance last night,” he said.

“What? Who?”

“Albert Kinney, my next door neighbor. I asked him to keep an eye on my place and now he is gone. Forensics is looking for clues in his place and mine but I’m not holding my breath,” he provided, shaking his head slightly.

“She contact you again?” Penny asked, tilting her head to the side.

He chuckled, “To tell me she was in my apartment masturbating on my bed.”

Penny scowled in disapproval, “Classy girl. Why do you think she is targeting you?”

Abel smiled and chuckled softly, “My rapier wit and roguish charm,” he supplied, giving her a wink.

Chuckling, Penny shook her head.

“You should take those to your office before your arms fall off,” he encouraged, pointing at the burden she carried.

Nodding, she left his office.

His cell phone started to ring. Not recognizing the number, he swiped the icon and put it up to his ear, “Stafford.”

A Penny for your Thoughts

“Agent Stafford, hi, hello, my name is Merritt Bexley at Georgetown, Professor Danforth gave me your number and suggested I give you a call regarding some early Sumerian cuneiform and interpretation surrounding the lilitu mythology,” said a pleasant sounding feminine voice.

“Abel, please call me Abel,” he offered. “I actually called the professor about the term lamia. He gave me a fairly descriptive rundown on the topic. Something about a temple and some tablets or other,” he explained.

“That’s splendid,” she said warmly. “While the professor is brilliant, I myself have delved a little more deeply into this field of study. There have been some very interesting things coming out of the archeological site of Jemdet Nasr that I believe directly relates to the lilitu or the mythology surrounding the origin of the archetype,” she shared.

“Okay,” Abel replied haltingly.

“If you could manage to come over to the university, I would be happy to show you what I mean. It’s easier than trying to explain the nuances of proto-cuneiform,” she clarified.

Checking his watch, Abel nodded, “Sure, given traffic at this time give me like an hour?”

“Excellent, it will give me time to get a few things ready,” she replied before giving him direction on how to find her office on campus.

Grabbing his jacket from the rack, he walked over to Penny’s office. “I’m heading over to Georgetown to check up on something Gil wrote down. Want to tag along?” he inquired, donning the coat.

Looking at the stack of files, Penny frowned and shook her head. “There are a couple of things I want to check up on if that’s alright?”

“Like?”

“I’ve been thinking DC is one of the most heavily surveilled cities in the world and maybe one of those traffic cameras might have caught something useful,” she answered, offering a hopeful grin.

Abel nodded, “That’s a great idea,” he praised. Boring as shit, but still a heck of a good idea.

Penny beamed at the compliment.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he replied.

Going to the parkade, he got into his car and fastened the seatbelt before starting the engine. The phone in his pocket buzzed. Letting out a breath, he removed it and opened up the screen, tapping the text icon. From an unidentified private number, it read, “Hello Abel.”

“Goddamn it you bitch,” he growled. “Where is Albert?” he queried via text.

A pornographic close up picture of smooth female genitalia, the end of a single finger in the frame resting atop an engorged expose clit, the nail on the finger French cut, a smiley face in black ink over the clear polish. It was similar to the reply he got when he first asked about Gil.

Staring at the image, Abel frowned. “I’ve seen your pussy before, why don’t you send me a picture of your face?” he typed into his phone.

Another image appeared on his phone, a pair of full looking feminine lips painted ruby red and puckered up into a kiss.

Jabbing his thumbs over the screen, “Albert?”

“Alas gone too soon,” came the reply accompanied by a sad faced emoji.

“Why are you doing this?” he typed.

An emoji blowing a heart shaped kiss appeared.

Chuckling menacingly in frustration, Abel shook his head. Gil disappeared from a bustling New Orleans amidst Mardi Gras while Albert vanished from his apartment with no one seeing anything. How does that happen?

“Are you still there Abel or have I frightened my cute little agent away?” flashed on his phone.

“Give me a time and a place and I’ll show you how afraid of you I am,” he replied.

“I think your new partner has some serious potential, a tiny bit of strategic makeup, hair different she could be a real little charmer,” Lily sent.

Abel glanced over his shoulder toward the door leading out of the parking area and into the basement offices. There was a card lock on the door. Snarling, he shut off the car and disengaged the seatbelt before getting out and hurrying back to the door. Passing his card over the scanner, the door opened. Entering, “Penny?” he called out, pulling out his pistol while hurrying to her office.

Setting her phone screen down on the desk, she looked up, “Did you forget something?” she asked, before noticing the sidearm in his hand. Expression changing, “What’s going on?” she questioned.

“Everything is okay? You’re okay?” he asked, eyes darting up and down the hall.

Brows furling, “Fine,” she replied, a puzzled expression still on her face.

Sliding the pistol back into its holster, Abel shook his head. “Lily, she’s screwing with me again,” he replied, eyes drifting down to Penny’s phone.

Seeing where he was looking, “A gal pal of mine works at DC metro, I was asking her how I could circumvent interagency BS and get my hot little hands on copies of yesterday’s traffic cam footage,” she explained.

Abel nodded, relaxing visibly. “I,” he shook his head, “just be careful,” he urged.

Chuckling softly, she got up from her desk and joined him near the door. “Are you okay?” she asked, placing a hand on his arm.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking down at her hand, at the nails at the ends of her fingers, at the French cut manicure.

Expression turning inquisitive, “Do you think you could you forward me the conversation so I can document it?” she asked.

Nodding, “Um, yeah, sure,” he answered, looking at her and giving her a weak smile.

“Good,” she responded, smiling and patting his arm and returning to her desk. “I’ll be fine,” she assured, making a shooing motion with her hands. “Go to Georgetown and follow up on your thread.”

“Yeah,” he verbalized, nodding to himself and shuffling away, mind beginning to tun like a locomotive picking up speed. How common were French cut nails? Was it coincidence? Was it a message from Lily she peeped on Penny? Then a strange thought popped into his head, what if Penny was Lily? The phone?