Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 {Story Code/Notes: Although [NS] denotes "No Sex," that's not strictly
true. There will be, towards the very end, however the vast majority of the
story is build-up to a climactic Emotional Release.

   The Rape is out of Frame, eluded to, and turned away from in horror.  No
other overt abuse beyond some Sexual Harassment.  Not my usual MO, I don't
usually shy away from graphic descriptions of horrific abuse, but consider
this a literary experiment.  I'm not sure how it will go.  Hopefully I'll
get enough feedback from the Usage Details, but if you have anything
specific to tell me, I can still be contacted through:

   Psiberzerker@Gmail.Com}

   Tech.  (NS, Tech.)

   "Thanks," I signed the Chain of Evidence paperwork, and the courier took
his copy.  Breaking the seal, I pulled out the flaps, lifted the top, and a
layer of foam.  Must be the laptop from the [Name Withheld] case.  They
called ahead to inform us it was coming, suggest a search of her
correspondences, Social Media, E-mail, Chats...  I didn't receive a phone
from her.  No password, I signed on as Guest once I had gloves on, though
it had already been through the crime-lab.

   No Flash Port, but Ethernet, and USB, very late model.  I plugged it in
to back it up, so I could send the original back to Evidence, since this
model has integrated memory.  The modular, or flash expandable ones are at
least a generation more up-to-date, and more expensive, but it could use
thumbdrives.  I checked for Drivers, but my System popped up an alert from
one of my firewalls.

   [Alphanumeric script file name] wants to access, and upload a stream, it
looks like.  I hit Ctrl-Alt-Delete to bring up the Task Manager, and
scrolled down to the same string.  Ending it, I unplugged the Ethernet, and
it tried to switch to wireless.  "Hm," Decline that firewall, and the
Bluetooth, which isn't usually used for computer-to-computer as much as
Peripheral Devices.  I could find it now, so I carried it out of my office,
closed the Faraday Cage door, and took it in the break-room.

   Some hot water from the coffee maker, and some breakfast tea, I brought
up the skript in Command Line, and sat on the couch.  I sipped when it
cooled off, reading the WORM in C-X {Machine-Language.}

   Not a Keystroke, but video, it recorded from the webcam, and looks like
several wireless peripherals, not detected.  Nice code, doesn't look
Hacker, or Skript Kiddy Warez.  No signature, nor even self referential
notes, just the meticulous efficient commands.  Self checking, tamper
sensitive, read only executable, no record of its download, nor
instillation.

   Turning off the Radio to disable the Wireless/Bluetooth, I took it back
in the office.  Looks like there's a bootup subroutine, and partition, so I
restarted, and keystroked while the OS was loading.  Unix based.  Highly
modified, stripped down to the bare basics, looks like for Video
processing. The only Program File a media player.

   --x--x--x "Hm." Execute only.

   [chmod]

   .

   .

   .

   Stripped and recoded .PEG protocol.  24H cache, wiped between uploads,
on startup.  So, just the last day, it didn't make it to the delete line
without a handshake from the network to confirm the upload.  I could split
from Serial to my peripheral monitors, so I dug out an adapter.

   File stack, last to first.  The most recent looked like the Crime Scene
Techs moving around the room, looking for evidence.  I scrolled through it,
girl's bedroom, looked teenaged.  4 way split, I could see the laptop on
the desk, screen dark, and the webcam image tilted up.  2 more, corner
mounted, none of the other frames pointed at them, 4th quadrant dark.

   A tech folded down the laptop, but the corner cams stayed up until she
did something with it, looked like a disconnect, and shut-down, unlatching
the battery from the bottom so it cut out.  Back to the Archive, I opened
the second to last file:

   Archive {Mf Kidn NS.  F "Mono".}

   {Note: "Mono" indicates spoken notes, audio-files dictated into her
phone/headset while her hands are busy...  Also refers to the fact that
it's single channel, as opposed to Stereo.}
"It was dark, I can make out a shape on the bed, under the covers, but
no detail.  Below the angle of the laptop cam, apparently at exactly the
same angle as the last video." The dark corner lit up, looked like an

outdoor view, so I brought that up on a peripheral screen.

   "A car-door, or the top of the window swinging out, camera tilting up,
then down, to a shot of a couple fences.  Didn't turn back to the vehicle.
Looks like the wooden half buts up to the chainlink half, in the yellowish
light from an unseen source, possibly a porch, or street-light behind the
camera's FoV.  Turning, going around the corner of the wooden side, siding
but no window, a gate in the corner.  He unlatched it, I'm guessing from
the size, and shape of his glove.  Dark sleeve, possibly black, or navy,
almost monochrome dim."

   "Looks High Definition, good pixel depth.  Not much light gathering,
though, I suspect a small aperture.  Slight fisheye effect up close, so
long focus, at least arms' length.  Auto-corrected, so there's no blurring
at the edges, or in the distance, just lens distortions at the corners with
slight vignetting.  Broad field of view angle."

   "A patio-door, single concrete step he looks up from.  Pause it.  He
wore dark sneakers, look like Hi-tops, slacks, and a dark jacket, zipped
up. And gloves, to grip the slot, and slide back the pane, apparently
unlocked.  Didn't look at the pane.  Dimmer inside, but there's a counter
next to the door.  Looks like a bar, minifridge, or dishwasher door in
front, closed.  Hotplate on the counter, next to a small single bowl sink.
Kitchenette.  Looks like a living room, or den.  Stairs up, 6 of them up to
some sort of landing, but he's closed the door, and turning to a smaller
room."

   "Thermostat, off?  Washer/drier, baskets, door open to the front of a
toilet bowl, seat down, but lid out of view.  Closed door opposite.  The
first sound, a creak, in stereo, sounds closer to the left earphone.  The
door swung in under the left corner camera, and he stepped into the room.
She didn't move.  I didn't know the specifics of the case, but someone's
obviously sleeping in a girl's bedroom, I'm guessing teenaged, on the
ground floor with her own kitchenette, like a Mother-in-law apartment."

   "Paused.  He's got long hair, dark, wavy.  Stocky build, hard to tell
how tall from the downward angle, nor how much would be Fat/Muscle in his
clothes." Can't even see his neck!  "Glasses, from both cameras I can see
the back, and each side of his head.  Zoom it...  Uh yeah, the right arm is
narrower than the left, I suspect a forward mounted lens, and wireless
antenna."

   "Pointed right at the bed, I can't see neither ear, nor shapes under the
hair like an audio headset, but it could be very compact, or an in-ear-bud.
Moving forward, he's turned away from the laptop, head down so I can't even
get a profile, or silhouette.  Not even sure if he wasn't wearing a mask,
but I can say with some certainty he knows where all cameras are, and are
pointing.  It must be his system, sound, and video, routed through her own
computer, wirelessly."

   "So, my professional opinion is he must be a cyberstalker.  Incredibly
well prepared, he would have had to have broken in, sometime when he has
enough time to install, and conceal everything.  He must be rather
technical, and well funded.  If it were my investigation, I'd look into
security companies, especially any the family may have dealt with. 
Hopefully he ordered online with a credit-card, assuming he's the perp, of
course.  Unpausing at," Check the corner, "384?  Must be digital seconds,
rather than Minute:Second.  Huh." Didn't bother converting that in my head.

   "Not in any hurry, he stood there, maybe listening to her breathe?  Too
softly, inaudible, I can't even see at this distance from both fixed
cameras, but he watched her, beside the bed.  Light hair, I guess if she's
dead, or missing you have pictures of her, but pretty.  White, young
looking, bangs, more-than shoulder long.  I can't see any makeup."

   I let out an audible gasp, and covered my mouth, "She didn't move when
he touched her.  Pretty creepy how he brushes her hair with the backs of
his fingers, and rubs her cheek, petting her arm with his other hand.  Ew.
He shook her, by the shoulder, but she didn't react.  Just shook, then
stopped when he did.  I'd say check for drugs, if her body isn't missing,
looks like there might be a spot of drool on the pillowcase.  (Attached
capture.) He doesn't feel for a pulse."

   "She showed no signs nor reactions as he rolled her up, in the sheet,
and blanket.  Head down, he mostly looked at her face, from my angles, I
still can't see his.  He cut off his headcam before picking her up, and
turned away from the webcam on the way out."

   There was no further change in the audio, nor video, until the recording
WORM timed out due to inactivity.  Stopping the recording on my phone, I
brought up the inter-office to transcribe, and attach my impressions.

   So, it's a kidnapping, not a runaway.  Though I cannot say with any
certainty she may, or may not still be alive.  For all I know she could
have died in her sleep, or been smothered earlier, though I have no footage
of that, either.  It's his system, obviously since he broadcast his POV to
the laptop, I suspect he may have wanted it to be discovered, and watched.
He's proud of himself, showing off is the feeling I get from the
performance.  And confident in the lack of evidence.

   Primary Scene {F "Mono" NS}

   "I guess I can understand the victim best.  Not identify with her, but
from everything I could gather.  Bright, maybe an over-achiever, no
boyfriends that the family, or friends are aware of.  Christian home, not
like a Crucifix hanging on the wall, but she owned one.  A silver cross, on
a chain, in evidence.  No saint medallion, or, anything.  Apparently taken
off for bed.  Neat room, clothes in the drawers, or hanging in the closet,
only the large ones like pants, or sweaters folded.  Laundry basket not
half full, washer, and drier right outside.  Boy band poster I'm far too
old to be familiar with.  Bieber."

   "Missing laptop, in evidence.  Chords still plugged in, Ethernet, USB
hub, and Charger, no apparent peripherals, but.  Hm, tye-wrapped to the
lamp cord through a tunnel.  Nicely routed, no Power-Strip, just an outlet.
In the corners, by the loadbearing wall along the midline, barely
noticeable spots."

   I photographed them (Attached) unlocked the Evidence kit, and got out a
couple baggies.  I don't usually come out for hardware, but the actual
Crime Scene Techs don't usually miss something like these.  Didn't think to
do a bug-sweep, nor have any reason to, until I found the footage. 
Budgets.

   "Counter-sunk, between 3 pieces of Drywall." I had to get a stepladder,
dig around them with a plastic putty-knife, and pulled them out with the
padded jaws of some needle-nose pliers.  All documented with the attached
photos.

   "It looks like a spike, with a lens on the end.  Like an LED, only not
as domed, slightly convex and only about a millimeter.  Untinted," tap with
my nail, "Acrylic, I think." Hard to tell through the glove.  "I didn't
bring any calipers, and there weren't a pair in the evidence kit."

   "With a hex-nut shaped endcap, no two around the lens with a crack
between them.  The lens screws out on the end, similar to a coaxial
connector for the old cable system, but with a shallower cap, and an O-ring
inside it.  The other tapped, with a hex shaped rim to tighten them, too
tight for my fingers.  Quarter inch socket, and a flat wrench." Common
enough size in electronics.

   "The electronics pull out of the housing, with the cap.  Sharp on the
other end, and the tapered void either backfilled, or solid, but welded to
the barrel, and polished flush.  About, uh three and three-quarter inch, or
um,..  almost ten centimeters.  Extended by the threads, and hexagonal rim.
The other one looks identical, right down to the hole in the top corner. 
I'll leave it installed, and call the actual Evidence techs."

   "The hole looks hexagonal, now that I know to look for it, the edges a
little flat between the sheets of drywall, painted together.  From the
floor, you could barely see it, would have to be looking for it, and
probably have some idea what to look for.  Could have just been a gap in
the drywall.  Basement room, hasty/amateur job, no molding, maybe DiY? 
Check Financials to see if they had any work done on the house?"

   Instead of the baggy, I found a little tube for the camera spike, wrote
out a label, and carefully wrapped it around as a tag to seal the cap, and
stick the ends together out the side.  The other techs should only be a few
more minutes...

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   Primary Scene {F NS}

   I whistled, "High-tech shit!" {~G.  Carlin} The tea had cooled off.

   Glad there wasn't any actual abusive footage.  I don't know if I could
handle it.  Just watching him touch her hair, and feel her arm made my skin
crawl, and gave me nightmares.  I don't want to call her lucky, but at
least she wasn't jumped, beaten, and called names.  She was unconscious,
maybe he preferred her that way, and drugged her for, whatever he did with
her.

   Toxicology came in, Flunitrazepam in the carton of eggnog.  "Let me look
that up," I tapped it into my phone.  "Huh!" Injected through the top,
where the waxed paper was glued together instead of the cap, or
tamper-resistant diaphragm.  Knocked out the whole family, who don't
remember going to bed.  Bought earlier that night, no evidence of when, or
how it was tampered with.  Seasonal favorite, maybe he planted it between
grocery runs out to the driveway?

   "Nice yard, corner lot, but too many bushes, and planted gardens. 
Places to hide, in broad daylight if nobody was watching when you arrived,
or left.  Small Back-yard, about a quarter of the lot, but there's like an
alley behind the shed in the corner, between both back fences.  A tree,
overhanging the middle level, kitchen, and living room.  Split level,
there's a bathroom window over the back slope of the roof."

   I haven't climbed a tree in years, but it was easy, even without a
ladder, nor boards nailed up.  Low hanging limbs, thick enough for at least
my weight, one of the next ones up I could climb-out, over the back porch,
and gutter.  Okay, maybe not in this skirt, but I didn't think to bring any
pants.  Careful not to split the seam.

   Locked, though, and split, so may be too narrow to climb through.  My
keychain tape measured just under a foot for the sliding pane, but I'd have
to go sideways.  Maybe with a sports-bra, I don't like the look of those
edges, there was a mark that looked like it may have been from a tool, but
years ago.  "Call the detectives, and have them re-interview the family."

   Only the downstairs is considered the Crime-scene, but I've seen that. I
swayed a little standing up, there was a little unexpected give under my
hand, which is why I looked over.  The attic-vent, I didn't notice before,
intent on the window, but there was a standoff between the frame, and the
siding.  I picked at the painted board where it had apparently been peeled
away from the siding.  It left a clean edge, looks like it had been scored,
with a razor-blade, or possibly sharpened putty-knife, but swung up with
only it's own weight holding it down.

   Hinged at the top, from behind I saw holes where it was nailed down, but
under the paint, the wood looked water damaged, and starting to rot.  It's
humid, and rainy here, throughout the year from Lake-Effect when it's not
snowing, but there were black growths of mold.  I'm no expert, but thought
it must be months of exposure, at least, though the weatherstrip looked
newer.

   "Hm," no record of Any work on the house, for the past 3 years since
they moved in.  I don't think it looks that old, hopefully the lab wasn't
getting sick of me calling, to tell them what they missed.  Inside I saw an
uninsulated patch, between the beams, and what looked like a ladder.

   "Hey!" Next door, "What're you doing up there?" White.

   I let it down, and walked along the roof, using the ridge like a
handrail so I didn't fall, and slide off the slope, back from the gutter,
and the edge.  "Sorry, I'm with the Crime-Lab?" Well, technically they
contract with our company, "We're investigating the disappearance."

   "They say she was kidnapped," she looked worried, "Is there any way I
can help?"

   I looked over at her house, and kitchen window.  Lights on, so I could
see half-cleared dishes on the table, and someone running inside.  A child,
boy I think.

   "Perhaps," I thought, "Have you seen anyone else up on this roof, or
around that vent?"

   "Not since it was fixed," she shook her head, "The kids get up there
sometimes, to get their frisbee, or the like, but not recent."

   "When was the vent fixed?"

   "I don't know," she thought, "About a month back, they was out of town,
for Thanksgiving."

   "Visiting family?" I guessed.  What was the weather like that weekend?

   "They usually send, oh what's his name, the handyman when they're out of
town.  He said they had water damage, a leak down to the hall upstairs?"

   "Thanks," I turned, and made my way back.  It thawed, and dried, but it
could rain, and freeze, if not snow again tonight.  Send someone to see if
she can get a name, description, or contact information on the Handyman, or
if anyone else had used him.  Probably under the table, cash, the father
denied having any work done, so perhaps because it's not strictly legal,
somehow.  Building code, what do I know?

   It occurs to me I'm actively investigating now.  After my first case
went cold.  I don't have a badge, credentials, nor any other official
standing, outside of the Evidence chain.  Which was rapidly drying up, but
it's a puzzle.  Mystery, and if I can help solve it, that would be great. I
wonder if that poor girl is still alive, or suffering any.  Let's see what
else I can find, before I call anything in.  I have access, so it's not
illegal just to look around.

   I had to push against the heavy spring without falling down the trapdoor
ladder.  Weatherstripped too, cold winters.  He stalked her, at least a
month, if he was using that to break in, but knew the Patio door was not
locked.  Maybe earlier?  The family locks the upstairs bathroom window, or
they did, but they did just have their daughter kidnapped.  Their oldest
daughter.

   Nope, parents' room by the bathroom, boys' across the hall.  "Here,"
right next to the stairs.  I checked the corners, the one by the centerline
wall had water-damage, and the start of some mold, but back in the very
corner, the molding was cut-off, and the ceiling, at .45 degrees, looked
like about 1/4", but clipped in between.  Like a hexagonal head was
countersunk between them.  I sighed, and got out my phone.

   Downstairs, in the front room I looked at a family photo.  Waited for
the Crime Scene techs to get back, next to the tree they hadn't taken down
yet.  Had to make myself, there she was, or they were.  15, 11, and 9,
youngest brother.  Didn't find any cameras in his room, nor the parents'.
Possible secondary victim?  Her older sister may be more disposable than I
anticipated, but he might come back.  If they don't move, again.

   VHD@SysteNet.Com {M<->F NS [Text] Hara.}

   [Hey, babe.] I wish he'd stop calling me that, [Thanks for the video
files, I can't really use your report, but I like your conclusions.  RUA
Profiler or something?  Though what they'd need one for in Signal Analysis
is beyond me.  Remarkable insight into the possible motives for the
kidnapper.  What do you think, is he going to kill her, or keep her to
torture?  I don't think she was already dead, can't think of why he'd kill
her first, then take her body.

   Especially after drugging the whole family like that, I bet she's
knocked out by the roofy too.  I'd love to sit-down over some coffee to
discuss it, if you have any freetime in your schedule.  This case, it's
pretty big, and technical so we might get some overtime out of it.]

   Yeah right, you fat ass slob.  White, balding, nerd shirts, and a
fucking wedding ring.  I'm not that lonely, and hope never to be.  I hit
<Reply:
[Check your mail, Virgil.  Didn't you get the preliminary report from
the Feds?  They're calling him Power-Reassurance, probably middle-age,
professional, educated, at least a Trade-school.  Extremely Organized, they
make him sound like OCD, but it appears to be Sexually Motivated.  You
know, pretty little teen kidnapped out of her own bed at night?  Probably

not to play with jacks, and Go Fish.

   My guess would be rape, though statistically her odds of survival go up
if she cooperates.  If she's still alive, most are killed in the first 24
hours in stranger abductions.  Nothing in any of the bulletins about White
Slavery, but that doesn't eliminate any possibility.  Didn't mention drugs,
but they sent it before I found the footage.

   Clean it up for them, I noted where there was probably visual evidence,
you're the video guy.  Enhance it, or whatever it is you do down there. 
And stop harassing me, I don't have time for a relationship, and even if I
did, it wouldn't be with you!]

   I deleted some comments about hygiene, or lack thereof, and work
environment.  He didn't do anything overt, yet, just called all the female
co-workers pet-names, and took every opportunity to ask us out.  Lonely
little man, in Video, but I doubt he has the guts for this kind of thing.

   The guy in the video, he's no slob.  He doesn't leave anything, the
Crime Lab found some footprints.  Common Walmart off-brand basketball shoes
with no wear.  That's what the report said, even in the photos, both looked
perfect, like they'd been pulled out of the box, rolled in a pan of muddy
water, and stamped onto the surface of the floor.  Skuffed off on the
carpets, the report compared them to fingerprints, on a 10 sheet.  None of
those, of course.  So yeah, he wants us to know how clever he is, while my
avoided co-worker can't find his last coffee-cup without knocking it over.

   It would be nice if he made it that easy, and convenient.

   Crime Lab {F NS Rape.}

   He did return to the scene, to dump the body in the middle of the night.
After almost 6 weeks, and a year change, it was no longer being watched,
closely enough.  Not to retrieve the hardware, but to dump the body. 
Wrapped up in her fresh washed bedding, swaddled like a baby in her
pajamas, tucked in her bed.  Wow.  Okay, this had to be a pro, don't ask me
how you make money kidnapping girls without a Ransom, and bringing them
back, but an amateur can't pull it off without evidence, and get away with
it, right?

   Before the Autopsy, I was so far in favor debt from borrowing from
everyone I could talk information out of, but I got a copy of the
preliminary findings.  From liver temp, lack of lividity, and rigor it had
to be that day, probably within hours, no telling what temperature she was
transported in, but he must have rushed her in quickly.  Turned the
thermostat on, I guess to make her comfortable.  No outwardly visible
wounds, the guy I chatted with who'd been there said she looked asleep,
they had to check for a pulse.  No video, without the cameras, or laptop to
record it.

   Bad make-up job.  Probably to conceal her being dead, but not somebody
who knew what he was doing.  Lipstick, no blush, foundation, nor anything
done to her eyes, but smeared on, and not patted.  Probably after she died,
and the blood drained out of them.  I went up to Fibers to see the clothes,
but they had no reason to show them to me, without any electronics in them.
The tech I talked to said "We didn't find anything, yet.  Not even fluids,
but we're still looking."

   I asked if there were "Any signs of sexual trauma?" He didn't answer out
loud, but I saw on his face.  "That bad?"

   "Not really," he shook his head, "But she was only fifteen!" Way outside
my branch of the chain, I was lucky to get that much out of him.

   "Star" {MF IR, NS.}

   I jumped, "StarLA." I don't need another pet name, "What?" from him.  I
brushed his hands off before he started rubbing my shoulders, "Don't
fucking touch me!"

   "Hey," he put his hands up, "Sorry, just came to pick up that Nailcam."
I turned to dig out the evidence sheet.  "And see if you thought about that
cup of coffee," he glanced over at my cup, "Or tea?" He looked surprised,
definitely not a stalker.  He'd know everything about anyone he was
interested in, and probably wouldn't hit on anyone with tits in the office.
Not to mention how far off I was from his victimology, other than class,
and sex.

   This was getting way too old for me to spare his feelings.  "Just sign
it out, and fuck off." He pulled my copy off from the top of the box, and
handed it over.

   "Pretty high-tech shit," he laughed, and leaned up against the door. 
"This guy's pretty sophisticated, right?  I know you've been thinking about
the case, you figure anything else out?"

   "I'm just an analyst," I sighed, "Not a detective.  If you have any
questions, write the Feds, or the Sheriff's department." Technically, it
was in Eaton County, so they were handling it instead of LPD.  Officially,
they were still involved with the overall task-force, until they break it
up.  "Next time I'll send it to you." Just a floor down, but I couldn't
stand working with him, in person.  At least he didn't stink, today.

   "I saw you had some Criminal Justice degrees, though." He pointed out.

   "And stay out of my files!" I had nothing to threaten him with.  It's a
full over-site office, which means we can monitor each other as long as it
isn't case-confidential.  No idea why they let him in.

   I had to lock up my office, and go to the restroom to lose him.  White
guys, think I'm exotic, I believe.  He said he liked that I don't got no
"Ghetto mouth," once, "You don't act black," sometimes find it hard to
believe I'm from the same middle-class.  In this white-ass city, okay they
have a parade, but I don't spend much time in the inner city, unless I'm
downtown, on business.  In East Lansing I'm probably the only one, I see
regularly, and I'm not welcome in the ghetto.  Can't even pull it off, they
always make me as a Cop, or write me off as Uncle Tom's niece.

   To be perfectly honest, I'm as white as them on the inside.  Easy
listening Yuppy, but I'm seen differently because of my dark skin, and
kinky hair.  I don't try to hide it, but they always make up their minds
about me, and never bother getting to know me.  I wouldn't have any problem
with being black if it weren't for everyone else having some problem with
my being black.

   Except creepers, like Virgil H.  Dalton.  I looked up his file, and I
was right, he is a loser.  Pretty good with Image Processing, and that's
it. Probably barely made it through technical college, but works cheap, and
adequately.  Now that he touched me, I can lodge another complaint, one
step closer to getting his ass fired.  I wish he was the kidnapper, so I
had something to send him to the rape-house for.

   Why was I even thinking about married mister Neckbeard, anyway?  Oh
yeah, I don't have any more evidence I haven't worn out.  There just isn't
enough, especially digital, whereas he'd probably slop it all over the
place, if he tried something like this.  Wouldn't put it past him, if he
could work up the balls.  I wiped, flushed, washed my hands, and checked my
hair.  No makeup, what good would that do?

   Like I have time for a relationship, if there was a decent guy out
there, who was interested in me.  Some time before my uterus dries up and
sloughs off would be nice.  Back in the office, I locked the door, and
checked my internal messages.  No way to get the autopsy, nor toxicology
reports directly, but I scanned one from my friend in the ME's office.

   Aspirated.  Vomit, and partially digested food in her glottis, and
trachea, he said.  I didn't read through the list of Chyme contents.  No
other fluids, bastard wore a condom, not even planning her accidental
death, so pregnancy isn't on the agenda, but she had been sexually
penetrated, recently.  No tearing, freshly healed hymen scar, I didn't open
the attached images.  The kind of stuff they have to dig for, cut open her
throat.  Not the kind of image I need this late at night.

   Locking up, I grabbed the duffle out of the drawer, and took the
elevator down.  Nobody was in the garage, so I signed out the surveillance
van myself.

   Primary {F Solo...}

   I staked out front, but took the duplicate laptop in with the new
NailCams, and the little springloaded gun to install them.  3 jaws, to
clamp around the lenses, and the nut turned all the way to line up with the
rim, once I flipped the tiny battery to "Arm" it.  Like a mine, instead of
a bug, I pulled back the driving spring, but with the way I dug the old
ones out, they just pushed right in.  And didn't fall out, so I had to
tape, or glue them in.

   Once they were set up, I got out the laptop, booted it up, keystroked to
load the Unix side of the partition, and check if they were broadcasting.
When the uplink was done, I watched the telltale on the box I rigged up,
and hoped I'd done it all right.  Didn't want to carry 2 computers, and I
can't use the laptop, because it's hooked to his network, if it's still up.
But the green telltale switched to red, so I pulled the cable from the USB
port, wrapped it up, and dropped it in the bag.  I tidied up anything,
replaced the Crime-scene sticker between the patio-door, and the frame, and
closed the gate behind me.

   Then I got in the van, unmarked dark blue minivan with company, not
government plates.  Not pointed anywhere near the house.  Firing up the
onboard system, I sat on the bench, and unwrapped the box to plug it in. 
Kind-of cramped in here, with just me, though I would need someone else for
wardriving.  The signal came through, so I brought up her desktop, which it
loaded when it timed out, according to the script.  I wondered if he's
online, watching his network right now.  About the only way he'd detect it,
and come running to see why the empty house is broadcasting, I took my hat
off, and remembered belatedly to pull the tape off the webcam.  I yawned,
and decided not to bother.

   It'd probably take a while for the trace program to follow the WORM.  If
his system is on, maybe recording, he'll pick up on the packet, but I'd
already scrubbed out all the traces.  Restored the system to the day of the
kidnap, and defragmented it before the replacement even arrived by
overnight mail.  The original was still in Evidence.  No, I can't
understand him, the delusional stalker, kidnapper, rapist, and murderer,
but I'm starting to follow how it works.

   I woke up, lifted the panel behind the window over the bench, and saw a
hatchback drive bye.  Honda, CR-, something.  Didn't catch the plate before
it turned the corner, and disappeared behind the fence.  Yawning, I picked
the flat side of my hair out with my nails, and looked for my thermos. 
Cold tea, not even thinking about getting light any time soon, I wondered
if there was a clock on the van's desktop.  So, I unlocked the drawer,
moved the trackball to light up the screen, and squinted in the sudden
brightness to make it out.
[3:47] AM I assumed, so I didn't have to click it for that, the date...
Check the Trace, the script used the family WiFi, Linksys1183, which is
probably why the cams were Bluetooth.  So the WLAN didn't pick them up,
none of their phones were synced to them, so they'd get live feeds to
betray the cameras.  He is clever, this sick fuck, got to give him that. 
Disabled the WORM so it wouldn't wipe the partitioned part, and left only

those 2 videos.

   I knew he wanted me to find those, it was too easy for somebody that
covers his tracks so well.  And besides, somebody disabled the Boot-Wipe so
I could get those 2 videos, and just those 2 videos.  She'd been in that
room before going to bed, drunk on spiked Eggnog, yet there was no footage
before the breakin.

   But it used the regular Internet, so it could be traced without adding a
tag, or subroutines.  Just the way he left it, if in a completely new
machine, with a piece of tape over the webcam.  Still dark on her desktop,
I couldn't see the square of black plastic from either of the corner cams,
but I went back to the first recording to compare.  First today, or last
night, looked pixel perfect, I couldn't see any visible changes flipping
between frames.

   So, if he'd gone in, he didn't leave any sign.  I sped through all the
footage to see if I was right, nothing.  Of course with it that still, the
.PEG software didn't even have to record anything, just time-stamp the
length of time it was essentially the same image, with no changes in the
lighting.  I brought that up, one of Virgil's programs, to see where there
was any changes, and followed the timestamp.  The shadow rippled, on the
bed.  I ran it back, and it did it again, and again.  Picking up the
headset, I heard the Heater kick-in, so it hadn't been turned off again. 
He turns it off, and on, probably an easy "I was here," so he might not
have been back since the drop, but that was over a week ago.

   And it was cold, the case I mean.  The family didn't want to go back
when they heard that their other daughters' room was watched too.  From the
detectives' interviews, they planned to move, only went back for some
clothing, and other necessities, the whole house was now an open
crime-scene.  But without any further evidential value, unless he came
back, again.

   I can only hope at some point he'd check his system, and see that the
computer was returned, broadcasting again, no record that the partition had
even been discovered.  There wasn't any evidence on the Windows side, I was
lucky to find the process in the Task Manager when it tried to upload to my
station.

   The only mistake, I caught him in.  If it was a mistake, and he didn't
want me to think it was.  I have to admit some respect for his skill, and
technical ability.  It doesn't make up an iota of how I feel about what he
used it for.  There had to be other victims, but I couldn't find any.  The
FBI's people haven't gotten back to me with any either, nor have the
Sheriffs announced anything.  This was still an isolated case, and I was
still too compartmentalized from most of the investigation.  So, I'd have
to find him my way, I waited as patiently as possible for the Trace to run
it's course...

   Workplace {MF IR NS.}

   I set my tea down, and went to the bathroom.  Looked all right, hair
pulled back to a picked out puff, I patted back in shape.  Some make-up, no
foundation, I can't afford to get it mixed in my shade, but my complexion
is pretty clear.  Not like pock-marked mister neckbeard's.

   Not a date-date, call it an appointment, but I don't get to meet men
like this, much, lately, and I wanted to look professional.  The corner of
my collar stuck in the open buttonhole, just the sort of thing to avoid, so
I plucked it out.  Just the Tart Cherry shade of lipstick, too saturated
for most white women to wear, and some complimentary eye shadow, no blush.
Oh, and a clearcoat on the nails.

   The tea was cool enough to drink, so I checked my messages on my
Keyphone while I waited.  He looked like a cop, "Detective?" White,
cleancut little mustache, cheap no-name suit, and comfortable looking dress
shoes, "Thanks for coming to meet me." Firm grip, but not a strength test.
Reassuring without overbearing, professional.

   Just to go over notes, among other things he'd interviewed some of the
victim's co-workers with his partner, absent.  "Uh," he turned, and waved
to the counter, "Can I get a dark-roast, black?" and pulled out a chair.

   "Sure," the barrista started rattleing around the machine, "I'll bring
it right out to you."

   "So," he turned back, "You think he was here, to watch her?" and sat
down.

   "He stalked her," he nodded, and took out his notebook.  "Thought it was
a pretty good bet." Tapping on the screen, he read, and scrolled down with
his finger.  "Nobody remembered anyone paying attention to her, in
particular.  We thought to ask if there were any regulars that seemed to
prefer the days she was working, on schedule, but she was weekends only,
and it's a coffee shop." He looked up, "So that was a dead end."

   I noticed there was a small pad of paper in the cover, and the stylus
had a ballpoint on the other end, but he didn't use it.  "Why did you ask
me here?"

   "Oh," he remembered, "The Handyman lead didn't pan out.  Uh, several
neighbors remembered seeing him, fewer talked to him, none of them got
close or gave a consistent description.  One's been coming bye, they say
for a couple years, but the father didn't hire anyone.  The water-damage
wasn't even noticed, it was so minor.  The techs said it was caused by the
camera you found upstairs going through to right under where water ran in
from the siding.  Most likely, but you work with them, so you probably read
that."

   "That wasn't internal to my company," I shook my head, "But I figured,
it out."

   He took a breath, "The Feds have officially switched to 'Wait for more
evidence' but they've released the full profile, to us." That would be the
Lansing PD, even with it in East Lansing, across the county-line.  I'm not
real clear on the jurisdiction.  "Do you think he'll take another victim?"

   "How should I know?" The barrista dropped off his cup, and went back
behind the counter without a word.  "Did you get any footage from those
cameras?"

   He turned, then looked back.  "Sorry," shook his head, "They're mostly
to prevent theft, from the registers.  The one on the front door caught
everyone coming, and going, but no obvious disguises."

   "Why where you looking for disguises?" That's new.

   "Oh, fibers came back, long blond wavy synthetic hair, so he wore a wig
for the kidnapping.  Not here, any time in the last month.  Ask your
Video-tech, um." He glanced down, and started flipping.

   "Virgil," only if I had to.

   "Yeah," He laughed, and lowered his cup.  "You don't give yourself
enough credit." he sucked hot coffee off his mustache, "Our State
Profiler's with the feds, they don't have enough data-points to determine a
pattern, but you." He laughed again, "We noticed you had more insights than
the run-of the mill independent technical analyst."

   "I took some criminal justice classes," I shrugged.  Could have become a
private detective, possibly, if I had any money left over after college, so
I joined up with SNC instead.  "I'm no profiler."

   "I know that," he set down his tablet/notebook combination, thing.  "But
I read your file." I shrugged, "Your uh, Police file."

   "I don't have a record," I shrugged, "Why, am I a suspect?"

   "Noho!" he laughed, "You don't strike me as any kind of Killer, but I
was trying to figure out why you seemed so knowledgeable, on the case at
hand, and I came across your report."

   "What was I reported for?" sorry, still no idea what he's talking about.

   "No, the report you made, in school," he looked down, flipped back to
the paper side, "In August, of '97."

   I jumped and scooted back from tea rolling across the table, but it got
on my leg, and soaked through my skirt.  "Stupid paper cups," I set it up,
but at least it wasn't boiling hot.  "Hang-on a minute." I grabbed some
napkins from the counter to dab at the spot.  There was more on my sleeve.

   "I know this is pretty public." he looked at me seriously, "If you want
to step out front, where we can talk more openly." Not really.

   I sighed, "Hand me my cup," and got some more hot water.  He waited out
front, so I grabbed my jacket, put it on, buttoned it up, and eventually
went out to join him.  "Why here?"

   He shrugged, and blew out smoke.  "Idaknow, it's a public place, kind of
casual, not out of our way, and had a connection with the victim.  I'm not
really a Starbucks kinda guy, it's usually grab&go, drink it in the car, so
I figured it was as good a place as any." He took a sip from the slotted
cap, didn't blow on it this time.  "Do you think your, assault had any
affect on your interest in this case?"

   I sighed, and sat on the metal chair.  It was cold, even through the
wool skirt.  "Yeah, it's definitely why I picked up the Criminal Science
minor the next semester." Happened to be a school with that, and Computer
Sciences.  "And I've done a bit more reading since.  It was years ago, and
like this case it stopped dead when we ran out of evidence.  Yeah, he left
plenty, but we could never find anything else to match the MO, Prints, or,
uhm."

   "Fluids to." He finished for me.

   "Yeah." I picked up my cup, and blew on it to warm my hands, and leave
an opening for him to say something.  "And I guess I profiled him, a
little, or went through anything I could find to explain what happened."

   "What'd you come up with?"

   "I don't fucking know!" he wasn't offended, "I just, well seeing as he
never struck again, I figure he moved on, or it was an isolated attack.  I
suspect there might have been some Racial motivation, it sure felt like a
hate-crime, and he called me.  Well, Nigger, Crackho, a bunch of stuff like
that.  Now, I wasn't in any Urban neighborhood, or hangouts for black
people, to be perfectly honest, there weren't a whole lot of us on my side
of town."

   "You talk, and act more suburban, college graduate, technical
professional." Now, I don't want to sound racist, but you don't sound too
dumb, for a...  Chalk it up to Privilege, he has no idea what it's like to
be a black woman in the white ass midwest suburbs.  I was supposed to marry
black Ken, or Carlton, but they weren't available.  "Well, you know what
happened, if you read the report." Anger Retaliatory, Hate Rape.  He saw a
nigger, walking alone at night, and jumped on the opportunity.  That's what
made it so hard to investigate, there's not much more to go on.

   "So, then you found yourself on another rape-case." I got up.

   "You want to finish that in the car?" I walked over to the sedan, "With
the heat on?" Like him, as if the antenna, and mustache didn't scream
"COP!"

   "So, what you got on this guy?" he unlocked it.  No cage across the
back-seat, or squad-car terminal mount on the passenger side, it looked
like a rental inside.  Other than the flip-down lights, antenna, radio, and
police plates, it might as well be, a fleet vehicle.  Probably a siren
under the hood, and tactical gear in the trunk, stiff suspension.  I didn't
slam the door, the heater blowed hot enough to warm my hands.

   "Power-reassurance, like the feds said, but I went over previous
examples.  What's different is they don't typically kidnap to a secondary
location, that's more like an Anger-Exitation Sadist, but there was no sign
of Bondage on the body.  No fresh wounds, a shitton of Rohypnol residue in
her system, and no injection sites, so I'm guessing he stuck to drugging
her food.  I don't have any experience with Roofies (that I remember) but
it's supposed to make you relaxed, compliant, and may cause amnesia,
right?"

   "From what I hear."

   "Oh," I got out my phone, "And I think I was able to track him, to his
ISP.  I don't have access to the channels I'd need to get an address,
(That'd hold up in court)" he nodded, "but if he's stupid enough to run his
surveillance network to his home, or office, it might lead you to him." Not
that the Packet Sniffer, and trace box were used Legally, with a Wiretap
Warrant, which I couldn't get.  "IDaKnow if it'd be admissable, though. 
Hopefully he'd have something damning at home."

   "You doubt it?" Must have shown on my face.

   I shook my head, "I don't think he's that stupid, so it'll probably be a
repeater, or transceiver to broadcast it wirelessly within a radius of his
main system.  I'd probably try to isolate it like that, we use similar
techniques at work to avoid interference." I thought, "He could even have a
Faraday Cage, or something like that so his place can't be picked up by the
signal."

   "What about the output?" He didn't ask about the Faraday Cage.

   "There isn't any," I shrugged, "It's all receptive on his end, the
broadcasting was done through her computer, and the family's DSL.  There
was nothing active, neither external commands there, nor on her side of the
partition."

   "I read your report," he laughed, "A bit too technical for me, so let me
check and make sure I've got it right." He picked up his notepad/phone, and
flapped it over the screen on the back.  "He loaded a WORM on her computer,
with a partition between that, and her operating system so it wouldn't be
detected."

   "Unless you know to look for the Partition, and the keystroke to boot
that Operating System on startup."

   "And the WORM is some kind of Virus?" I shook my head.

   "A virus is written to exploit a system, and usually crash it.  This
WORM, (that stands for Write One, Read Many) it was written to monitor the
4 cameras.  2 in the corner, one built into the laptop, and he used the 4th
channel for his own POV, with a glasses-cam.  Like a Keylogger, only with
Video-files." I looked up, "There was an older one upstairs, in the room
she'd shared with her sister, but the battery was dead, and the lens
covered with mold, so he just didn't recover it." It would probably still
work, though, they're guaranteed Waterproof down to tens of feet depth,
under the Warranty.

   "The whole family is in hiding," he nodded, "I don't even know where
they are."

   "Possible secondary victim?" I guessed.

   "Feebs," he looked up, nodded, and dropped the pages.  That explained
his hybrid PDA, he hadn't changed over from analog completely.  Wrote
faster, I couldn't see his short-hand.  I guess the P&P are handy when the
phone isn't charged, or he's out of signal.  Is that custom, or do they
make them for the police?

   "Anyway," I nodded, "All that video goes behind the partition, and the
rest is scripted to Startup.  I don't have any more record from the device,
because it erased it whenever it ran the script, but I think she might have
shut-down, and restarted on a regular basis, such as each school-day.  But
that's an educated guess.  That's all I've got is educated guesses, beyond
the digital evidence I can quantify, document, and back-up."

   "Well," he laughed, "If you ever have to leave SysteNet, and want to
pursue your Criminal Justice career, we sure could use someone with your
talents on our force.  I got a recruiter's card here, if you're
interested." Not really why I set up this meeting, but I took it.  I
hesitated, then decided to get out, get in my own car, and drive home.

   It was a bad idea, and I don't like to think of myself, doing such
things.  It just occurred to me that I had a problem, which I could deal
with possibly by presenting them with a viable suspect, even though I'm
sure he's the wrong one.  Still, he's involved with the investigation, has
the skills, and access to pull off the technical part of it, and enough
confidence to sexually harass anyone in line-of-sight whatever chance he
gets.

   He's, just not organized, or clean enough to pull it off without leaving
evidence, unfortunately.  The real perp was taunting us, me for christ's
sake, and we still had nothing.  God, it's so frustrating!  But maybe, if
he's just taken in for questioning, interrogated on suspicion of a sex
crime, he might just maybe learn to keep his eyes, and comments, and hands
to himself.

   Virgil's Office {MF NS.}

   "Have you been driving past the crime-scene?" He'd cleaned up his
office. Not today, apparently, the trash, and stains, and stink were
starting to collect again, someone must have reported him.

   "Yeah," he turned around, "Why?" His eyes went up, and down.

   The only CR-X that color in the area, and I thought I recognized that
rust-patch on the corner when I saw it in the parking lot.

   "That's my question, what were you doing there?"

   "Idaknow," he shrugged, "Can I get you something, coffee, tea, mud?" I
gave him the look, "Well, you've been looking into it, and everyone's
talking about how much you've helped the case, with finding the cameras,
and figuring out how he did it.  So, I thought I'd look around too." Like
he's smart enough to catch what I missed.

   I pointed up, under my chin.  "I'm up here.  Also, I thought I'd give
you a heads-up on my formal Sexual Harassment complaint, before I file it."

   "I,"

   "Shut the fuck up," I put my hand up, "It's not just me, I collected
signatures, and complaints from all the female staff, that aren't above
you," he managed to hide it from our immediate superiors, including another
woman, "But if it doesn't stop, today, right now, we're going to turn it
in."

   "What?" he tried to play it off.

   "Specifically, no more 'Babe, Honey, Sweatheart,..' Everyone else uses
our names, and the halls are more than wide enough to pass us without
'accidentally' brushing our legs, or our bottoms with your knuckles. 
You're the only one who can't seem to avoid bumping into our breast
whenever we let you get close enough, and I never.  Ne-Ver wanted a backrub
from you, much less have I asked.  Don't touch me, talk to me unless you
absolutely have to for work related reasons, and keep it professional,
because now that you're notified, all I need is so much as a whistle from
you to have your fucking job!  Good afternoon." I let a copy flutter down
in his general direction, along with a printout of the Sexual Harassment
guidelines, turned, and slammed the door behind me.

   My heels clacked all the way down the hall to the elevators.  God Damn
that felt good!

   He preemptively filed a complaint about my "Language." Claimed I used
offensive words around him, all the time, and it was inappropriate. 
Specifically, I said "Fuck" on 'Several occasions.' They showed it to me,
and laughed it off.  When I stopped by to drop off my petition.  Enough was
enough!

   Secondary Location {F Solo, FM Stlk.}

   I rubbed my eyes, and sat up in the blue glow of the monitor, realizing
it would most likely turn on only if there was a change in the video-feed.
Other than the webcam going out on the laptop, I ran it back just long
enough to see him back into the room, head down, turn to plug in the
laptop, and flip up the screen, in reverse.

   Seconds ago, I pulled the latch release cable, dropped my legs to the
ground, slipped out, and let the lift-gate down over the monitor glow. 
Looking around, I didn't see him, so hopefully he didn't see the glow, but
I walked across the front yard, and around the corner.  My eyes caught a
movement, so I jogged quietly to where I thought I saw it.

   I pulled up my hood, over my ears starting to get cold, and wiped my wet
cheek on my sleeve.  I had a little puff of hair trapped on the other side,
and tucked it in as my eyes adjusted.  Street, and porch-lamps, shadows,
trees, various types of fence on each side, and a \_/ shaped ditch of
concrete.

   He stepped over what looked like a pipe across it, and I stepped back,
to flatten against a fence.  Did he look back, see me?  Can't tell, but if
he did, he didn't react, just continued a short way, and turned, with a
pause to look back.  Too far to see any reaction, much less make out his
face, but FWIW, white.

   Victimology, especially Power Reassurance tend to stick within their own
ethnic background.  Probably remind them of their mothers, or sisters or
whatever.  Consistent victimology because they have a template to keep
re-offending against by proxy.  If there were any other victims.

   I tried to jog up quietly, and blew on my hands, but peeking around the
corner, it was too short, and I couldn't see him.  Maybe about 20-25'? 
with a pipe opening, and what looked like a dirt track, or trail up on the
embankment.  I peeked over, both ways, no sign.  Sighing, I climbed up, and
tried to figure out which way, until a dog barked.

   Now, whoever would leave their dog outside, in this weather, thank you.
More started up, the closest 2 I could make out sounded muffled, indoors,
but I went 'thataway.' It let out at a park.  A small one, less than a
block, between several back fences.  I couldn't see him until I heard
chainlink rattle, and looked over to see a coat flap over.

   Forgetting silence, I ran, until the wood-fence ended, and I came to
chainlink, but there was another one next to it, and another past an open
yard...  I dropped into a jog, put my arms up, like it was just an early
morning breather, like a soccor mom trying to get in shape with enough time
to get a shower, and start breakfast.

   No sign, so I circled around, the hill in the center, and snuck up
behind it.  Not real steep, or large, but unnaturally round, and flat on
top with cut grass.  Dry night, even the culvert barely had any puddles to
step-over, and the trail wasn't muddy.  A little dew clinging to the grass,
but not turning to frost.  Wait, I brushed deep astro-turf.

   "Huh," I wiped my hand in my pocket, and rubbed it to warm back up, but
took the 3 concrete steps up to the sand.  No idea why anyone would build a
playground, on an artificial hill, in the middle of this neighborhood, but
I was thankful for it to block direct Line of Sight from his house.

   So I could get out my phone.  Now, I won't give you the model, other
than to say that you probably can't get one, unless you're Law Enforcement,
or have another excuse, like me.  It's not small, the case folds out to a
Bigger-than-Blackberry thumbtap keypad, and has more expansion slots than
you have any reason to expect.

   So it can be modularly customized, for whatever you need it for other
than personal communications, and note-taking.  Beyond the standard
encryption for security, I mostly set it up for Wardriving, so I brought up
that Ap, zoomed in the screen to encompass the park, and some surrounding
houses, then passively detected all signals with a decent degree of
estimation on the Points of Origen.  Pulling the stylus, I pushed it back
in so lock the keyboard, and screen flat.

   I know this guy, or at least his signals, and encoding.  If he's not all
Receptive for security, I should be able to pinpoint his house.  The smart
thing would be to set up a Transmitter nearby, like that phone/cable pole
over in the corner, but he's also a little Lazy.  His playback software
opens automatically on startup, and receipt, looks as hands-free as
possible, and hopefully he doesn't want to come out here in the middle of
the night to maintain it...

   Blowing on my hands, even my gloves were getting cold, maybe I can go
back to the van, grab my scarf, and coat, some more equipment, drive over
here, give myself away...  Not obviously a Surveillance Van, what'd be the
point?  But the same one that had been parked out front of the primary
crime-scene, off, and on for over a month?  Plates traceable back to the
company, if he could, I won't assume he can't.

   Should be light, in a couple hours, maybe I can shiver until it starts
to warm up?

   There, that's got to be it.  Bluetooth cameras, who else ever used those
for external security?  With the familiar frequency, and encoding, if I had
the laptop, I could see right where they were.  Instead, I risked poking
the camera around the side of the tunnel, and up just over the top of the
partition.  A little steering wheel mounted to it, cute.

   Overlaying the Bluetooth signal, there was one, right over the back
door. The other 2 must be out front, or inside, can't make them out.  Not
much signal from them, half a bar from the one I had LoS from, so I decided
on another jog.  Back to the fence, and around to the parking lot, 3 houses
from the corner, with the Phone/Cable pole in it.  Memorize the basic
shape, and roofline, and find the street...

   Just a quick break, to catch her breath.  Back to her house.  House
number, find a less chilly place to stop, and bring up the Reverse
Directory.  It Updated, might be the first time I used that Ap, I can
remember.  Blow on my free hand.

   [Dalton,] "Fuck." [Virgil H.] My anger warmed me up a little, and gave
me the energy to get back to the van for my purse.  "Damn it!" I was so
sure, it couldn't be the Scooby Do plot.  Too fucking obvious, with just
enough affectation to break the profile.  How much acting does it take to
come off like a slob?  Just enough that I'd never suspect he was capable of
such superhuman organization.

   And hit on me.  Everyone in the office, but he seemed to fix on me
specifically as soon as I became involved in the case.  Pump me for
compliments, talking about the perp.  I began to doubt the Power
Reassurance now too.  Easy enough to fake, stand there, watching her
drugged sleep, pet her hair, wrap her up in the bedding, and tuck her body
in, with lipstick so she wouldn't appear dead.  The one thing that didn't
fit was the Confidence.

   He kept his head down, to avoid the cameras.  Easy enough to do when
they're your cameras, but this wasn't a self loathing coward that can't
confront a teenaged girl without drugging her.  Why didn't I see that? 
"Because you're not a fucking Profiler, Starla." Stupid, didn't even get
around to reading the final report, 'too busy.' I laughed at myself, or
over-confident.

   No, a Narcissist did this.  No sign of Torture, but I'm sure he got
sadistic pleasure, schadenfreude' from the rape, and imprisonment.  This
wasn't a romantic delusion, a one-sided crush.  It was just set-up to look
like one.  How else does one kidnap a girl blocks away, and never be
suspected?  Process the video, keep track of all the evidence, possibly
edit if need be.

   He could watch it, in his office, with the door wide open, because it
was his job!  I checked my purse, pulled out Chekhov, and made sure it was
charged.  "Arrogant fucking prick." And he would have gotten away with it,
too...  I so wanted to drive the van back, such a cold night, had to be
nearly freezing, but he'd probably pick it up, passively.  Who do you think
usually signs it out the most?  It's a Surveillance van!  He drove right
past me, right after the system went live again, then shrugged it off with
the lamest excuse ever.  "It's for a book!" Or to get the bonus I could
care less about.

   Red scarf, I hoped it would look black enough in the dark, he couldn't
cover every angle with 3 cams, and there was some-place to hide in the
yard. Or, I'd have to call the cops, the recruiter would probably know how
to contact, Detective, "Uh." Huh, look it up if I have to.  If he hasn't
already gotten the address from the IP I sent him...

   Secondary Location {FM Taze Tort Rape Vids.}

   Wouldn't you know it, no bushes, trees, not even frozen dead vines
clinging to the Chainlink.  Of course, but it had been a busy night,
hopefully he was catching some Zs real quick before work, anything but
sitting up in his home office, and watching the cameras.  Still can't hack
them, it was all on the duplicate machine, and the original, still in
Evidence.  I can detect the Bluetooth signal, but the range on my phone to
receive it is about a meter, or two.  (assuming it's another Nailcam.) Not
going to risk driving back to the office, signing it out, and coming back.

   I should just call it in, or wait for him to come in this morning, and
confront him.  Why, the fuck, am I out here, freezing my toes off, waiting
for, what exactly?  The Cameras to go down?  They're battery powered, can
broadcast constantly for a month, so even if I cut the power he'll know,
and probably keep it running on the laptop battery, or a UPS.  He can't
hide in there forever, I can get close enough to see his car out front, in
the driveway, he's not going to jog to work, or take the bus!

   Where there any handwarmers in the van?  Did he have Passive Infrared
wired up?  Motion Sensors?  I could get the equipment to sweep the whole
house, inside, and out, but I'd have to at least jump the fence.  Creeping
up, as low as possible, I cupped my hand over the phone, used it to watch
my step, and passively detect the camera.  If I can't see the signal,
directly, it can't see me through the lens, but damn that little Honda is
low.

   Stay down, behind it, see if I can get around the fence without seeing
the front porch.  No idea how wide the FoV is, so assume it can see 180
degrees across the front of the house.  Cold sidewalk, but there's no other
way.  I had to crawl, try not to drag my chest over it, even in my warmest
bra.  If he'd parked a foot closer, instead of stopping at the end of the
fence, there would be no way, but he had to walk around the front bumper,
left plenty of room, didn't open the gates to pull in the side.

   So, yeah.  I sat up, behind the door, re-wrapped my scarf around my
face, and hoped nobody came out before him.  Blowing, and rubbing my
fingers, the numbness went away, eventually.  So I huddled as tight as I
could, until the door's paint warmed up, and even reflected a little back.
God, I wanted to start a fire so much, but I might as well get up, and
knock!  Just don't fall asleep, whatever you do, don't nod off, if I even
can shivering this hard.

   .

   .

   .

   Finally, Fuck!  I risked a peek, behind the side mirror, through the
corner of his window, and the windshield, but he turned around to lock up.
Pulling Chekhov, I hit the Arm switch, and covered it, heart thumping from
the charging whine.  Stupid capacitors!  He stopped, started to turn,
looking around, and even put his arm up.

   How far?  Hopefully less than 5 yards, I aimed before he started moving,
toward the stairs, a little ahead, and down, the only way he could go, and
pulled the trigger.  The tabs blasted off the muzzle, and I saw the wires
uncoiling in the porchlight.  It made that rapid electronic ticking noise,
and he fell, spasming as if from a seizure.  I held it down all the way
around the engine to him.

   He didn't move, but groaned.  "Uh!" I get my arms under his, "Damn,
you're heavee!" And warm!  I damned near threw out my back dragging him up
the stairs, had to half roll him, hoping nobody looked out their front
windows, and he didn't have time to lock the door in those quick seconds he
had his back turned.

   It swung in, just a turn of the handle, so I rolled him in, and down the
stairs.  Another split-level, without the Mezzanine Kitchen, and front
room, in this otherwise cookie-cutter neighborhood, but the upper floor was
ground level in back.  Like many I saw in the neighborhood, half buried
basements on this street, they probably just piled up the fill in back, and
built a playground on it.

   "Uh," he started moving, and pulled at the Tazer wires, so I aimed
again, and waited.  He picked them out, and looked up.  "Star'?"

   The other plastic covers popped off the muzzle, and he fell down,
twitching again, in front of the heaviest most secure interior door I've
ever seen in a residential house.  "StarLA!" to him.  Deadbolt, and chain,
on the outside, to keep someone in.  4 steps down, "Yeah," I laughed, "I
GOT you, Fucker!" And threw in a kick for good measure before getting out
his keys.

   Pushing down his shoulder, I put both knees in his back, and looked up.
Schlage deadbolt, Master padlock, I flipped through...  "UhHm!" Pinched,
and turned the lock in the handle, which would latch automatically when the
door swung shut, and need a key to open it from the inside.  But she was
dead, probably even done in the Morgue, and turned over to the family, or
whatever arrangements they made for her.  Did I miss the funeral?  Not that
I knew her.

   This door swung in too, of course.  So he could hit her with it, instead
of her hitting him, to run.  He started groaning again, so I dropped his
keys, and ejected the cartridges from Chekhov to pop out the back-up
contact electrodes.  Ooh, burned up most of the charge on the 2 shocks
already, so rather than reload, I hoped I had one good shot left, or I
didn't need it.  I tapped the trigger, just long enough for an arc to jump.

   "Get in," I threatened him with it, and he shrank back in fear.  "Stupid
fucking neckbeard, think you're so clever?" I kicked his keys down the
hall, "Open it!"

   "Wh?" He crawled, back, and started getting up.  I let him decide which
one, but he had nowhere to run in the long hall.  I dug in my purse for the
spare cartridge, and unwrapped it while he got his hands to work.  I
switched hands, so my palm covered up the charge bars better than my
fingers, stuck one out the side instead of in the trigger guard.  At this
point it was mostly an empty threat, or not a reliable stop again.  It
would take too long to pull out, and replace the battery, during which he'd
have an opening.

   "Wh'ut're," he muttered, "Y'h?"

   "I'll think of something," I took a step down the hall, and jabbed him
in the side.  Either the neighborhood was really this cookie-cutter, or
he'd intentionally copied the upstairs layout of the girl's house, and
unlocked their old room.  "Get in there!" I pushed him, slammed the door,
and held the handle long enough to turn the lock.  Then the bolt, I heard
him jingle his keys, and ran back to the hall door to grab the Padlock.

   Just a couple steps, I managed to get the tongue over the loop before he
could pull it, and locked the lock.  He rattled it, but I managed to get it
turned, and latched.  Obviously, he designed it so she couldn't break-out.
I laughed, and he shut it.  Now what?  I waited, but heard another door,
and looked down the hall, to the Bathroom.  I made it there before he got
it unlocked, jabbed the Tazer in until I hit something squishy, and
discharged the last of it into the prongs.

   He fell, and I had to push his legs away to squeeze through.  No window,
the back corner was painted cinderblocks, built into the hill.  Before he
could get up, I pinched the base of the handle, pulled the battery, and
felt around in my purse.  "Don't get up," I kicked him, and stomped him
down, but couldn't find the spare.  Did I even bring it?

   "Dang!" I pushed him back into the tub, accidentally kicked the keys
behind the toilet, but fortunately, he didn't recover from his 3rd shock
well enough to fight back very well.  Pushing him back, I slammed the door,
and locked it before he could get to it.  "Huh, huh, huh!" I panted, and
untied the drawstrings around my hood.  Pulling off my scarf, I dropped it,
and picked out my hair as well as I could with my fingers.

   It was actually rather warm in here, hot in the sweats, sneakers, and
warm underwear.  He pounded on it, but I just turned around, and walked
down to the door across the hall.

   "STAR!" he yelled, "STARLA!  LET ME OUT OF HERE, I JUST WANT TO TALK!"

   "YEAH?  RIGHT!" Even if that were the case, I was so not interested in
talking to him right now.  So, I unlocked his office, looked back to see he
could watch her door from the chair, and checked out his hardware.  Shut
Down for the day, you can't hack a system without power running through it,
no matter what it's hooked up to.

   Nothing, unplugged from the Power Supply, Ethernet, Cable-modem, and
dial-up?  Who the fuck would use Dialup, in this day, and age, with 2
better connections wired, and god knows what else?  Different socket from
the landline, right next to the keyboard, and mouse pad, so dedicated line?

   And the laptop, on the other side.  The duplicate, with his software, I
brought it up, went through the backdoor, and brought up the realtime feed.
From the cameras, in the corners, of her room.  I knew it was her room,
because it was a faithful replica, other than the slope of stairs in the
corner, lack of windows, bathroom door, and Virgil, sitting at the desk. 
No laptop, of course.

   Arms up on the desk, holding his face, where's the audio?  I checked, it
wasn't muted, nor could I detect any mics, he didn't wire it for sound? 
Why not?  He didn't want to hear her screams?  Could she even scream, or
did he just keep her drugged the whole time?  I looked up at the monitor,
dark save for the red tell-tail to tell me I didn't have to plug it in.

   I sighed, swiveled his chair, and reached down.  I sniffed, it didn't
smell like him, at all.  A moment of thought, and I realized it looked
nothing like his office.  Forgetting concerns about Booby-Traps, I got up
while it ran the Power-cycle, and went back out to the hall.  Bare Walls,
painted, not even nails, or holes for them where pictures might have
hanged. Bare bones, featureless aside from the molding around the
floorboards, and ceiling.

   "Huh," I'd been played.  Locking the basement door, I went upstairs, and
found more of the same.  It looked like someone might live here, there was
furniture, but I ran my finger over the tabletop, and looked at dust. 
Nobody lived here, up here, why would he when everything he wanted was
downstairs?

   Okay, some signs of life in the kitchen, the cutting board was wiped
down, and the cabinet in front of the microwave.  [5:53] "Going to be late
today!" I giggled, a little.  Then I groaned, took off my glasses, and
rubbed my eyes, tiredly.  Running some water in the sink, I noticed
dust-bunnies piled up behind it, and took off my gloves while it warmed up.

   I washed my face quick, checked the cabinets for some tea, found the
coffee maker, and a cup.  It had shut-off, but the half cup in the bottom
was still pretty hot.  The fridge was filthy, like Office-Virgil filthy. 
Mystery meat, leftover takeout at various stages of putrefaction, and a
miasma of odors you'd have to live with to get used to.  I suppressed a
gag, but found some cokes, and opened a can to wash the bitter black
aftertaste out of my mouth.

   I jumped at a thump, and ran for the stairs.  What was he, trying to
tunnel his way out?  Fumbling with the keys, "3 fucking locks?" On an
interior door, no less, by the time it got open, he'd kicked through the
wall, and was trying to climb, sideways between the studs.  I laughed, "Fat
fuck!" looked in the office to see a box had popped up on the Laptop. 
[Sync Complete] flashed, so I pulled it out the door.  The charger dropped
out, and the power indicator popped up [Fully Charged] so I took it back to
the stairs.

   I just sat on the landing, set the discharged Tazer next to me, and
watched him over the screen.  Looked up the hall, twisted, managed to
unstuck himself to crawl back in, and pulled back his arm.  I laughed loud
enough for him to hear, and brought up the Network.  "Lazy bastard!" He had
it secured, with a wireless back-door, automated to this machine, on
startup behind the Partition.  "Because a password would just slow you
down, eh?"

   "What?" His bald head peeked through the hole far enough for his eyes to
clear, and I picked up the Empty Threat.  He shrank back.

   "Right!" a minor epiphany, "Narcissist, right?" Probably put on weight
to affect low self esteem, and/or disgust his victims more.  Hell, he could
have shaved the middle of his head for the disguise, I wouldn't put it past
him.  Pathetic neckbeard, nobody suspected, the perfect disguise.

   /Network_Files/Video.  "SwOOoo!" I whistled.  "No alphanumeric file
names here!" I chuckled, "Of course, if you did get caught, no matter how
carefully you planned, you wanted somebody to discover your Plan. 
Acknowledge your genius, right?"

   "Shut up you stupid nigger bitch!"

   "Well!" I laughed, "I wasn't planning to Torture you, but if you
insist..." I didn't get up, just waited, in the silence.  A car started,
out front.

   .

   .

   .

   And drove off.  "All right, then.  What's this?"

   [001_Gnog.avi] Numbered, not alphabetized, in the order he wanted them
watched.  "Hello," fat neckbearded face, "I'm Virgil Dalton, and this is
how I drugged the [Withheld] Family." No doubt already in their new
Protective lives, I don't want to traumatize them any more than he has. 
Carton of Eggnog, looked like an ultra-fine Insulin syringe, though I bet
from looking at his pantry, and kitchen he wasn't on an Diabetic diet.

   I muted it, but he kept talking, showed how to crush, and chop Rohypnol,
dissolve it, and slip the needle into the top of the carton without it
leaking.  He looked up at the camera, started saying something, so I closed
it out, and went back to the list.

   "Whatever you do, don't open the Passwords folder, on the Desktop." I
laughed, hit [ctrl+N] and searched it.

   "Would that be 'Passwords.exe' with the Folder icon to look like a
folder?" I laughed louder, "This reverse psychology thing, you're really
bad at it." Close out the search box, and scroll down the list...

   Looks like a How-to-get-away-with-the-perfect-crime, documenting every
aspect, more than you could reasonably release to the media, so there could
be no doubt.  "So, you got a dead-drop timer in case you don't log in to
distribute this?"

   "No?"

   I scoffed, "So, when's it set for?  Can you see in your office that your
network is set up, and plugged in, or did you set it up at work, too?"

   "Why the fuck do you care?" He whined.

   I laughed, "Still crying back there?" He held her for what, a couple
weeks, and she didn't think to kick through the drywall?  Maybe she was too
weak, or impaired mentally by the drug.  "What's wrong, can't handle a
woman, or are you afraid of anyone more than a girl you drugged
unconscious?"

   "Hah!" Facepalm, "It only looked like she was unconscious the whole
time, and accidentally overdosed.  I let it wear off so I could hear her
scream!"

   Liar, "Ahahahaha!" She didn't OD, she asphyxiated.  "You know, I noticed
you had several files marked [First Name]?" Like PAGES of them.  "What do
you think I've been watching this whole time?" Just the 'good parts', for
him.  Why would he want to watch hours of her lying there, almost dormant?
"I noticed she didn't have any bedsores when I examined her body." Or, at
least none were mentioned in the Autopsy the detective sent me.  I got out
my phone, scrolled through my contacts.

   Didn't really watch him, in there, with her.  Undressing her, getting on
the bed with her...  "You sure seem to like talking to her, though."
Morris, that's it, "Once she's eaten, and the drug kicked in..."
Fast-forwarding, I pushed out of Contacts, opened my Audio-Files, stared a
new one, and set it down, pointed down the hall...

   "Uh," I glanced at the screen and saw him carrying her, into the
bathroom, the tub, pulling out the shower hose, and bending over her... 
Right, the cameras, with an open slot for his PoV.

   "No sound?" He kept his clothes on, no wig, but he wore kind of a mask.
Skin toned, so at a distance, or in the dark it might look like his face.
So, either he was afraid she might escape (Unlikely for a Narcissist) or to
conceal his identity.  Or cover-up suppressed shame, like his fat neck.

   I pretended to laugh, "You want to hear it, do you?  Can't even tell how
pathetic you sound, trying to be manipulative," I guessed, "With her so
drugged she can't remember?" Right!

   "It's subliminal," he tried, "Repeated enough that it wires right into
her subconscious..."

   "So what," I really didn't want to listen, "So she'll fall in love with
you?" Through the mask?  Probably some Mind Control sex fantasy I'd figure
out later, now's not the time.

   "Damn it!" no wife, in his file.  I'd skimmed right over the
check-boxes: [ ] Relatives: ____________________________________________ [
] Emergency Contact...  Unchecked, no doubt.  All he did was wear a ring,
and even I didn't think to wonder how someone like him found someone,
anyone that would have him.  "Narcissists," I shook my head at myself as
much as him.

   "What's that?"

   I called down the hall, "Nothing more pathetic than a loser with
delusions of grandeur!" I sighed, got up.  "So," headed for the office,
"What IS your password?"

   "Why should I tell you?" He broke through by the bathroom door, for some
reason.  At least I didn't have to walk past him.

   "So you do want to get tortured!" I looked in.

   "You wouldn't!"

   I laughed, "Haven't I put enough voltage through your system to prove
that point, or did I fry something in there already, dipshit?" TBPH, I was
tempted.

   "Omn..." Something something.

   "What?"

   "Omniphage."

   "Uh," Pinch the bridge of my nose, "Really?" Let my glasses drop, and
push them back.

   "What?"

   "Narcissists." All-eater, roughly.  Jesus fucking christ what a piece of
work!

   I typed it in anyway, "Case-Sensitive?"

   He giggled?  "No." Something sparked, and I jumped, back out of the
doorway.  The tower started smoking, so I lunged in for the power strip,
and singed my hair.  Smoke poured out, and nasty fuscia flames.  "Hah!" he
squirmed between the studs, "Thermite, Bitch!" Something crashed, the tower
falling, particle board desk already in flames.

   I slammed the door, but heard them WHOOSH!  behind it, and coughed. 
"Uh!" He was stuck, but had both arms through, and hammered at the studs
with a chunk of something.  I stopped at the end of the hall, turned to
look through the black-cloud pouring out from under the door, turned the
little latch in the knob, and pulled it behind me.

   He screamed, but it was muffled, I managed to grab my laptop, and phone
on my way up, abandoned Chekhov to it's fate, and ran for the street.

   "9-11," it picked up.  "What's your Emergency?"

   I coughed, "I'd like to, aHEm!  Report a fire." Looking down, I saw the
laptop, his legacy folded under my arm.  Then I turned, and pitched up the
steps, through the open door.  Just smoke now, no idea if it had made it to
the hall yet, but I just coughed.

   "Responders are on their way to your location, can you stay on the
line?" All I could do was cough, probably got more lung damage in the last
few minutes than a lifelong smoker.  I didn't give her an Address, but my
phone, tags with GPS, in case of emergency, as long as it's powered up.  I
hung up, >Recent Calls, >Outgoing, (911) vDet._Morris.  [Call]

   I could barely cough, and I felt faint.  "Starla?" He sounded distant,
"Ms.  Whitehouse?" What?  Like I chose it!  "Are you okay, or in any
danger?" I coughed, brought up my GPS, and hit [Send]

   [Attach Current Location?] [Back] > [Yes] [Select]

   I coughed, and passed out...

   Detective {MF NS}

   "Hey, uh." She pointed, at her personal belongings on the chair, so I
picked it up, and sat down.  The tea on the table, I realized she wouldn't
be drinking it until they pulled the tubes out of her.  They had a machine,
pulling blood out of her arm, and pumping it back in.

   She made the "Hang Loose" sign next to her ear, so I got out her phone,
and the charger.  I took my coat off, and drank her tea.  A couple packs of
sugar, and it wasn't too bad.  She brought up the Voc-X Ap first, turned it
sideways to type, then showed me.

   [Questions?] Made by KeyBook (c) I don't know the model, but it's
taller, and narrower than my phone carrier, and a bit thicker.  About the
size of a Pamphlet, without any paper, of course.  She split the screen
with the Aps along the side, and the monitoring Icons on the other.

   "Uh," I looked at the foot of the bed, "Mind if I look at your chart?"
I'm not family, nor otherwise within the loop to be informed.  She
survived, they told me that, since she was my Witness, not my Suspect.  Oh,
and she'd be in here at least a couple weeks.

   [Go ahead.]

   "You gonna be all right?" How do you get "Coppereidus?"

   [Electronics Vapor.  Burning PCB.]

   Didn't even mention Smoke Inhalation.  Also elevated serum levels of
Allumina, Titanium, Magnesia, Cadmium...  At least she wasn't Orange any
more.  Or her hands, and lips under the tape.  The EMT said it might be
"Carbon-monoxide Poisoning," before the bus got there, but I didn't see
anything about that.

   [Electrolytic Capacitors...]

   "I got it," and touched her arm.

   [Male voice: "I got it."] We use the same company's software to
transcribe Interviews.

   Her thumbnails tapped.  [About the case..?] She can't type as fast as
talking, with just her thumbs, but she can write, and listen at the same
time.  Okay, her fingers clicked the [Shift], [ctrl], [Alt], and [Function]
keys on the back, and there was a touch-screen.  Looked like there was a
stylus in between, it switches to Bluetooth when you separate the Keyboard
from the Screen, but it's not QWERTY.  The numbers are on the end in a 10
pad.

   "Uh," I closed the door, and scooted the chair by the head of the bed. A
motor wound her to sit up.

   [I should have this damned tube out of my throat tomorrow.] She tried to
take a breath, but the oxygen tube in her nose whistled.  [They're running
Oxy-Pheresis to get out the Ozone, Peroxide, and Hydroxl radicals, and keep
me from suffocating.] She looked at the Oxypheresis machine, something was
spinning in the top.

   "An Iron Lung?" I guessed.  She shrugged, and nodded.

   [And gasseous state bronchial treatments.] "Gaseous" flashed, and
auto-corrected.

   "The FeBIs, and MiSP got back to us, their labs confirmed most of yours'
findings, a bit of a cockup." I looked, she wasn't offended.  "In the
handoff from the Disappearance to the Kidnapping to the Murder." Only
reason she was even informed of the case.  We don't have the resources of
the Fed, or the State.

   She tapped her finger over: [About the case?] It lit up, but she
scrolled back down.

   "Oh uh," I remembered, "Did you see any kind of body condom?" [?] "He
ordered one, from some company, uh," I checked my notes, but she tapped my
arm, and waved me on.  "It's like a pair of briefs, with a built in condom.
Rubber, latex I mean, he sent in a mold, and skin photo to match the tones
from a Sex-shoppe, out of state.  They're sending someone down to talk with
them." I glanced down at the screen.

   [No, fat neckbeard fuck kept his clothes on, and I didn't get a good
look when he pulled it out.  Where's your Partner?] "A tertiary
crime-scene." She looked at me, "I can't talk about it." Frowned, "I can't!
At this point you're a Witness.  They're sifting through the ashes right
now, and you said he set the fire, but there may be Manslaughter charges,
if we're not careful."

   [But you're Missing Persons?] I nodded, "But we caught it, and it was
established as our case when it transferred to the Eaton Sheriffs'." So,
technically we stayed on with the task-force.  "Homicide's trying to build
a case, though, so I can't talk about that, either." Except to inform her,
there's no gag Order, and she's probably unable to go destroy evidence.  I
looked at her phone.

   [You want to help me?] "I, uh.  I'm here for the, uh Family." Anonymous.
[Closure, really?] Her stomach flopped, like a diaprahm.  I think she was
laughing?  But unable to breath, the front of the smock, and covers didn't
move, unless she did.

   [He's]

   [Dead.]

   "Yes, but that's not the case.  You didn't leave us much to."

   [HE destroyed the Evidence.] Except the VoX files she'd sent me, with
her location.  So, maybe she could tamper with electronic evidence, if she
got the phone out of the hospital.  I don't think she's a smoker.  Right,
and I don't think they'd let her out for that, either.  Micro- and
Mini-USBs on the side, though, the only other cords I saw in her plastic
bag, besides the charger was an ear-bud/microphone.  No windows to open.

   "Not the Video" probably couldn't.  "He set up some kind of timer, to
release everything on the." I lowered my voice, "Undernet." Mumbled. 
"Don't type it!" (So it didn't come up on her PDA.)

   [Y not?] Auto-corrected to [Why...]

   "It's a secret," she frowned, "I mean, whenever the State system picks
up anything, related to, that system, they shut it down, and relocate. 
We've traced them to terminal locations, where they had a cell set-up, but
find them stripped, if not destroyed." Can't even start a task-force, we're
down to mostly Rumors at this point.  "So, they either got infiltrated, or
there's some kind of electronic surveillance we haven't found yet, on our
network."

   She nodded, [I know, I was consulted, but they didn't say anything about
any Un.] She hilighted, [The UN.] Good, could be read as "United Nations."
[You said they're BBS.  Dialup?] I nodded, [He rigged his 'frame with
Thermite, it burned the whole place down, damned near killed me.]

   She started coughing, and gagging, so I had to leave before the nurses
ran in.  I left instructions to keep her disconnected.  Keep the phone, but
isolated from any networks, the hospital WiFi and Bluetooth devices.  She's
not my suspect, but I have to work with Homicide.

   She sent me her report, what happened at his house, but I didn't pass it
on.  Too incriminating, but not my case.  So, I saved it in case I needed
it.  Technically Witholding, but it's not exactly a legal confession, just
arguably exculpatory, if it gets to Court.  Illegally obtained, too,
through the Medical Network, which is supposed to be secure, but she had
machines running Telemetry to it for monitoring.

   Right, Network Systems.  Checking my watch, it took all of what, an
hour, and 20 minutes?  Not counting the writeup.

   She's probably good on the Manslaughter, he did set the fire, and get
himself stuck in the wall trying to escape, but she destroyed evidence
burning the Netbook.  The duplicate, the Feds hadn't sent the original back
yet.

   Unfortunately, the footage didn't confirm it, he was out of the cameras,
in a blind-spot between them, I believe it was a closet, but I haven't
confirmed the layout yet.  She took a picture (Attached) Like she says,
it's his system, so he knows exactly what the cameras can see.

   She didn't think to kick through the wall, there, but he knew to.  So
probably planned an Exit Strategy, or a way in if she managed to block the
door.  Or both doors.

   [Star,

   You remember that Park where you surveilled him from?  IDK if you looked
out the back door, or any windows while you're up-stairs, but he obviously
stalked her for quite a while.  Have you considered a Pedophilic angle?  I
mean, he owned the house, looks like about 5 years from the lease, and
mortgages, but did all the work himself.  The FBI report said a lot about
Victimology, but not how he selected them.]

   I thought...  [He might've had some kind of "Template" they call it.  An
ideal he displaced to by proxy, like a mother, sister, or childhood crush,
but unavailable.  I looked up PCBs, but couldn't find anything about their
use in Electronics.  Maybe he had a Liquid Cooled system?  Did you see any
tanks, or tubes, or hear pumping when you turned it on?]
>Starla:<
She texted back, so she was awake.  >Ephebophile or Hebephile, maybe. 
(IDK the difference, really.  I'm no profiler.) She was 15, and looked
pretty developed.  So, I doubt she hung out at playgrounds, except maybe
with her brother and sister.  But she would have been 10 when he moved in.
I unfortunately avoided looking too deep into his background, when I knew

him.  He repulsed me, INS sure whether it was calculated.<

   [INS?] Not familiar with that one.

   >Sorry, Printed Circuitboards, not PolyChloral Biphenyls.< She makes
strange compoundwords, which apparently aren't autocorrected.  >Like IDK,
only I'm Not Sure.<

   [Got it.] So not Immigration.  He might have been Canadian?  [Oh, and
they didn't follow through with the Background Check at SysteNet.] Probably
Cost, they're incredibly competitively priced, especially for Law
Enforcement.

   >LOL, He picked the initials VHD, so I'm not surprised.  Should have
guessed, it was an Alias?<

   [Don't beat yourself up,] all I could think of was HDV for High
Definition Video, but I didn't ask.  [He was thorough, and new exactly how
far they would Check.]

   >We were printed, and DNA sampled on hire, so...<

   [We checked,] I interrupted, [No prior arrests, or they weren't in any
of the databases.  Think he might have hacked the systems, or denied
evidence?]

   >IDFK, he's not good enough to hack secure DBS, didn't even have a
Firewall.  I suppose he depended on isolating, and using off-band
frequencies to avoid being detected, like running the video off Bluetooth.
Knew well enough that any firewall can be breached, eventually.<

   >He could datamine from inside our servers.  They're isolated, to
prevent cross-contamination but our personal files are open, for oversite.
I'm pretty sure Accounting wanted to save money on monitoring, but I don't
think he stalked me.  I was part of a smoke-screen, "It can't be me, I hit
on everyone, but I'm married, see?" Then I got his attention in the
investigation.<

   >I'm not sure how much of the Power-Reassurance was him, and how much he
Affected to counter-profiling.  I mean, he was obviously attracted to her,
but the way he documented it, and was trying to get caught, I think he was
obsessing over a "Perfect Crime." He's kind of scared, and
non-confrontational.  Not too much for cat-calling, but it can't be what's
wrong with him, "I'm awesome" when deep down inside, he feels like a loser,
and tries to cover it up.<

   >So, it reads more like wannabe Power-Assertive.  I'm pretty sure he did
his research, not like I saw a copy of Holmes and Holmes on the coffee
table, or any books, nor a coffee table for that matter, but he might have
been attempting to break that profile, and affect another, so the BAU looks
for the wrong guy.  For instance, they predicted he'd put a good radius
between his home, and the abduction, "Don't shit where you live" though he
was only a few blocks away.<

   >Likewise, he acted so disgusting because Power Assertives are the
opposite.  I remember thinking "It can't be that guy" because he was so
gross, and disorganized.  INS how much of that was projection on my part,
though.  A good example was Bundy, he was high class, charming, handsome...
They tend to work out, drive a nice car, and cruise for victims.  Use ploys
like the stranded motorist, or impersonate authority and may drug victims
rather than kill them.  May become involved in the investigation.<

   [That was in the profile.]

   >I've been thinking, and I believe his plan was to keep her alive.  As a
sex-slave, obviously, but he was trying to figure out how to force
Stockholm Syndrome on her, make her like a Patty Hearst, or Susan Atkins,
maybe.  He was probably just attracted to her, she was pretty, modest,
Vhristian, probably a virgin, so IDK how preferential she was, or if she
was just the "Best" one in the neighborhood?<

   >IDK what his plan for her was after that.  I'd have to listen to the
audio from his, I'll call them Sessions with her.  He's a talker, said he
wanted to condition her subliminally, but not what for.  Maybe just the
perfect Wife/Sister/Daughter to reflect him as the perfect Husband/Daddy,
if not a family annihilation mass murder to terrorize the middle class.<

   >It really depends on his template, who he sees himself as.  More of a
Bundy, or Manson?  Maybe a hodgepodge of cases, or characters, like
Hannibal Lechter.  You might want to ask the BAU about all this stuff, they
have better qualified analysts, and more of them.<

   [IK,] I stopped her, [I didn't even ask, but just let you run-on because
you explain it to me better.  That's the main reason I come to you, the
Profile sheets they release are too technical and clinical, while you put
it in terms I can comprehend.  And I can ask you questions...]

   >Shoot.<

   [So, it's like his mask, and that latex diaper thing?] I saw pictures on
the company's website.  [He made up a persona, at work, and another at the
abduction sight to conceal what he was really like from the Profilers?]

   >I think.  Yeah, and I fell for it.  Which is why I can't profile the
real him, clip the signal out of all that noise.< Probably the blackest
thing I'd seen her write.  >All I got is theories, but because he was a
Narcissist, he may have been introspective enough to create his own self
image.  He'd be attracted to Power Assertives, because they're Confident,
and Macho.  (Ultimately, that's what drives them, Asserting their
Masculinity.)<

   [So it wasn't about sex.]

   >It's a component of his motive.  He obviously wanted it, and went to
ridiculous lengths to make it perfect.  I'd say that was his greater
motive, the overarching message of his statement.  He wanted to commit the
perfect crime, be the guy that pulled it off, instead of such a loser.<

   [Sorry, my partner's here.]

   >TTYL.<

   Morris

   I picked her up, helped her to my car.  A nurse rolled the wheelchair
back in but she didn't need much help, once she was up.

   "Any more questions?" she closed the door, and smiled.

   She didn't have anyone else, "Why aren't you married?" and I didn't want
her to just call a cab.

   She sighed, roughly.  "No time," she laughed, and coughed.  "Uh," she
rolled down the window, and spat.  Ladylike.

   "I'm gonna stop for some coffee." I pulled up nearby, and went around to
help her up.  She got a booth, so I ordered for us.  "Darkroast, and a cup
of hot water." The barristo asked if I wanted to add whitener, but I shook
my head.

   She blew, and sipped.  "Assam?" she guessed.

   "Irish Breakfast," She nodded.  "Why tea?"

   "I don't like coffee?" She dunked it by the the string, and picked it up
to blow on it.  "We had a tea-set, growing up.  Oh, and I had a friend, she
was English." a little sip, "I mean, her family was from England,
ultimately.  Her mom a bit of an Anglophile, but I don't think they're
Puritans.  They didn't go to our church."

   "So you're raised proper." She looked up, under her eyebrows.  "I beg
your pardon." Black ones, on dark skin.

   "I was adopted.  Foster parents, I'm sure you read that I went through
Opiate withdrawl?" I shook my head.  "I don't remember it, I was a baby. 
Abandoned.  But yeah, I was adopted by a good home.  Protestant,
Conservative, told not to cuss.  Then I guess I just, stopped dating, after
college."

   "After your assault." She got up for some more hot water.  Now, I'm not
a profiler, neither, but I talk to people for a living.  A lot of them
victims.

   "Look," I put my hands down on the table, between us, and looked her
straight in the eyes.  "I know it must have been terrifying, and horrible,
but it happened, and you survived.  You think it might have even made you
so driven?" I wouldn't stand in her way.

   "What about you?" she dipped the tea-bags.  "Why a cop?"

   "I don't know.  I wanted to be a hero, like a fireman, or you know G.I.
Joe, and all the action shows." She nodded, "A lot of us did, it was
popular in the 80s.  Cops, and robbers." I made the gun sign, "Pew pew!"
She laughed, and coughed.  "So, I didn't go into the army, volunteered with
the fire-department." She frowned, "Okay, for Community Service, then when
I got out of school, I took the entrance exam, and passed.  I've been at it
a couple-odd years, and there was an opening in Missing Persons/Cold
Cases."

   "Both?" she seemed interested.

   "They were merged back in '17.  Budget cuts." I shrugged, "We're used to
working with incomplete evidence, in both fields.  I actually moved in,
from Cold Cases/Archives."

   "Day off?" She guessed, and looked around.

   "The Case closed." I put in a lot of overtime, so it's like mandatory
vacation days.  "And we're not as busy as, say Narcotics, Robbery, or
Homicide."

   "Top 3," she guessed.  Statistically, as well.  "So why didn't you get
married?"

   I sighed, "I did, it didn't work out.  She calls the job my 'Mistress.'
She didn't want to cheat on me, so we decided it was better to split up.  I
pay some child support, but I get to see them, pretty much any time." I
have the time.  "She's still my best friend, we're just not married any
more."

   \Home {MF Mnem Rape.}

   "I don't want to talk shop," he looked around.  Didn't say 'In public'
but I chalked it up to keeping the particulars of the case confidential. 
By the book, but the book exists to prevent guys (Mostly) getting off on a
technicality, or convictions overturned on Appeal.  Like the Chain of
Evidence, Justice starts with finding the criminals, but ultimately they
have to be convicted.

   And I'd been a bad girl.  Withholding evidence, even destroyed some. 
Took Justice in my own hands, instead of calling it in, and letting them
take care of it, legally.  INS what I was seeking Revenge for, but in
hindsight, that's what it felt like.  We cut the smalltalk in the car, but
I kept the window down for anything else I coughed up.  Not his
Not-a-Police-Car, more like a luxury coupe, I didn't check the make.  No
cracks in the leather seats, or pebbled dashboard, in spite of the
late-model.  Huge backseat.

   I was a bit steadier on my feet, but he still walked behind me up the
steps, in case they gave out.  Felt like spring, almost, or an
indian-summer.  Everything thawed, but not dried up yet, so I stuck to the
sidewalks.  All I had was my sweats, and sneakers, which they washed for
me, but I was starting to feel hot, so I didn't turn on the heat.

   "You gonna be alright?" He came in.  No longer little more than a
nameless face, the Detective, or the primary one for my involvement.  I let
him in, and he closed the door.  I opened the kitchen window for some fresh
air.

   "Um," I picked up the trashcan, and steadied myself on the cabinet. 
"Would you mind taking this out?  Dumpsters are around the back parking
lot, on the end." I pointed down the row of apartments.

   Made a pot of Gunpowder.  The strongest thing I have, and poured him a
cup when I saw my hands shaking.  Letting out a deep breath, I washed out
the ball, and made a mental note to cut back.  I have a bit of an addictive
personality.  They wouldn't let me have caffeine, because of some obscure
interactions with my lung treatments.  I coughed, spat, and ran the
uncurled leaves down the disposal.

   He came in, washed his hands, and mixed some sugar in his cup.  "So," I
called from the living room, "What didn't you want to talk about in
public?"

   "The UN," he didn't mean United Nations, and sat down.  "Mm!" He raised
his cup, and set it down.  "Without any more avenues of information, I
guess it's about all we have left." I avoided it, or the parts he was
talking about.

   "It's like the old Usenet." I nodded.  "Good place to download skripts,
I could check if he uploaded any of his." He liked to write code,
especially Audio-video, though only the ones he used were stripped down to
bare commands.  His work ones were full of trash text, {Notes} and self
reference, so others could use it, for the company.

   "When you go back to work?" He guessed.

   I shook my head, "SysteNet is under investigation, for any possible
wrongdoing, or mismanagement.  They had a lot of experimental," or 'Ground
Breaking' in their literature, "Administrative practices, like
Co-oversight."

   "You know, I can tell when you're avoiding a subject, right?" It hurt to
sigh.

   I coughed, spat out the patio door, and left it open.  Hoped I wouldn't
have to fill that prescription for home oxygen therapy, but it felt
stifling in here.  I rubbed under my nose.

   "Psychiatry isn't my specialty, but I have worked with several victims."
Probably after recovering them from their disappearances.  "I can't help
but notice your sexual avoidance, and how you rationalize it."

   "Okay," I nodded, and suppressed another side, "So I don't like to think
about it very much, and it wasn't sex, it was Abuse."

   "I know you don't believe in Closure," he sat back, and put his hands
together, "But this was an intense case, the ones with young victims always
are, and I've found it helps to get it out of my head, when it's over."

   "Yeah," not really sure what that's like.  "I guess I'm more used to
cybercrimes, or the usual attacks, and electronic embezzlement."

   He nodded, "Which is probably why the sexual component of this one was
so emotionally.  I was referring more to your assault, in college." I
didn't jump at the word Assault, like I expected to.  He didn't say 'Rape.'
"I can tell you're still haunted by it, maybe because it was never solved?"
Useless evidence.

   "It's just easier to think of it like a case.  So, I can analyze it, the
evidence.  I guess it gives me a degree of separation."

   "Right?" he nodded, "But if you repress it, it's still subconscious, and
can have effects on your life.  Like sexual avoidance." Was he hitting on
me?  I can usually tell, but he's not like a player at all, much less a fat
smelly neckbeard.  "Look how you're sitting, just talking about it."

   I tried to relax, a little.  "Huh!" I didn't cough, but considered
faking it.  "So what do you suggest?" More like a Bookworm, police
Librarian the way he talked about his job, under his Not-a-Cop outfit.  I
rubbed my lip, and idly wondered what it feels like to have a mustache.

   "Have you done any therapy for it?"

   "A little," I thought back, "In rehab.  Oh, I had a relapse, or I guess
I never used before that, but I had a bad year, on painkillers.  When the
prescriptions ran out, I had to check myself in, because I was already
seeking in the Grey Market, at school." It's remarkably easy on a college
campus.

   "That explains why you're so straight-edged, but it helps to confront
what happened, so you can accept it.  It's like grief, and I believe you're
still in denial.  Years of it are not good for you.  I did some therapy." I
looked up, "For PTSD.  There was a shooting I was involved in.  I'll tell
you all about it later, but right now, I think it would be better to deal
with your issues.  I know you're in a fragile state, but if you bury this
case with yours, well, I doubt it would be very healthy."

   "Sometimes I wish minds were more like Computers.  I mean, they are,
derivative of our intelligence, but only in some ways.  Most of it just
doesn't make any damned sense, though..."

   He waited, patiently.  "Which explains your interest in Profiling, but
you're still avoiding the issue.  Try closing your eyes..." He waited until
I did, "Don't go straight back to the night of the assault, but you can
work back to it from Memory." I nodded, and bit my lip.  "You're in Rehab,
for painkillers, but what were you trying to forget?"

   I saw a flash, like a snapshot.  Just the bricks under me, my hands.  I
picked up my cup, and took a sip of luke-warm green tea.  That's about
enough caffeine for today, this late in the afternoon.  Not like I wanted
any more sleep, tonight, or had anything else to do then.

   "Huh!" I coughed, and turned to spit out on the balcony.

   "It's just a memory." he looked at me, sympathetically, "It can't hurt
you any more, but close your eyes again.  Now, can you think back to
earlier that night?  The details aren't that important, without an
investigation to follow through with, but may help you confront the
repressed trauma."

   "You're good at this." He smiled, and waved for me to close my eyes. 
"Mh." I think I read somewhere that the FBI was teaching Cognitive
Interviews for detectives, I just can't remember any of the theory behind
how it's supposed to work.  Just the title [Cognitive Interview Techniques]
on the bulletin.

   "You remember where you were, and what you did that night?"

   "In the library, stacks." I nodded.  "I lost track of time, and the
Commissary was closed.  I remember trying to remember what I had left to
eat, in the dorm."

   "So you walked back that way..."

   "Yeah," I remembered, "It was chilly, fall semester, and.  I was
struggling with MOSFETs.  In Solid State Electronics."

   "You walked past an alley?"

   "No," I felt myself wince, "He grabbed me, and." I reached up to my
shoulder, "I dropped my bag."

   "So, he took you to the alley?" An old building, still had brickwork on
the ground instead of concrete, or asphalt.

   "He covered my mouth," I coughed, "Said, 'Don't scream, Nh'."

   "Racist epithet."

   I nodded, "He called me, huh, 'Nigger-bitch'." I started crying, and my
throat felt so dry.  I tried to cough something up, but wouldn't you know
it, I already spat it all out, and he was there.

   "It's okay," he snapped his fingers until I opened my eyes, "It's over,
you survived it." Double-snaps, his ring, and middle finger, but he stopped
when I looked at him.  On the couch with me, holding me, I sniffed, and
coughed up the salty fluid.  "Here." He picked up my coffee cup so I could
spit.  (I don't own any teacups, and saucers.)

   I closed my eyes again.  He hesitated, I heard him sigh through his
nose, and waited.  Until I felt his mustache on my cheek, and the side of
my lip.  I laughed, coughed, and felt where it tickled.  He looked at me,
so I bit my lip, and brushed at it with my fingertips.  "You know," I tried
to remember how long it has been since someone kissed me, "How silly this
looks on you?"

   "You want me to shave it?" He shrugged.

   "I have a pack of razors," In the bathroom, I pointed, "But no
clippers." He got up.

   Morris {MF IR Cons Shav.}

   I guess it made me look older, or I look younger without it.  She took
her glasses off, but didn't squint at me without them.  I can't say I
didn't think about it, with her, before.  She's pretty, bright, incredibly
capable, I respect the shit out of her for what she'd done, despite the
questionable legality of it.

   She pulled out a drawer, from a little cabinet over the toilet, and a
tiny pair of scissors.  Maybe for eyelashes, or brows, the ends were
curved, but they managed to trim it down short enough for the razor. 
Disposable, last one in the 3 pack, twin blades.  I was just careful not to
snip my nose, or poke it with the points.  Nose-hairs, I turned the blades
over, and stretched my lips as much as I could to trim them off at the
nostril.  I'd been keeping it neat, for about 10 years almost, so they must
have blended into it eventually.

   No shaving cream, of course.  So I grabbed her nail brush, scrubbed it
on the bar of soap, then in my palm to make lather.  I nicked one of the
tiny ridges on my lip, and swished it out in the sink.  She rinsed the nail
brush off, and set it back beside the faucet.  Splashing the rest off of my
mouth, I licked to make sure it didn't taste soapy.  "How's that?"

   She felt it with her fingertips, still a little stubble I hadn't managed
to cut flush, but acceptable, I guessed.  "Much better," she dropped her
hand, and leaned up to kiss me again.  I hugged her, nice body, I'd
noticed. A bit busty, but much broader in the hips, and rear.  I just held
her shoulders, for now, and felt her chest flattened against mine.  Not too
fat, for a desk-geek.  I couldn't see any sign of a gut, or feel one now.

   "Hm." I opened my eyes, and she smiled.  Didn't bite her lip again.  The
bottom one, dark, and full, of course.  She hadn't opened her mouth, just
breathed through her nose, and didn't cough.  I licked my lip again, and
felt it self consciously.

   "Come on," she pulled me around, and out of the bathroom by my arm. 
Held my hand, and led me to her bedroom.

   "Are you sure," so soon, "You're ready to..."

   She laughed, coughed, but didn't spit.  "You know I haven't done
anything, since..." The assault?  Jesus, that was like over 10 years!  I
shook my head.  "All of a sudden," she pulled herself into my arms, "I
don't want that to be my last time." Her lips felt even fuller, warmer, and
she opened them, so I let her tongue in.  I guess she was a little out of
practice, but passionate enough.

   She pushed me back, but rubbed my chest, and kept probing around in my
mouth with her tongue.  I felt her fingers, curling up in my shirt to pull
it out, her warm breath beside my nose.  Then her fingers unbuckled my
belt. I caught my breath when she pulled back, and sat on the end of her
bed.  She was pretty frantic, pulling open my pants, so I rubbed her
shoulders, felt a little muscle from her arms moving around.

   "Not too big," she looked up, smiling, and holding it.  "Do you, um. 
Have anything to." I shook my head, a little disappointed.  Of course she
didn't or any other form of contraceptive.

   "12 years?" I couldn't imagine going that long without.

   She sighed, "Ahem!  Yeah.  I don't fucking care!" She shrugged, and bent
over, her mouth open.  God it was warm, and wet.  I guess she wasn't that
experienced to begin with, but there's no such thing as a bad beej.  At
least I never heard of such a thing.

   I pulled off my shirt, the elastic cuffs over my hands, and dropped it
behind me.  She looked up, and tried to smile, with her mouth full.  Taking
a deep breath through her nose, she took most of me in, then had to stop to
cough.  I think I felt it barely brush the back of her throat.  She spat on
it, and licked up when it started to run down.  Then she lay back, pulling
off her sweatpants, and crawling backwards on the bed.

   I kicked my shoes, and pants off, then climbed on in just my socks.  She
pushed her sweatshirt off the side, but it kind of hung on the corner of
the bedside table.  Deep purple underwear, plain, not lacey or silky.  Kind
of thick fabric, considering how little I know about women's underwear. 
She turned on her side, so I could reach behind her, and feel the clasp.

   "Uh," she sighed when it released, "UchUH!" She covered her mouth.  It's
okay, I know it's not a cold or anything.  Hope never to breathe anything
like hot copper vapor.  Her hair flattened on the pillow, and I noticed she
had bangs, sort of.  Her afro, it was shorter in front than the first time
I met her, at Starbucks.  I chuckled a little.  Didn't smell like burnt
hair, or have any pilled ends like I'd expect, so maybe they trimmed off
the damage in the hospital.  "Mmhh." I felt her chests buzz in my hands,
muffled by the full roundness, and massaged them.  She closed her eyes, and
I moved over her head to kiss her again.

   I still felt a little damp in her hand, absently gripping, and pulling
at it, but I guess she was paying more attention to her mouth.  She
multi-tasks, I'd seen her do it.  Talking, listening, and taking notes at
the same time, or listening to her dig in drywall while thinking out-loud
into her phone.  She let go, shifted to one side, then the other.  Lifting
her legs to slide her undies down.

   I looked down, smelled her, and bent to kiss her chest.  Feeling down
her soft flat belly, I brushed right over her navel until I felt her coarse
curls.  Nice big dark nipple, I held her breast so it didn't get away while
I licked, and sucked at it.  "Uh!" A little cough, "Mmh!" She felt up my
back, and neck to brush at my hairline.

   God, she was hot.  I felt her lips with my fingertips, and she petted my
arm with her other hand.  I parted them, with my prime, and ring finger so
I could feel between them.  Damp too, almost wet in the bottom, where I
could feel a fairly tight opening.  12 years, really?  I massaged it until
it relaxed, didn't have to force my fingertip in, but went slow, and
gentle. Tried to remember my first time, with Mona.

   "Okay," she patted my shoulder, "You can stop beating around the bush
and screw me, already." She bit her lip.  So I pulled my hand out from
between her legs, reached over, and put my other elbow down to move on top
of her.  She felt between us, held me to slip the head between her fingers,
then ran her hands out around my hips.  I kissed her again, but held myself
up with my knees.  She opened her mouth on mine, and gripped my buttocks to
pull me in, but I went slowly.

   "Mh." she turned, and coughed.  I felt her spasm, around me.  The base
once I was all the way inside her.  God she was tight, so I just held still
until she was done.  She spat on the side of the pillow again, and turned
back to me.  "Sorry."

   "It's okay," I twisted a little to reach up for her face.  She closed
her eyes, and nuzzled my fingers on her cheek.  I felt her hum, inside, not
quite a moan, and my penis swell.  Pulling back, she didn't tense, but
relax.  A hesitant sigh when I let myself sink in again, but she didn't
cough, this time.

   "Hmmmmm." I took a slightly faster stroke, and another.  Slowly picked
up the pace as she loosened up.  Mona was a virgin, when we first started.
It wasn't like that, discovering sex all over again, but still reminded me
of it.  Not her, they weren't really much alike, and I concentrated more on
the differences.  How she was shorter, softer, a little tighter.

   And she was a moaner.  I laughed around her tongue.  "What?" she looked
up at me, but I shook my head.  "Ah, AahH!  ACK." She coughed again, so I
stopped until she spat on the pillow.  Quite a collection of thick spatters
on the grey flannel, like the sheets.  "Uh." She pushed me out, "Roll
over."

   I twisted, away from the snotty mess I noticed didn't have coppery
flecks like I expected.  On top of me, her belly wrinkled from hunching
over to guide me back into her.  She closed her eyes, and held her breath,
settling down on my hips.  I ran my hands up from hers, over the slight
soft swell of her tummy to her chest.  Lifted them to feel them while she
started rocking on my lap.  Harder than I'd 'Screwed' her, still so proper,
hardly even said 'Fuck" except in anger.  I'd even heard her say 'Dang!'
once, in a recording, but couldn't remember which.

   She coughed again, gripping me inside, but swallowed, and started
screwing again.  She felt heavy, tight especially around the opening, like
an anus.  IDK why Mona liked that, other than she could touch herself, bent
over like that, but the memory of her getting off, the tight twitches, like
Starla coughing made my testes tighten, and milked me off.

   She pulled out, scooted back on my lap, and pulled me back.  Against her
tight coarse curls, she pumped me, and I looked down to watch it splash
under her belly.  "UhhhhH!" I always liked the contrast, white on dark
skin, though if anything, hers was lighter than Mona's.  It ran down her
knuckles, and she twisted her hand.  She squeezed the last drop out with
her thumb before I went soft, the rest running down to her hair patch, and
licked her fingers.

   "Mm." she rubbed circles under her belly, and got up.  Coughed, and I
heard water running in the tub.  Catching my breath, I got up, and started
stripping the bed while I heard the water slopping.  The spittle didn't
soak through the pillowcase, so I stuffed everything in it, inside out, and
carried it to the bathroom door.

   "Uh," I held it up, "You got any more bedding?"

   "Oh, akHUH!" she covered her mouth, "There's a shelf in the closet,
thinks!" I laughed to myself, that's how she said it.  Like a bright
suburban teenager.  "Hey Maurey?" I dropped the pillowcase, and went back.

   "Yeah?" she threw a razor away.

   "Can you hand me the razor on the sink?" I guess she wasn't worried
about a little blood, after what we'd just done.  "Thanks." She pulled a
leg up, and stuck it in the corner.  She shaved, of course, but they'd
grown out, enough to start to curl.

   Back in the bedroom, I pulled on my shorts, went to get my ultralights,
and lighter out of my jacket in the living room, and took it out to the
balcony.  I need to quit, but not right now.

   .

   .  {In case it wasn't obvious, the trailing ellipsis signifies that it
ain't done yet.}