Someday

I miss TLM.

Someday the story will have its ending.

It may take about twelve years but it'll happen.

Conversation Between Jace and Rosie; Lost in Writers' Limbo

"Rosie, is that you?"
"Aye, Jace." Rosie voice held an evident level of frustration.
"Why can't I see you?"
"For the same reason I can't see you. We've been forgotten."
"Forgotten!"
"Aye. This is what happens when fictional characters are forgotten...we end up floating in... Jace, what is this we're floating in?"
"Mud."
"...Mud? Jace. You can't float in mud. Mud is a non-floating substance."
Jace considered this for a moment.
"No. No, this is most definitely mud."
"It isn't. It's....misty, floaty, silenty stuff."
"It isn't. It's mud."
"Where are you floating and why can I hear you? You surely aren't near me...*I* am not floating in mud."
"I don't know why you can hear me. I don't even know where I am. ...I wish someone would turn the lights on."
"How did you do that??" Rosie demanded immediately after Jace's last syllable was uttered.
"Do what?" Jace--as usual--had no idea what Rosie was talking about.
"The light! There's a light over there! Like it's at the end of a tunnel...."
"Don't go near it! Stay away from it! Rosie! Can you hear me?! Lights at the end of tunnels are fatal!! Rosie! ...oh...wait...I see it too."

Jace did indeed see it, for it was growing larger and slowly permeating the misty air surrounding them. (Jace was not floating in mud. Not even I know what he was talking about.)
"What's happening?" he asked in confusion.
"I...I think we're being remembered!"
Slowly but surely Jace and Rosie were becoming visible to one another.
"Hello, Miss Tracer," Jace said as Rosie appeared.
"Hello...." Rosie stopped short. "Jace...what are you wearing?"
Jace looked down at himself. "I'm not really sure. I don't dress myself, you know."
"Mmm." Rosie mm'd thoughtfully. "I'll speak to Restless Native about it. We'll see if we can't get you a change of clothing--something which doesn't shout 'I have identity issues'."
Jace was torn between sputtering at this and suggesting a more helpful course of action; he chose the latter.
"No, speak to Femme Fascinante about it. She's much more open-minded about my identity."
"That's true, that's true." Rosie responded a bit absently--she was watching as the light became brighter, but she couldn't stay focused on it for long; she really did want to know why Jace was dressed as a Space Ranger...and just who had dressed him anyway? She turned back to him, ready to comment again but she stopped short.

Jace looked like Jace again.

"How did you do that??"
"Why do you keep asking me that?! *You're* the psychic! Sheesh...it's like you think I know everything...."
It was true. Rosie couldn't argue it.
"Hey! We're going down," Jace cried. And they were. Conversation was impossible at this point and it continued to be until Jace and Rosie were once again standing on solid ground--and, wouldn't ya know it, Jace landed in a puddle of mud. The irony of this, however, didn't strike him as both he and his fellow detective had forgotten about their previous conversation (it was erased from their memories, actually) as they re-entered the world of TLM....


"Rosie, you've got to learn to be patient."
Rosie internalized her response to Jace and simply continued walking down the sidewalk.
"'With patience cometh virtue," Jace quoted...only he couldn't remember where he'd hear it. Still, Rosie didn't answer...verbally. She didn't answer verbally. But Jace missed the non-verbal communication...poor thing.
"I learned that long ago," Jace continued, "and it's helped me on many occasions."
Rosie bit her lip. She wondered at how the man couldn't see the patience she was exercising at that very moment.
"Jace, I understand. I must be patient. But, really, can you blame me for wishing that Kevson, for ONCE, would have that brother of his write up the reports--which are so critical to our case--in a timely fashion and *not* after the next girl has been murdered?"
Jace had to admit he could not blame her. In fact, he himself wondered why that brother of Kevson's had such a difficult time of it.

Little did Dectectives Buntley and Tracer know what were the reasons behind the tardiness of that brother of Kevson's........

Patience is a Virtue, apparantly in short supply these days

The TLM will end one day... one glorious day, when young children will be singing in the streets, and the New York Times will be putting it on the best-seller list.

Until that time, however, we must be patient. Yes, indeed, we must exercise that most blessed of virtues, which enables us to quietly endure those difficult moments of our lives, when we would like to become irate, to give in to our base desires of instant gratification, to be impatient and hasty.

But no... good things come to those who wait. And wait we shall, until the appointed time.
And of that time, no one knows the day nor the hour, and it shall come like a thief in the night.

And then it will be arrested, by American Detective, Jace Buntley.


Thank you, thank you.
RN

TLM Will Never End

haha. I'm writing on the page because RESTLESS NATIVE obviously isn't going to.

tee hee

tee hee

tee hee

And, so, Jace and Rosie are caught in this sort of time warp...thingy...which has....warped them....quite badly, actually. And there they are. Just warped. Frozen, really. In place. Yes, frozen in place and unmoving until the Restless Native returns with...the special...potion...to warm them again. Ah, yes...the special potion Jace and Rosie are so addicted to....

dun dun dun..........

coffee.

Rosie's with cream. Jace's just black.... like his heart

Case Solved

"Here. Take these."
In the S4 offices once again, Jace and Rosie accepted the files from Dr. Welch without a word.
"This is new information which may help to bring the case to a close."

Jace nodded.

Rosie pushed a hairpin back into place.

The S4 office was silent.

Dr. Welch cleared his throat. "Very well," with that, he exited the office.

As soon as the door was shut behind him, the fellow detectives broke into grins.
"He hates it when we do that," Jace chuckled. He began to flip through his file. Rosie laughed in response.
"It impresses him," she said.
"He thinks it's a sign of our focus."
"At least we have that going for us," Rosie replied.
"It's a start," Jace agreed.

The mind-games Jace and Rosie played with the heads of Scotland Yard varied and were many.
They had both realized long ago that maintaining a cool, calm exterior could intimidate many people into observing a control and knowledge which may or may not truly have been present.
Since almost the first time they had worked together, Jace and Rosie had been convinced of each others abnormal abilities; and both had seen that their abilities worked best when combined.
Without discussing it, but with each knowing what the other was doing, they set about convincing others of their superior talents. They had soon found that complete comprehension was what impressed Dr. Welch above everything, and silence conveyed that comprehension in a way that words never could.

Rosie smiled softly to herself.
She loved being a detective.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty-four hours later Rosie was sick of studying the file. The sun was shining for once in the normally fog-ridden city, and she was frustrated with being cooped-up inside the stuffy office. She sighed and closed her eyes. There had to be an answer somewhere. She looked out one of the office windows. She just wanted to get out of that place.
Suddenly, an emotion--not her own--flashed through her.
Her eyes narrowed.
She turned to Jace.


"What?" She said accusingly. She was irritated. Jace raised an eyebrow.
"You've got a theory--a rather concrete one at that. What is it?"
Jace had too much self-possession to be startled by this declaration, but he was slightly surprised. He hadn't said more than a few words to her all day.

Rosie crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "If you think it was the uncle who orchestrated the whole thing, and not the father, why haven't you have told me?" She unfolded her arms and reached for her ever present cup of coffee.
"We're supposed to be working this case together." She took a sip and looked at Jace--waiting for an answer.

Jace now had both eyebrows raised. So she came to the same conclusion....
"Exactly," he said, ignoring the question and going straight to the theory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes later Dr. Welch was quickly passed in the hall by two very intent detectives.

They failed to see the smile playing about his lips.

And he failed to see theirs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was cold.
It was dark.
It was a stakeout.
It was Rosie's first, but Jace's second--a fact that did not sit well with Detective Tracer's competitive senses.
In the time that slowly ticked by, Rosie resolved to someday even the score. Jace would not best her.

Rosie breathed out and watched it blend in with the London fog. She held back a laugh as she saw Jace, who had not observed her, do the same. Suddenly, the clicking and sliding of an opening door brought their complete attention to a shop across the street.

Jace nodded to Rosie.

Rosie turned and signaled to Callie Anne.

Callie Anne--an informant who had worked for Scotland Yard for many years--was standing in a doorway a little ways down and across the street. At Rosie's signal, she stepped away from the doorway and onto the sidewalk. The clicking of her shoes made an eerie sound in the night air.
Callie stopped to check something in her purse, then walked down the sidewalk, turning left into a dark alley.

The dark figure that stepped from another doorway was barely visible through the fog. Jace was the first to spot him, but the others--Rosie and the few officers hidden in the shadows--soon heard his muffled footsteps through the thick London fog.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning's newspaper headline read: "Scotland Yard Strikes Stalker." Jace and Rosie each bought two copies--one for their homes, and one for reading at the office.

Over the steaming coffee, above the morning paper, and across the S4 office, Rosie saw Jace smile. Rosie smiled too.

Jace set the paper down after reading the article for a third time. He walked over to the coffee-pot which always sat near the door, and poured other cup of coffee. Then he crossed the room, coffee-pot in hand, and, without a word, lifted Rosie's mug and refilled it.
"Do you realize," she said, "that they never mention our names? They simply say 'the detectives of Scotland yard.'"
"Yes," Jace answered carelessly, crossing the room to place the coffee-pot back on its stand. He said no more, and neither did Rosie. It didn't matter in the least to either of them.

They weren't in it for the fame.

Jace returned and seated himself at the edge of the desk. He took the paper from Rosie's hands. Rosie reached for her coffee.

"Who is Davis Nolder?" Jace asked after a moment.
"Who?"
"Officer Nolder," he repeated. "They seem to be singling him out."
"Oh. He was the first officer on the scene last night after you jumped the stalker."
"Oh. Right. Good cop. Seemed to have the routine down pat."
Rosie shook her head at the American slang. She took her paper back, folded it and put it away in a drawer--a signal that she was ready to get back to work.

A minute ticked by. Jace hadn't moved. Rosie bit her lip, refusing to smile as she looked his direction.
Jace sipped at his coffee.
He sipped at his coffee again.
He knew Rosie was looking at him, but he pretended not to see her.
Rosie looked away; she knew it was of no use. Jace had seated himself on her desk, and he was going to stay there until he tired of it.
Jace took an extremely audible sip of coffee. Rosie couldn't help herself, she looked back.
"Can I help you?" Jace didn't look at her, but continued looking across the office, seemingly lost in thought.
But Rosie saw the smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Jace. Get off of my desk."
"Oh." He turned and looked at her, a look of complete seriousness on his face. "Did you want to sit here?"
Rosie rolled her eyes and shook her head. He was impossible. She picked up some paperwork.

After a moment of silence Jace cleared his throat. A moment more passed before he spoke.
"Rosie...how did you know?"
"Know what?" Her heart gave a slight thump, but she feigned indifference. Jace hesitated, not certain of the correct wording.
"A thousand things, actually," he said. "My theory, the cab being down the street last night, the canceled Mass on Sarah's birthday--yeah, especially that one--about Governor Pray being connected with the stalker, about my cat...."
"You haven't got a cat."
Jace cocked his head to the side. "How did you know that?"
Rosie blinked at him.
"Exactly."
Detective Tracer laughed.
Detective Buntley smiled. For a moment he seemed to have let it slide, but after taking a sip a coffee, he said, "Rose. I'm serious. What is it?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cab hit another rut.

Nolder was driving again.

The jolt brought Rosie's mind back from the memories of so long ago-from the first case she and Jace had worked together.
Jace had been a different man back then. Youth had played a big part in that, Rosie supposed.
He had learned a lot since graduation from S4. Experience can be a sorrowful teacher. Perhaps that accounted for quite a bit of the tension she could feel coming from Jace, who was seated on the other side of the cab.

A tense smile touched Tracer's lips. She would never forget the look on Jace's face all of those years ago when she'd finally admitted to possessing psychic abilities.
The smile faded as she unconsciously compared their behavior from back then to their behavior now.
They had worked so well together--and had a good time doing it.

"Whoa, there, Charity!" Nolder called out, and the cab came to a stop.

Detective Tracer, Dr. Welch and Detective Buntley exited the cab and stood facing the Liverpool cathedral.

The Bishop was just inside.

Jack the Ripperger

Three days later, they discovered the identity of Jack the Ripperger.

Or, more accurately, Rosie discovered it. This irritated Jace quite immensely.

Not that it surprised him, really- in fact he almost wondered what took her so long. What irritated him was the idea that he had come all the way overseas only to prove his inferiority to a female. Even if she was psychic.

As Davis Nolder drove him to the S4 office, Jace tried to avoid letting it get to him. He did not succeed.

His coolness on the surface belied a volcanic eruption underneath. This was both his strength and his weakness. On the one hand, perception was reality, and getting everyone to buy off on the fact that he was cold, cool, and in control contributed greatly to his success. The other contributions came from willpower, raw talent, and burning emotion. But unless you could read minds, you would never know it.

Rosie knew it. And that was the other hand.

*****

As Jace walked into the S4 offices, he almost ran headfirst into Niles. He wasn’t happy about it. “Hey Jace, how about that Rosie Tracer, eh? Spot on!”

“Yeah, spot on Niles. Get out of my way.”

“You don’t have to be all angry about it! It’s a good thing! We’ve discovered the murderer! Niles glared at him. Jace glared back.

“Ahem.”

Niles moved aside and Jace continued down the hall. He heard Niles muttering behind him. “Too much whiskey last night, I’ll wager. What a grot!”

So what if Niles was right? Jace thought. That was only half the story anyway.

******

Rosie didn’t look up as Jace entered. She sat in a chair facing the wall, as she had done so often in the past.

“I was waiting for you.” was all she said.

Jace moved to the only table in the room, where a coffee pot sat still steaming. He knew it would be good. He poured himself a cup and waited for Rosie to say something else, knowing full well she was waiting for him. It was a game they used to play. However, this time, he wasn’t in the mood to wait for up to 12 hours as it sometimes took. He cleared his throat.

“Well, congratulations. So are you going to tell me how you did it?”
“No.”
Jace sipped his coffee.
Black.
Strong.
He looked out the window and was irritated.
“I’m not going to tell you Jace, because you already know how I did it. You’re irritated because I cracked the code first.” She turned her chair and looked at Jace for the first time. It was true. She didn't need her psychic powers to figure that out.

His answer confirmed her statement.
“I suspected it was an anagram the minute I saw it… I just couldn’t put it together.”
An anagram, Jace thought. A word or phrase which, upon re-arranging the letters, spelled something else- supposedly something with significance.
Jace had once sat down and determined that the letters of his name could spell "Cajun Beetly" or "Jane bet Lucy" - among other things. He didn't know what kind of significance that held. He chuckled silently and remembered two anagrams of Rosie's name - "Secret I Roar" and "A Rector's Ire".

“Pere P.G. Jarreck, H.T.I.” Rosie said, bringing Jace out of his introspection.
Jace was silent. The name sounded vaguely familiar... but he didn't know why.
"Father Pierre Gabriel Jarreck, Honneur le Triese Innocentes." Rosie spoke again.
Jace was silent again. He knew French when he heard it - but that didn't mean he knew French. Rosie continued.
“Father Jarreck is the Catholic Bishop of Liverpool, very well-known and respected, and not just by Catholics. The initials at the end of his name are French for 'Honor of the Innocent Three' meaning of course, the Blessed Trinity."

Jace remembered now that Rosie had explained it.
"It is immediately obvious that this is the only explanation for the message 'Jack the Ripperger'. It is also apparent that he is not the killer.”
Jace frowned.
Rosie looked at him quizzically. "Do you disagree?" she asked.
The American Detective didn't change his expression.
"No. But it just doesn't make sense." He lowered his coffee cup onto the table and folded his arms across his chest.
Rosie clasped her hands in her lap and tilted her head.
"I mean, why would the killer leave a message pointing to someone who is obviously not the killer? Murderers who leave clues typically do it for one of two reasons: to deliberately mislead the authorities by implicating an innocent, albeit possible, suspect; or to leave factual hints about their identity, as a sort of sick game. In this case, neither possibility fits! What's the point?"
Jace was now pacing across the room. He wasn't really asking any questions, he was just talking to himself.
Rosie interrupted while she had the chance.
"Well, somehow Bishop Jarreck must be connected, or at least have some information that the killer thinks is relevant. We need to talk to him."
Jace gave a short laugh.
"That's going to go over real well. Implicating the Bishop in a serial murder case is like accusing the Queen of Treason."
"I didn't say it would be easy, Jace."
He turned and looked at her. She met his gaze steadily, intently. He looked away.
"So the killer has something against Catholics" Jace said, changing the subject. "He kills Catholic girls, and implicates a Catholic Bishop." He paused thoughtfully. "Must be a Lutheran."
Rosie cleared her throat, and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"Oh, relax Rosie!" said Jace. "I was just kidding."
Scotland's best detective spoke cautiously. "It’s not that, Jace...”
“Well then, what is it?”
Rosie looked directly at Jace. There was no uncertainty in her voice.
“The killer is a female."Jace raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Rosie, we've been through this already..."
Rosie Tracer sighed heavily. "No Jace, we haven't. I mentioned it briefly the day after the last two murders, and you immediately dismissed it."
"Well it's obvious!" said Jace, gesturing his arms in exasperation. "There is absolutely no way that one female could overpower two others- especially those Germans!" Jace alluded to physique of the first two murder victims, and that Scotland Yard had established only one killer was present at each of the crime scenes. "Rosie, the victims were overcome swiftly and with brutal force. It's rare to find even a man with that kind of power! If there was a female anywhere in this city capable of such actions, we would have found her already!"
"I know Jace, I know" said Rosie "But you've overlooked one critical error."
"Well what's that, Rosie?"
"Jace, the handwriting never changes. It's the same every time."

Jace Buntley opened his mouth, and then closed it. He blinked.
Rosie blinked back.
There was a terrific silence.
"Well then" Jace said slowly "Maybe we should just start arresting every female that weighs over 90 stones." He knew better than to question Rosie's authority on graphology.
Rosie Tracer smiled, and looked down…Jace took another sip from his coffee cup, no longer hot.
"In that case we’ve got the dissection note figured out.” He was referring to the paper they had found at the crime scene that detailed the method of dismemberment.
"If the killer was male, as we first suspected, then the dissection note was his, and he forced the victims to write his sick little message on the wall for him. That would explain the terror behind it.”
Jace paused, and looked into his mug.
“But, if we have correctly determined that the killer is a female, then someone else – a man – wrote the note for her. That means we have an accomplice. That also means we need to explain why the killer would be terrified while writing her own message.”
He looked at Rosie.
Her head was still down.
The room was silence.
Jace sighed and rubbed his temples. There was so much that just didn't make sense! They solved one mystery only to uncover three more.
But they were making progress- together. Just like old times.

Jace looked over at Rosie, still sitting silently in her chair. One hand was laid carelessly in her lap, and the other was on her chin. She was softly, absent-mindedly, biting her index finger. Her cheeks were flushed. Lost in thought.
So quiet.
So demure.
So lovely…Jace remembered when he had last been in England- in Scotland. He remembered the energy he felt when working with her- the power.
Even the toughest cases seemed almost easy. Time flew- nothing was impossible when they were together.

He smiled from pure admiration.
Something he hadn’t felt in a long time surfaced.

“Rose…” Jace began.
Rosie wasn’t listening.

********

"Well then, maybe we should just start arresting every female that weighs over 90 stones."
Rosie played these words over in her head.
She smiled when she first heard them- purely, and genuinely- and not because of the joke.
She smiled because Jace accepted her theory without question, without argument, and without pride. His ability to put his ego aside for the sake of reason had always amazed her, and she respected him immensely for it.

What also amazed her was the complete trust he placed in her abilities. Jace knew the power of her psychic abilities, and the passion with which she pursued her work. She would never make a statement as bold as she had without intense feeling behind it- and Jace knew it.

He knew her.

That’s why he didn’t question her.
And that’s why Rosie Tracer was completely defenseless.
Her cheeks grew hot, her heart pounded in her chest.
She touched her face and looked down.
She remembered that feeling from so many years before, when they had been partners together at the S4 academy. She remembered the time they had spent together, the feelings they shared…

And she remembered that those feelings were gone.

They were cold.

They were black.

They were dark shadows in the memory of her heart, behind closed doors and blood-stained walls.

The raging inferno that once engulfed her heart was reduced to embers by one night in Paris.

Time had extinguished even that....

Deep in the corners of Rosie’s heart, a fire was rekindled.

**************

“Rose…”
Rosie Tracer looked up suddenly.
Jace was smiling like she hadn’t seen in years. Like the day she knew he loved her for the first time.

And he had called her Rose. No one else ever called her that.

For one split second, they met each other’s gaze.
For one split second, Jace Buntley and Rosie Tracer shared a feeling neither had known in over five years.
Rosie’s eyes shone with liquid excitement.
But something was wrong.

Buntely’s face became a mask of pain.

*******

There was a terrible crash as a half-empty mug of cold coffee was thrown against the wall.

A hollow door slammed shut.

Rosie Tracer sobbed in an empty room. Empty footsteps sounded down the hall.

Black liquid dripped from the wall....

That night in Paris.

Unexpected Revelations

"With your superior abilities, and his keen mind, I have no doubt you will be able to make great headway in this case." Detective Tracer gazed at Dr. Welch, no emotion apparent on her face. Dr. Welch cleared his throat, and with a barely perceptible movement of his hand, he tugged at his collar. It always disconcerted him when she looked at him this way."I believe we have already made a good start," she said, continuing to look at him. Dr. Welch briefly wondered how she could do it--stay focused on his eyes when there was so much activity going on all around them.

They had arrived at the crime scene some time before. Detectives Kevson and Niles had gone immediately to the bodies, but Jace and Rosie had been looking for something else. Jace walked directly over to Chief of Police Joe Mason, who had gone ahead to the crime scene. Rosie watched him, already knowing what he was asking after--whether this was due to her psychic ability, or simply because she had once known him so well, she wasn't sure. She just knew what he was looking for. She watched as Chief Mason pointed, gestured, and pointed some more. Jace stood and listened attentively. He shook his head and obviously asked the chief to repeat his answer. Rosie realized she was staring, and so started for the wall which was few feet from the bodies which bore the signature mark of the murderer.

"JACK THE RIPPERGER" was scrawled across the wall in the victims' own blood. Detective Tracer stood and analyzed the wall for quite some time. So long, in fact, that her turned back began to draw the attention of the police officers who were running around trying to find something to do. But her still frame gave no need for speculation to her fellow detectives. They knew she would speak to them when she had it all settled. Until then it was best to leave her alone.

An hour elapsed. Rosie's back was stilled turned on the activity at the crime scene--but it had begun to quiet down. Detective Buntley had finished gathering the information he required, and for the last fifteen minutes, he'd stood watching Rosie from a few yards away. She hadn't moved for thirty minutes. Buntley wasn't as used to this type of behavior as Kevson and Niles were, and he was beginning to worry about her.
"She's fine." Jace glanced at Niles, who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
"What?"
"She's fine. She does this all of the time." Niles looked back to Rosie just in time to see her sway and then catch herself. "Uuh...."

As Niles was trying to find a thought to articulate, Jace was quickly striding toward Rosie. When he reached her, he placed his hand on her shoulder. Kevson's warning cry of, "Don't do it!" came a split second too late. At the touch of his hand, Rosie jumped and let out a startled cry. Something fell from her hand to the ground, but Jace saw only the tear falling from her eye. She knew he saw it, and she quickly brushed it away. She immediately looked down at the ground. Jace thought she was trying to break his gaze, but when he followed her gaze, he saw the object she'd dropped. He leaned down to pick it up, but his hand froze just before he reached it.
It was a rosary.
Rosie saw his hesitation, and quickly reached to pick it up herself. Her hand brushed his as she lifted it, and her touch seemed to bring him back. They both straightened themselves at the same time.
Jace could think of nothing to say. Thoughts flashed through his head like paintings on display. What an odd time for that cup of coffee to enter his thoughts...."I'm fine," Rosie said, breaking the tension.
"What was it?" Jace and Rosie turned at the sound of Dr. Welch's voice. Rosie's own voice shook as she began to answer, but she quickly continued with an even tone. "The murderer was under some sort of influence when this message was written."
"Drugs?" Jace asked.
"Alcohol?" Kevson and Niles chorused, coming up behind Dr. Welch. Rosie shook her head in response to both questions.
"No--no, I don't think so. In all of my studies in graphoanalysis I've never seen anything like this. Except for perhaps once...." Involuntarily she looked at Jace, but then quickly looked away. She didn't want to remind him of that night. She turned to study the wall again. "I first noticed it after Clarissa's murder, and with each new murder it has become progressively more apparent."
"What is it?" Rosie didn't know which of the men had asked the question. They were all intent on studying the writing on the wall. She took a deep breath.
"She was terrified."

There was complete silence from the men. It took them a moment to absorb her statement. Niles finally spoke up. "You said 'she'." Rose closed her eyes and turned away from the wall. Another tear slipped down her cheek. She silently pushed her way through the men, leaving them to contemplate was she hadn't said.

"Detective Tracer," Deputy Chief Hudson approached Rosie. "I think there is something you should see." He motioned for her to step over to where the bodies had been laying. "We were moving the bodies, and when we lifted the second one..." He stopped and cleared his throat, obviously disturbed by the memory of the process. "We...ah...found a note."
"Let me read it." Rosie held her hand out to him. He placed a pair of gloves in her hand instead. "Put these on." Rosie fought the sickening feeling threatening to envelope her stomach. She didn't have to ask. She put the gloves on, then accepted the blood-covered piece of paper. Hudson waited as she read it. Her face registered shock and then disgust in quick succession. "It's..." She took a quick breath.
"What is it?" Jace came up behind her. She immediately handed the paper to him and quickly walked away.
"It appears to be a step-by-step directions on how to..." Hudson stopped and cleared his throat again. "Ah...properly dissect the victims."

Dr. Welch had been observing Rosie since Hudson had stopped her, and when she walked away, he followed. As he walked by Buntley and Hudson, he heard what the note contained.

"Tracer."
He stopped Rosie just as she reached the coach. She waited for him to come to her, but didn't turn to look at him. She was still afraid she was going to be sick.
"What could you tell from it?"
She continued to gaze out at the city lights. It will be light in a couple of hours, she thought to herself. "It was written in a masculine hand."
"What?"
"A man. It was written by a man."
"That wasn't what I meant."
Silence.
"The writing on the wall...it's feminine?"
"Yes."
"And the writing on the paper...it's masculine?"
"Yes."
"What are you thinking?"
"I don't know. It would seem...I don't know."
"I think you do have an idea." A new voice entered the conversation. It was Detective Buntley.
"Please, share it with the doctor." Rosie did nothing more to acknowledge his presence.
"If the writing on the wall was indeed a woman's"--Rosie rolled her eyes at this--"and if, as Miss Tracer says, she was 'terrified' as she wrote it, perhaps she was forced to do it. Perhaps by the man who wrote the...directions. Perhaps it is the victims themselves who are forced to write it before they are killed."
The voicing of Jace's theory sent a chill through both Dr. Welch and Rosie. Jace turned and walked away, having been called back by one of the chiefs.

"I am afraid I will not be able to do this, Michael." Rosie only used Dr. Welch's first name when they were alone, and even then only when the situation warranted it.
"A WOMAN?!" Chief Mason's shocked reaction could be heard across the lot. Dr. Welch cast a glance his way, but turned directly back to Rosie. She had not moved. She was taking no notice of the commotion caused by this new piece of information. Dr. Welch returned to the matter at hand.
"Come now, Tracer. You've worked cases similar to this before. I know you never really get used to it, but you are the best we have. You need...."
"Not with him," Rosie cut him off. "Not for years." She looked directly into her old professor's eyes. "Perhaps Detective Buntley and I would work best apart."
"No." Dr. Welch was adamant. "You work together brilliantly. He was brought here specifically to work with you."
"Yes," Rosie said, irritation barely present in her voice. "And if we were in a different setting, I would have a thing or two to say about your not consulting me in that wee matter."
Dr. Welch continued on as if he hadn't heard her, "I have yet to meet two men more suitable as partners."
Rosie closed her eyes in frustration. Even he often forgot.
"I want to bring in Callie Anne."
"What? Rosie. She's been living a normal life for years."
"Even so, she still has a sharp mind. ...And I need her help."
"Fine. Call her tomorrow," Dr. Welch had more to say, but Rosie had no more responses for a moment.
She knew he was right about Jace, and she didn't want to discuss it anymore.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was almost six o'clock in the morning before the work was finished at the crime scene. The detectives were all exhausted by the time the coach pulled up in front of the S4 offices. Rosie had taken every precaution to keep from being seated next to Jace. But, unknown to her, all of her strategies would have been in vain had Jace not also been trying to avoid her.

In her office once again, Rosie found a fresh pot of coffee. She poured herself a cup, and moved to look out the window. She lifted the mug to take a sip.
"You shouldn't drink that." She took the sip, then turned to look at Jace.
"You need sleep." He tried to ignore the defiance in her eyes.
Rosie turned back to her desk. "I won't be able to sleep, anyway." Her tone was quiet, and she didn't look at him again. Not that it mattered. He probably wasn't looking at her anyway.
"It's been a long time."
"I'm aware of that, Jace." It was the first time she had used his name. Strange how it brought back so much."If we work together on this case, we stand a much better chance of solving it." He was silent for a moment. "I think you know that."
"I am aware of it."
"I'm going to get some sleep at my hotel. You should too." Rosie raised an eyebrow. "At your own place." Jace rolled his eyes, and Rosie bit her lip to keep from smiling. "We'll need to get together to discuss the case later tonight." With that Jace left the office.

Rosie stared at the closed door, remembering seeing him walk through it hours earlier. She suddenly remembered the coffee stain on her skirt. A sudden desire to pour an entire pot of tea on Kevson's head possessed her, but then was quickly gone as she remembered the last time she had seen Jace. It had been over five years before in Paris. In front of Notre Dame cathedral. The cathedral seemed to have a particular beauty that night. Entrancing.

Rosie shuddered at the rememberance. The night had started out so beautifully, but it had a horrible ending. He'd left her there that night, with a promise of never returning sounding in her ears. She could still hear it. She covered her ears in an attempt to block it out, then placed her head on the desk--intending only to finish the Rosary she began at the crime scene, but hours later she was still sleeping there.