[b]5:39 AM
June 12th, 2013
Quantico, Virginia[/b]

Josh could feel himself being read as Mark stared him down, pinpricks washed over his back and arms. They young agent smiled nervously after Mark spoke. He didn’t really know how to respond to someone so notoriously perceptive. 

“Yes, everyone knows that, Mark.” He wanted to say, ‘and you never let anyone forget it’ but decided against it. “I’m Josh, by the way, we’ve met. I took one of your CSI classes, years ago.” Josh remembered that time fondly, when he was just a recruit. That was before he worked closely with J.L on a very important, very dangerous case. That was before he ranked in the 99th percentile on his agent exams. That was before he saved J.L’s life. He began again, “We have new information about a sensitive case. J.L wants you on it, and so do I; and I happen to be the lead investigator on this case, so that should mean something.” In case Mark felt like he had anything negative to say Josh put his hand out, he was clearly trained by J.L on how to deal with Mark. “You’ll get provisionary special agent status, no red tape, nobody breathing down your neck. And, listen, we need you. There is no one in the agency like you, no one. Now, we both know you’re not going to say no, follow me.”

The couple walked back down the clean corridors and back to J.L’s office. Josh entered first, held the door open for Mark to enter. He closed the door behind the professor and took his seat at the right-most chair. J.L was looking through a hearty federal law book. It was old but J.L kept it around for nostalgia’s sake. When Josh and Mark entered, J.L put this aside, he looked up and removed his reading glasses. He stroked his beard as the two sat down. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you on this side of H.Q, Mr. Vern.” Jay joked. “I assume Josh has filled you in on the rough details. We need you now more than ever, Mark.” He gave Josh a miniscule symbol and the young agent reacted hesitantly. He placed the weighty file on the desk in front of Mark and opened it. 

Scenes of women, and men, ranging from a week ago to 15 years ago, filled the file. Some specifics were different, like the varied amounts of bruises around the body, generally pre-mortem. But, what was always the same, was the bisection of the victim. Almost always the victim, in some way or another was cut down the middle, their stomach skin flapped over the sides like slaughtered livestock. There was one women, from 5 years ago, who was brutally raped and sodomized by a jackhammer, completing the monsterous bisection that way. Another man, from 8 years ago, had his head, from crown to throat, split in two. It seemed like these mutilations occurred postmortem, luckily for the victims. Sometimes organs were missing, sometimes pieces of flesh. 

There was an eerie quietness, “Do you know what this is, Mark?” Jay asked, he tilted his head to get a better view of the mad genius sat in his office once again. 

[b]7:30 AM
June 12th, 2013
Charlotte, North Carolina[/b]

Gerald wore a 5 cent suit, a small duffle bag leaned against the seat where Gerald ate an egg-white and tomato wrap his wife had prepared for him the day before, it was cold, but still pretty good. He finished it just as Anne walked up. He noted her figure but tried his best to not think about it. He extended his hand as she introduced herself and nodded. “Yes, Ms. Sanders. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” With the greetings out of the way Gerald invited Anne to accompany him to the car waiting outside. Gerald had already checked out of the hotel room he was staying at and so found no reason to linger around any longer, though they did have a little time to kill. The couple entered the stylish Lincoln, woman before man, and Gerald signaled the driver to drive. 

The black vehicle quickly got on a freeway and headed toward his destination. It was cool in the car, it blocked out the surprisingly humid air and even more surprisingly shining sun. Meteorologists predicted there was going to be thunderstorms for the rest of the week, like there was last night. But that wasn’t the case. The ground had even dried since the last rain. Gerald took another glance at Anne’s file while they drove. “I’ve double checked your case records, your autopsy journal entries, your exams, your recommendation, and I’m rereading your essay. It’s all very impressive Ms. Sanders. I don’t say this to anyone, but you’re FBI material. If you wanted it” he concluded, “I bet you’d fly through recruitment training.” He put the papers away. The two would speak about a few subjects on their way to the airport, touching only briefly on Anne’s future. Gerald was an inquisitive man who knew a great deal about American history and wanted to know more about the places Anne was familiar with. 

Eventually they reached the airport, then, ahead of schedule, they boarded. It was a commercial flight but they were in business class. Gerald ordered a rum and coke, placed the black card the FBI had given him into the stewardess’ hands. “Put whatever she wants on it, too.” Gerald said, then he chuckled and winked at Anne. “Take advantage, it’s on the company payroll,” Gerald said playfully, he pulled a file unrelated to Ms. Sanders and began to leaf through it. 

[b]9:30 AM
June 12th, 2013
Brooklyn, New York[/b]

The stinking, smoggy air of Manhattan was wafted into Brooklyn on an unfortunate air parcel. Dennis stood on the terrace of his office when the familiar smell of garbage and gasoline passed his nose. He wrinkled his nose, then he thought of something. This was alien air, passing from a different ecosystem into his own. It was deviant air. Dennis stuck out his tongue, something in him said he must taste this. A low toned beep came from the rest of his office behind him. On the terrace itself was a set of lounging chairs placed on either side of a blue tinted glass table. The white stucco floor turned into hardwood as Dennis passed the threshold of the glass sliding door that separated the two areas. He wore a pair of dark-blue suade shoes, white pants and shirt along with a light blue checkered vest, his white coat was tossed somewhere over a chair. He crossed over to his plain wooden desk set on a marble dais and spoke into his intercom. 

“Yes, Marcy?” The doctor asked. His voice was soft, loving. 

“Phillip is here.” A squeaky voice responded. 

“Send him in.” 

Dennis quickly walked over to his bar, put away the bottle of wine and empty wine glass, stained with the purple stuff. Wouldn’t want his patients knowing he often times drank before appointments. As he closed up the bar the door to his office was opened. Phillip, a young brunette lad with horn rimmed glasses, teenage attire, entered the room. He was coy, he smiled from behind his glasses and with the door between him and the doctor. His fingers were thin, the ends were rounded like a frog’s. Freckles crossed his nose, his eyes were green. “Hello, Doctor,” he said as he closed the door, and thus closing the eyes of the world. His voice was shaky, it didn’t crack by some miracle. 

“Hello, Phillip.” Dennis responded. He gestured toward the terrace and followed behind the young man. 

“I had a dream, Dr. Shavleson.” Phillip said brightly, he was smiling. It was clear that this was new to him, his chapped, mutilated, lips almost bled. 

“What was it about?” Dennis leaned in a little from his sitting position, he held a pad on his lap yet he had no intention of using it. When it came to Phillip, he didn’t need notes, he remembered everything the lad said. 

“My mother, it was about how she died. I saw, Millie, you remember Millie, in the dream. She was wearing my mother’s sleeping robes. She looked so much like her, so much like my mother.”

“How did that make you feel, when you woke up?” Dennis asked.

“Repulsed. It was distressing. But, then I remembered what you told me.”

“What did you remember, Phillip?”

“Repulsion is the gateway to the human soul.” He repeated the words as if in a dream. 

Dennis took in a deep breath, he did not smile, though he wanted to. He tilted his head back, still staring at Phillip’s emerald eyes. The doctor felt a tidal wave of expectations washing upon the shores of his consciousness, he imagined that, in fact. On the sandy shores of the dark beach tucked in the blackest corners of his mind crimson waves lap upon land and cough up a figure. It’s an effigy of Phillip, something inane. Dennis, completely naked, grabs the effigy and ties it to a post, burns it, as you do an effigy. From the fires a naked, shivering Phillip emerges, his newly born eyes sensitive to the light. “And, what happened?”

“I felt the light guide me. I took action.” Phillip spoke these words through a veil, he didn’t look at the doctor now, but through him. He looked lustful. 

“I want to hear all about that.” Dennis said, he smiled briefly now.