Chris Carter - Gallery of the Dead

Still not a word from Hunter.

‘You guess that’s where we’re wrong?’ Garcia said, dragging her attention back to him. ‘That’s what you said, right? And what exactly do you mean by that?’

Once again, Agent Fisher didn’t seem to take notice of Garcia’s words and for a moment she looked like she was debating what to do.

‘Hello?’ A new quirkiness found its way into Garcia’s voice. ‘Is she really deaf?’ he asked Hunter.

Agent Fisher let go of an irritated breath. ‘No, I’m not deaf, Detective Garcia, and what I meant by “that’s where you’re wrong” is that this whole investigation is being taken over by the FBI. You guys can... move on to your next case, go get some donuts, or whatever it is that you do.’

One second of stunned silence.

‘Come again?’ Garcia said, frowning at Agent Fisher.

‘Which part?’

‘The one about the FBI taking over our investigation.’

‘You heard it right, Detective Garcia,’ she confirmed. ‘My orders were to wait before breaking the news to you, but you seemed a little too eager to find out so... there you have it. This case doesn’t belong to the LAPD anymore.’

‘Who ordered you to wait?’ Hunter finally broke his silence.

‘Excuse me?’ Agent Fisher repositioned herself so she could see both detectives without having to rotate her body every time.

‘You just said that you were ordered to wait,’ Hunter said. ‘Who gave you those orders?’

‘I did.’

The reply caught everyone by surprise, because it came from the person who was now standing at the door to Hunter and Garcia’s office.

Hunter, Garcia and Special Agent Fisher all turned at the same time to face the hoarse, gravelly voice that had come from behind Hunter. Standing just outside the door to their office was not one person, but three.

‘The orders came from me, old buddy,’ Adrian Kennedy confirmed, his eyes fixed on Hunter. He was flanked by Captain Blake on one side and Special Agent Larry Williams on the other.

Garcia’s surprised face was a picture. ‘Oh, I didn’t know that we were having a party. I could’ve gotten us all some party horns.’ His questioning stare moved to Kennedy. ‘And you are...?’

Kennedy didn’t laugh at the joke. ‘My name’s Adrian Kennedy,’ he replied as he stepped into the office. Captain Blake and Special Agent Williams followed him inside. ‘And you must be Detective Carlos Garcia.’ Kennedy walked over to him and offered Garcia his hand. As he walked past Agent Fisher, Kennedy gave her a stern sideways look. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Detective.’

Garcia stood still, though he did frown at the word ‘finally’. ‘Sorry, but is your name supposed to mean something to me?’

‘Adrian Kennedy is the FBI’s NCAVC’s Director, Carlos,’ Captain Blake explained as she positioned herself by Hunter’s desk. ‘He also heads the NCAVC’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.’

‘Great,’ Garcia replied, unimpressed, before addressing Kennedy again. ‘Congratulations. It sounds like you’ve done well for yourself.’ He threw an even more inquisitive look Captain Blake’s way.

Her reply came in the form of a single shrug.

Kennedy finally retracted his hand, which had been hanging idle in midair until then. He turned and faced Hunter.

‘How are you, old friend? It’s nice to see you again.’

Hunter did shake Kennedy’s hand.

‘This is Special Agent Larry Williams,’ Kennedy said, taking care of the formal introductions. ‘And obviously you’ve already met Special Agent Erica Fisher.’ His gaze found hers. ‘Who should’ve followed orders and waited.’

‘I apologize, sir. I was just trying to—’

Kennedy’s slight shake of the head was enough to bring an early end to Agent Fisher’s excuse.

‘What’s going on, Adrian?’ Hunter asked. ‘Why’s the NCAVC taking over this investigation?’

‘Well,’ Kennedy said, scratching the underside of his chin. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘Simplify.’ Hunter’s tone was firm.

Special Agents Fisher and Williams looked at each other doubtfully. They had never heard anyone talk back to Director Kennedy that way, let alone a PD detective.

Before Kennedy could answer the question, his attention traveled to the picture board to his left and he paused. The expression on his face went from surprised to confused in record time.

That was when Agent Williams also took notice of the board.

‘What the hell?’ he said as he stepped closer, his eyes jumping from picture to picture before settling on Kennedy. ‘He skinned the victim?’

‘Adrian,’ Hunter called in a firm voice. ‘Why’s the NCAVC taking over this investigation?’

Kennedy breathed out as he looked back at Hunter.

‘Well,’ he finally said. ‘What you’re looking at here, my friend, isn’t this killer’s first victim.’

As Timothy Davis finally regained consciousness, confusion set in almost immediately. He had no idea of what had happened to him or why. He had no idea of where he was or how he’d gotten there. Right then, the only thing he knew, the only thing he could tell was that the darkness that surrounded him seemed absolute, so much so that for a second he wondered if his eyes were really open. But even so, a strange feeling of familiarity slowly began engulfing him, as if he knew he’d been to that place before.

Despite how numb his mind seemed to be, Timothy begged his memory to help him, but the images he got were broken and incoherent. The last thing he was able to remember was... leaving the Red Cross blood-donation center downtown?

Yes, that was the last thing he could remember.

He’d given blood for the first time, but when did that happen?

Today?

Yesterday?

Last week?

As he searched for an answer a new memory took shape inside his head and he remembered something else — he hadn’t been alone as he left the center. There was someone else with him. A tall man he’d met in there, but the man’s name evaded him. Timothy tried but the mother of all headaches had built a solid wall between him and most of his memories.

‘Where the hell am I?’

As soon as he uttered those words, his throat exploded in the most agonizing of pains, as if he had swallowed a ball of angry fire ants. Reflexively his hands shot up to his neck and to the source of the pain, except they never got there. They never even left the side of his body.

‘What the hell?’

The fire ants got angrier inside his throat and he clenched his teeth so tight it felt like they were about to crack. For a moment he concentrated on his breathing, trying to steady it as much as he could.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The pain finally subsided and Timothy realized something that he had somehow failed to until then — he’d been lying on his back on some hard, uncomfortable surface. His legs were fully extended, with his feet side by side, touching each other. His arms were flat against the side of his body, his palms facing up. He tried his arms again and that was when he understood why he couldn’t move them — something was tugging at his wrists, firmly restricting his arms. He tried his legs — something tugged at his ankles.

‘Goddamn it, what the hell is going on?’

Pain exploded in his throat for the third time, but Timothy didn’t care anymore. He needed answers. He needed to understand what was happening to him. He tried lifting his body into a sitting position, but something tugged at his waist. He’d been immobilized with incredible accuracy and precision. He could still move his head and neck, but what good would that do? In absolute darkness, looking right, left, or center made no difference at all. He began feeling sick, as if something putrid was sitting inside his stomach, slowly rotting everything around it.