MILLENNIUM

"Famished"
by Brian A. Dixon (wackidixon@aol.com)

---

DISCLAIMER: All "Millennium" characters copyrighted by FOX Broadcasting. 
This book is not authorized, endorsed, organized, licensed, or approved by
Twentieth Century FOX, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and/or any entity that has
created or produced "Millennium".  This is a work of NON-PROFIT FAN 
FICTION, created entirely for reading enjoyment, and any reproductions must
include a copy of this page.

THIS STORY, "FAMISHED", was written by Brian A. Dixon (WackiDixon@aol.com), 
and he claims all legal rights over the story concepts and events that 
occure herein.  Credit MUST be given in any and all reproductions.  If this 
piece is to be reproduced, it must be done so in its ENTIRETY, including 
these forewords.

---

"In the vision I saw during the night, suddenly the four winds of heaven 
stirred up the great sea, from which emerged four great beasts, each 
different from the others...The second was like a bear; it was raised up 
on one side, and among its teeth were three tusks. It was given the order, 
"Up, devour much flesh." --Daniel 7:2

---

CHAPTER 1

Aberdeen, Washington
August 8
10:38pm

	The sound of rushing cars filled Jack Glann's ears as he hopped out 
of the cab of his tractor trailer and onto the dusty parking lot.  He 
sighed aloud into the dry air in irritation, angry at having to leave the 
comfort of his air conditioned haven, even for just a few moments. Outside 
it was hell. Even the dark of night couldn't bring an end to the recent 
heat wave that had been torturing the state.  Jack could still feel the 
sun's harsh, heated influence despite the fact that it was nowhere to be 
seen.  And the oceanic winds were just as guilty.  He could feel a warm 
breeze pushing at his cheeks adding to the whole business. 
	All he needed was a pack of smokes from the rest stop and he'd be 
able to climb back into the cab and turn on the cold again.  Jump back on 
the highway and keep on moving.  Jack slammed his cab's door shut behind 
him and turned towards the small building at the end of the parking lot.  
Funny, he was the only one parked here.  First time that'd ever happened to 
him. 
	With another sigh, Jack started to make the walk towards the rest 
area.  The highway's roar bordered him on his left, the silence of the 
forest on his right.  These rest stops were always a contrast in that way.  
Highway department must've felt it all balanced out. Nature and man made. 
	Out of the night came a sound that made Jack immediately stop 
walking.  A horrible, terrifying sound that easily overpowered the noise of
the highway traffic for the brief seconds it had lasted.  Jack froze all
 bodily movement and stopped to ask himself if he had really heard what he
had heard. 
	Then it happened again. Out of the woods next to him came a 
piercing, urgent scream.  A high, shrill scream like a woman being scared
half to death.  Maybe that's what it was!  Jack, turned his head to look at
the woods.  All he could see was the dark shadows of the trees and their 
leaves that outlined at the border of the forest.  "Hey?" he yelled, 
cupping his hands to his mouth. 
	Without a response to be heard, Jack slowly started to walk towards 
the woods.  The sweat that had already been on his face suddenly seemed 
more noticeable. "Hello...?" he called again, a little softer now that he 
was closer. 
	Nothing. 
	Jack could feel the warm breeze blow softly past him again as he 
saw it shuffle the leaves in the woods.  He couldn't see a damned thing in 
this lighting. Without an instant to recognize the change in events, Jack 
felt himself thrown to the dry pavement.  A millisecond later he recognized
that the blow had been delivered to the top of his head.  And it had hurt 
like hell. 
	His vision went totally black.  When he started to feel his 
chest being harshly and randomly ripped apart, he was almost happy that he 
couldn't see anything.  He prayed to God that he would pass out.  A warm 
splatter against his face made him try to scream out loud.  Only, he 
couldn't scream anymore.  He barely had lungs left...

---

CHAPTER 2

Seattle, Washington
August 9
1:24pm

	There was nothing more touching than the laughter of a child, 
Catherine Black was sure of that.  Especially when that child was your own 
little girl.  
	Jordan Black watched in amusement as her father playfully wrestled 
with her dog among the vibrantly green grass of the yard behind their 
yellow house.  Her laughter filled the backyard with a melodic tone of 
playfulness that could only come from a child.  Frank Black himself 
couldn't help but grin from ear to ear as he turned from the dog to tickle 
his daughter's sides, making her burst out all the more joyful.  Today was 
the perfect day for this.  The sun was bright, high in the sky and 
unobscured.  The air was a little warm, but quite reasonable in comparison 
to the past couple of days.  On top of that, Frank had been free of cases 
for the past two weeks.  That was something she was happy to see.
	To Catherine it was obvious that while her husband was working on a 
case, there was no way he could possibly think of anything else.  His 
thoughts at all hours belonged to the details, horrors, and victims of a 
crime.  At the dinner table or in bed, he would just stare off into space, 
thinking.  Examining within his mind what aspects that case held. And in 
that respect, he couldn't find any peace.  Peace within himself or within 
his family.  He chose a line of work that could do nothing but push him 
deeper into worry and restlessness.  It was a rare gift when he went for an 
extended period of time without that weight.  A rare gift that they were 
able to enjoy now.
	"You should probably give her a chance to breathe every once in a 
while, Frank." Catherine suggested.
	Frank just looked at her and grinned as he attempted to tickle 
Jordan and tackle the dog at the same time.  He was enjoying this every bit
as his daughter.  Perhaps even more.  He paused a moment to shake his head 
and marvel at just how lucky a man he was.  To have such a family, such a 
life.
	Catherine was just about to step off the porch when she noticed 
another figure approaching the scene from around the house.  "What's 
happening back here?  I'm wondering if I should call in a civil dispute."
	Seattle Police Lieutenant Bob Bletcher looked at the family, 
smiling as well.  You'd never know from following Frank's career that he 
had such a great home life.  Bletcher himself was often envious.  His 
arrival forced Frank to stop his onslaught and stand up.  A good thing, 
too.  He was starting to get pretty tired.  Jordan was left rolling in the 
grass, gasping to regain her breath while still laughing at the same time.
"Daddy..."
	"Just a minute, sweetheart." Frank apologized, stepping towards 
Bletcher.
	Something had to be up.  Bletcher never just 'dropped by'.
	Catherine tended to the hysterical Jordan as Frank took Bletcher
into the side yard.  "Bletch?"
	Bletcher soon replaced his smile with a slight frown.  "I'm really 
sorry to come here and interrupt all this, Frank.  In fact, I should 
probably just turn around and..."
	"No, no.  What is it?"
	Bletcher sighed and tugged at the open collar of his shirt.  "We've 
got a murder, and it's a real doosey.  Nothing like the boys at the station
have ever seen.
	"A body was found in a rest stop parking lot last night over in 
Aberdeen.  A trucker named Jack Glann.  Someone ambushed him, slit his 
throat three or four times, and took out his chest."
	Frank now frowned, too.  "His chest?"
	"Yeah." Bletcher swallowed, "All he's got is a ragged hole up 
here." he stated, tapping his fist against his sternum for emphasis. 
	"We haven't been able to determine," he continued, "what sort of 
weapon did it or what was done with all the...materials.  I was hoping you
could come take a look at the body, give us any impressions you might have.
 I wanted to come get you as soon as possible.  He's...decaying, fast."
	Frank turned his head for a moment to glance at Catherine and 
Jordan in the backyard sunshine.  "Yeah, I'll come take a look at it."

	"Did you search the woods?" Frank's throaty voice asked loudly of 
Bletcher, trying to overpower the whine of the old freight elevator.
	"The boys picked up nothing.  If the killer came out of the woods, 
he didn't leave any signs.  We also had 'em searching for whatever pieces 
of Glann they could find, but..." Bletcher replied with a shake of the 
head.
	"Witnesses?"
	Bletcher simply shook his head once again.
	The elevator came to a stop and both Frank and Bletcher heaved at 
the heavy doors to get them open, finally able to step into the basement 
coroner's office.  It was immediately noticeable that the temperature down 
here was much more comfortable than any room above ground in this heat 
wave.  The basement harbored cool, moist air from all around.  The officers 
had made an intelligent choice in storing their bodies down here.  
	Bletcher led Frank across the room, past empty steel tables and 
shelves of medical instruments, to the far wall.  Pulling at the latch for 
a steel door he said, "We've kept him in here, on ice.  Like I said, he's 
starting to decay from inside and out.  We're doing as much as we can to 
stop it."
	Bletcher reached inside and pulled out the heavy metal tray as far 
as it would go, taking a moment to wince as the foul, rotting smell 
immediately started top pour out at them.  Frank glanced down at the blood 
stained light blue sheet that covered the body and extended his arm to stop 
Bletcher from going any farther.  This was as much as he needed.

	*Surprise, ambush* ... *dull pain* ... *clawing, ripping, 
slicing* ... *teeth, tongue* ... *gnawing* ...*blindness* ...  *instinct, 
hunger* ... *no acknowledgment* ... *justified slaughter* ... *mouth 
full* ... *hunger, instinct* ...

	Frank saw it in his head.  Flashing, bright images of Glann 
squirming on the asphalt.  The emotions of the killer flickering within his 
mind.  The struggle, the gore, the violence, the horror.  He was all a part 
of it now.
	Frank jumped back, as if waking from a bad dream.  "Whoa, whoa 
there buddy." Bletcher warned, reaching out for his friend, "What's going
on?"
	Frank gasped as he turned his head away from the body.  This was 
bad.  Never before had his mental images, his insight into the killer's 
mind, been so strong.  Powerful, bright images, reinforced by the killer's 
view on life.  Such a simplistic, identifiable rationale.  His thoughts and
viewpoints, distorted beyond the classification of human.  Yet, not like
any other disturbed mind he had ever been inside.  Too simple, almost 
childlike.  But still most certainly savage.  Frank finally spoke to a 
confused Bletcher.  "Bletch...this killer, what I'm getting is so 
distorted.  He doesn't think like any person, killer or not.  Not like we 
know.  The reason you couldn't find the removed flesh and organs...it's 
because they were eaten."

---

CHAPTER 3

Seattle Police Department
3:56pm

	There was silence among the officers in the room as they looked 
ahead at Frank Black.  He stood there in the front, quiet and reserved,
telling them things about the criminal they were hunting that could only be
seen from the inside.  The drab gray of his simplistic jacket helped add to
his quiet image.  In his voice were hints of reason, mysticism, and 
intelligence, all rolled into one.
	"The man we're looking for feels threatened.  He'd previously been 
quiet, kept to himself, but was forced out of that by some event.  
Something that triggered this need to fight the threat in the only way he 
could think of.  
	"He doesn't choose his victims anytime in advance, not like the 
average serial killer.  Jack Glann was killed only because he was in that 
parking lot at the wrong time.  There was no special meaning behind the 
choice of victim, only that he needed to be killed.
	"The missing parts of Glann's chest...they were eaten.  That's why 
the rib cage was left behind.  This threat he felt, it tied into his sense 
of hunger and thirst, however distorted that may be.  He felt his own life 
withering away and this was the only way he could reinforce it, revive it.  
Apparently, unlike all text book cases of cannibalism, Glann was eaten on 
the spot.  The meat was not cooked, not prepared, and not altered in any 
way.  Jack Glann was killed, cut apart, and devoured in that parking lot, 
for a time while he was still conscious."
	"Sounds like this guy's got some real table manners!" Detective 
Geiblehouse threw out with a wave of his hand, pulling in a few chuckles.
	Frank continued, utterly ignoring the joke.  "It seems to me that 
his actions are clearly dictated by nature.  He is acting on his most
primal instincts.  He does what he does not for terrible, evil reasons, but
because they are the most instinctual way of dealing with his problems, 
whether they are real or simply imagined.  He is acting in the way that
mother nature taught him."
	Many of the officers shook their heads.  Not much of this was 
helping. The sort of things that were being said could be true of anyone at 
some point in time.  Being out of control, feeling you should follow your 
gut instincts.  Then again, how many normal people raced out to kill 
someone because they were hungry?  Bletcher, who stood at Frank's side,
asked the obvious question.  "Will he kill again, or was this a one time 
shot?"
	Frank shook his head.  "He's doing it because he feels he needs to  
continue living.  A need for survival.  He'll definitely strike again, as 
long as the threat and hunger still exist.  It's instinctual."
	The men paused, hanging on the last word.  Instinctual.  Did they 
all have this same response built within themselves?
	"I've been thinking about the wounds," announced the coroner from 
out of the crowd in a slightly confused voice, "and all I can tell you is 
that they could've been done by a variety of tools or weapons.  The throat 
was definitely sliced, by a knife or piece of metal of some sort.  But
within the chest there is a lot of tearing.  Whether it was a hunter's 
hatchet, the claw on a hammer, or if he was...uh...chewing at it with his 
own teeth, I can't tell you for sure."
	A chorus of groans.   
	"Frank, did you get an idea what this guy looks like?  Who he is?" 
asked another officer.
	Frank frowned.  "I...for the first time, I have no idea.  It was 
so..." he trailed off, unable to answer the questions.
	Bletcher slapped him on the shoulder.  "Nice job, Frank.  Every 
little bit helps.  All right, boys.  You heard the man.  Keep all of that 
in mind when you're on shift, get two state cops to watch the rest stop in 
Aberdeen tonight, and I want a toxicology report done on that body."
	The room suddenly became a whirlwind of noise as the officers rose 
to dismiss themselves.  Bletcher turned to Frank and began to ask him 
quietly, pushing him for more, "Frank, do you have any idea when or where
this guy'll kill..."
	Frank gave Bletcher a look of complete helplessness.  "Bletch, this 
man's thinking is so off base from what we're used to, I can't get anything 
else on him at all."
	Bletcher nodded.  "That's okay, Frank.  You're still better than 
the psychic hotline any day!"
	The two exchanged smiles.  But even as they did, they looked at 
each other with the fear that they had a man ready to kill at will, and 
they had no way of stopping him yet.  It was the sort of thing that ate 
away at every law enforcement officer while they were working on a case. 
The immense pressure that the crime would happen again, and again, and 
again unless they could make it stop.
	"Now, you go back home and play with that little girl of yours."

---

CHAPTER 4

Black Residence
6:13pm

	"Daddy, why'd you have to go to work today?"
	Frank Black stared down at his yet-to-be-filled dinner plate, his 
mind so full of thoughts that he didn't even notice the gentle voice of his
curious daughter.  He hadn't been so captivated by the mind of a killer 
like this in quite a while.  What sort of person would resort to giving 
into a natural set of instincts  in place of all those standards they were 
raised with?  Who would ignore all available sources of food and force 
themselves to eat human flesh out of their hunger?  The killer seemed to 
have a low intelligence level, nearly unaware of the absurdity of his 
actions.  But somehow it... 
	"Frank!  Jordan's been talking to you." Catherine chided from her 
work at the kitchen counter.
	Frank snapped his head up, eyes instantly connecting with those of 
his angry daughter.  Her lips were pouted in a childish expression of 
anger.  "Oh, I'm sorry honey!  What were you saying?" Frank apologized in 
his sweetest voice, putting on his best puppy dog face.
	"Nothing." Jordan said quickly, returning her lips to the pout.
	Frank smiled a little but quickly tried to hide it, knowing that 
his daughter could easily misinterpret the action.  "Aw, come on.  It had 
to be something."  
	Jordan quickly shook her head, throwing her tawny curls into a 
whirlwind around her face.  "Okay, but if you remember what it was, you let
me know." Frank suggested.
	Catherine entered the room with a tray from the kitchen, shaking 
her head and giving Frank a glare of warning.  "Here, let me help you 
with that." he said, starting to rise from his seat.
	"No, that's okay.  I've got it." his wife replied, carrying in the 
remaining pots and seating herself at the table.
	Frank glared uncomfortably at the steaming food as Catherine began 
to dish it out.  Oh, God.  He'd never had this problem with a case before, 
and he didn't need it now.  "Hold off there, honey.  Don't give me too 
much. I'm..." Frank tried to explain as his stomach groaned.
	"Are you all right?" she asked, concerned.
	"Yeah.  It's just this case."
	"The one Bob stopped by for." She correctly assumed.
	"Yeah."
	"Was it..."
	"You don't want to know." he assured her, "Definitely not now."
	Dinner went as usual, quietly.  Frank felt like eating very little, 
because for some reason, the images of this case were still lingering in 
his mind.  Still hanging around like some sort of powerful aftershocks.  So 
absolutely strong that they were taking hours to wear away.  He tried not 
to think of it, but he could see it.  Every time he blinked.  There was the
killer, eating that trucker because nature was telling him to.
	When dinner was finished, Frank stood and helped Catherine clear
the dishes.  He had to do something to get this out of his system.  
"Catherine, I think I'm going to go for a walk." he informed her.
	"Okay." she said, shaking her head in understanding, curious but 
deciding that Frank would tell her when he was ready to.
	As Frank left the front door of his house, the sun was falling from 
the sky and the temperature dipped slightly, the most ideal setting that 
could be imagined was created.  The warmth of the air was just right, the 
lighting was dimming.  It was just perfect.  Frank stepped along the road 
heading away from his house, breathing in large lung-fulls of the dry air. 
Boy, what a summer.  He was surprised that they had had so few cases so 
far.  Usually a heat wave like this pushes mad men past the breaking 
points, pushing them to kill. 
	But why did this man they were looking for now feel he needed to 
kill?
	Why in the world would he go so hungry that he would rather resort 
to eating other human beings than any other option?  It just didn't fit 
right, but it was what his insight had told him.  That was, unless the man 
they were looking for was some sort of Tarzan figure.
	Frank smirked for a second at the thought of a man dressed in 
leopard skin swinging out of the woods to tackle Jack Glann.  He smirked at 
the absurdity of it.  No.  There was something more going on in this man's 
head.
	Frank sighed, watching his feet as he walked along the still hot 
asphalt as darkness fell.  His own instincts didn't seem to be doing much 
for the case.  The killer was thinking so naturally about things.  The 
instinct, the hunger, the threatened feeling.  Very simple.  Why should he 
dwell on it?  He'd left Jordan once today, and angered her a second time.  
All because of this cannibalistic killer.  Maybe he should just tell 
Bletcher to handle it on his own.
	From ahead on the road there was a soft rumbling sound.  Frank 
snapped his head up as a jeep slowed and approached him.  A double take and
he realized that it was just the Lieutenant he had been thinking about.  
Frank glanced at him, an unspoken welcome passing between their eyes.  
Bletcher stopped the jeep and Frank opened the door, hoping within.
	"Anything wrong, Frank?" Bletcher asked.
	"Oh, no." Frank assured, "I was just out for a walk.  I couldn't 
eat."
	Bletcher groaned.  "I know what you mean!"
	The two didn't say anything for a while as Bletcher drove ahead. 
 Within a minute he had pulled his jeep into the Black's driveway and
thrown it into park.  Frank sighed and started to speak, not removing his 
gaze from the windshield.  "Bletch, I've been thinking.  Thinking that I 
shouldn't be thinking."
	"That was a mouth-full!" Bletch sighed.
	Frank shook his head insistently.  "No.  What I mean is, I don't 
know if I should be spending so much time on these guys.  I've got Jordan
and Catherine, and you guys handle so much of the workload on your own 
anyway."
	Bletcher smiled for a moment.  "Frank, don't think for an instant 
that you aren't an extremely important part of our team.  Where would I be 
without you, huh?  Why do you think I came to get you this morning?  We 
need you, Frank.  Besides, you don't want to retire now.  There's still so 
much for you to do."
	Bletcher put his hand on Frank's shoulder, hoping it would reassure 
him a little.  With a sigh he realized that he couldn't blame him. 
Bletcher realized that if he were able to see the things that Frank saw, he 
too would probably get down and out once in a while.
	Frank started to nod in agreement, but was quickly interrupted.  
The police scanner hanging below Bletcher's dashboard started whistling.  
Frank glanced at Bletcher, recognizing the city's tones.  A dispatcher came 
over, running the reported announcement.  
	Bletcher gave a little push to Frank's shoulder.  "Go tell
Catherine you're coming with me!  Looks like he got hungry again!"  

---

CHAPTER 5

Lake Sylvia Park
Aberdeen, Washington
7:42pm

	"Oh my God!" Bletcher gasped as he turned his eyes from the body 
and into the few  flashlight and headlight beams that crisscrossed the 
scene and outlined the details of a destroyed campsite.
	A tent lay collapsed, just feet from the body; a destroyed food 
cooler smashing it in.  A propane camp stove lay upside down in the dry 
grass, a potential fire hazard in this overly heated season of dryness.  A 
man lay in the middle of it all, face up, his eyes wide open, even in 
death.  Frank stared directly into the bloody wounds, getting down on one 
knee for a closer look, staring, always deeper.  In the background, police
officers scurried to help pack up the ambulance and get it on its way back 
to the hospital.  The victim was most certainly dead, only a body bag was 
needed.  Frank ignored the background noises and focused on the body, on 
its final moments of life...

	*fear* ... *terror* ... *screaming, screaming louder* ... 
*slashing* ... *dripping* ... *loose flesh falling away* ... *scraping* 
... *tooth and nail* ... *face in dry grass* ... *tearing* ... *digging* 
... *blackness drops* ...

	"It's definitely the same guy." Frank confirmed in a somber voice, 
"Only this time, nothing was consumed.  He didn't eat."  
	Bletcher turned himself once again to look down at the man's body, 
the bloody slash marks crisscrossing across every inch of his skin.  His 
face, his chest, and his legs were totally covered with foot long cuts that 
ran too deep for imagination.  "He bled to death." Bletcher correctly 
assumed.
	Frank nodded as he hovered a rubber glove covered finger over the 
body, circling the wounds, looking for anything out of the ordinary.  "He's 
obviously been attacked from the front.  Not like the last one, an ambush.  
He saw the man who killed him."

	*yelling* ...*ownership* ... *anger* ... *territorialism* ... 
*sudden realization* ... *fear* ... *jump* ... *try and run* ... *first 
slash* ...
 
	Frank shook his head, his hand slowly dropping onto the body.  This 
was unreal.  "They were fighting..." Frank gasped.
	"No, really?" Bletcher said sarcastically.
	Frank shook his head quicker, more determinedly.  "No.  The killer 
felt that this man was intruding on his territory...his land.  The killer 
claimed ownership over this area.  He felt threatened by the campsite."
	Bletcher frowned.  "So, you're saying we're up against Grizzly 
Adams here."
	Frank started to stand, but soon found he couldn't.  His legs were 
weak, they weren't responding.  He froze in his crouched position.  Maybe 
he just needed a minute to rest.  Running his tired hand along the bloody 
wounds, he marveled at the handiwork.  This murderer was working on notions
too...too simple to be categorized as the work of a serial killer.  His 
motives were too pure, too natural.  Frank didn't like the feelings he was 
getting.  The man was...

	*mountain top* ... *standing tall* ... *pride* ... *courage* ... 
*shoulders strong* ... *glorious light* ... *superiority* ... 
*ownership* ... *territorialism* ... *ruler*  ...

	Frank took an exceptionally deep breath, his head spinning with the 
flash of another vision.  They were coming in like waves, each as powerful 
as the last.  The killer's thoughts were stronger, more prominent than any 
he'd seen before.
	"Bletch...this man sees himself standing proud on a mountain top. 
The sun behind him, a glorious sight.  A ruler of this land.  He feels 
superior in all ways shapes and forms to the people he kills...Jack Glann 
and this camper.  But the way in which he sees himself..."
	Frank groaned so lowly that Bletcher almost didn't hear it.  He 
groaned as he closed his eyes and lifted his rubber glove to grip his 
temple.  "Frank?  What's the matter, buddy?"  Bletcher asked, moving around 
the body to get a better look at Frank's wincing face.
	Without warning, another wave hit.  Frank's eyes flashed open in an 
instant, glaring directly into a vision he was not prepared to see.  
Eyelids locked open in shock.  He braced himself as...

	*teeth* ... *hunger* ... *anger* ... *bloody taste* ... *hands in 
soft flesh* ... *warmth still present* ... *instinct overriding* ... 
*screaming from both* ... *terrible pain* ... *mountain top* ... 
*sunlight* ... *facial expressions frozen* ... *food fighting back* ... 
*writhing in grass* ... *proud, majestic* ... *living meat* ... *superior 
form* ... *natural* ... 

	Frank's hands pushed against his forehead, trying to drive the 
thoughts out.  He winced, his eyes being forced to stay open by the vision 
itself.  His teeth clamped down so hard he feared he'd never be able to 
open his mouth again.  The sights, the sounds, the speed.  Immeasurable 
pain, terror, and power.  His stomach lurched at the realism of feeling the 
flesh hunger himself.  He relived the killer's needs.  His legs grew weak 
and wobbley, unable to remain crouching, yet unable to stand.  The lifeless 
corpse before him screaming in his mind, dying before his very eyes.  
Begging for life.  Watching his own flesh be sliced up into a million 
pieces by some unknown weapon.  His mouth wide in a scream so utterly loud 
that it took every ounce of his being into it.  Flayed barbaricly while he 
was still conscious enough to feel it.      
	"Frank!!!" Bletcher yelled.
	But Frank wasn't responding.  His body swayed back and forth, 
desperately trying to maintain its balance.  His eyes frozen open in 
witness to the darkest of all sights.  His blood covered rubber gloves 
clawed at the air, trying weakly to put a stop to it all.    
	Bletcher reached down to grasp Frank strongly by the shoulders.  
This was what he had always feared when calling Frank to a case.  The 
question of would this be the one to make him snap again.  Frank was over
the edge. Something had to make it stop.  "Frank!!!  Listen to my voice!!!" 
Bletcher yelled into his terrified face.
	But Frank just let go.  His eyes snapped shut like a mouse trap, 
his body let go.  He dropped quickly from Bletcher's grasp and fell to the 
pool of blood in the otherwise dry summer grass.  Every muscle in his body 
went limp with unconsciousness as darkness consumed his mind.  "FRANK!!!" 
Bletcher screamed.
	By now, other officers were rushing to the spot where Bletcher was 
standing over Frank's fallen body.  They stared down in fright at Frank's 
body, lying limply in the sticky scarlet puddle.  His eye lids forced shut 
so tightly it looked like even a crow bar couldn't force them open.  
Bletcher's mouth hung open in terror, his thoughts a flurry of concern.  
"Somebody get those paramedics back to the scene, NOW!!!" he screamed to 
anyone, and everyone.
	The officer beside him clarified into a radio, "We have a man down.  
Officer down..."      

---

CHAPTER 6

Layman Memorial Hospital
Hoquiam, Washington
11:51pm

	Frank Black awoke like a swimmer surfacing from the depths of a 
pool.  The darkness of his mind merged into the sterile white lighting of 
a hospital room.  He immediately gasped aloud with his breaths, 
remembering the horrific events that had put him here.  He had gotten 
"trapped" within the vision...unable to get out of the killer's mind.  
He'd come too close to literally becoming the killer, and his mind had just 
shut down.  He breathed hard and deep now, much like his own frightened 
daughter awakening from a nightmare.  
	Frank just lay there for the next few minutes, wary of moving at 
all.  Just resting.  But, a few minutes was all he could spare.  This 
killer's mind was so utterly and completely different than any other he had 
been within, they had to catch him ASAP.  "Hello?" Frank said, craning his 
neck to see around the room.
	Bob Bletcher turned around from his position in the room's doorway 
to look down at the bed ridden Frank.  "Well, look who's up." Frank smiled 
for a brief moment.  "Don't you ever," Bletcher growled, "scare me like 
that again, Frank!"
	"Don't worry, Bletch," Frank responded, "I don't think I ever want 
to go through that again myself."
	"Catherine's asleep in the waiting room.  Your neighbor, Mr. 
Meredith, is at your house, making sure that Jordan's all right."
	Frank nodded.  
	"You gave us all a hell of a scare, Frank." Bletcher breathed 
heavily, proving emotionally that the words he spoke were the honest truth. 
	Frank lowered his head, unable to respond to his friend's worries. 
	Bletcher sighed with a frown.  "What happened?  The doctors said 
you were nearly in a coma for a while there."
	Frank sat up, pulling the sheets from over him.  "This guy is worse
than anyone you or I have ever faced." Frank warned, "His mind was so 
distorted, so radically different from any view I have ever had of someone 
like him...it just overpowered me.  I kept getting wave after wave of his 
thoughts, his fears, his needs, and his agression."
	Bletcher shook his head, disturbed.  He was genuinely worried about 
Frank's well being at this point.  "Listen...you know I don't like doing 
this to you, but...Frank, you're off the case.  I don't want you working 
this guy anymore." Bletcher said sternly.
	Frank stood up from the bed slowly, making sure his balance was
okay.  He turned on his feet to stare Bletcher directly in the eye as he 
said deeply, "No, Bletch.  I'm too close...we're too close.  He's at Lake 
Sylvia right now.  You and I are going back there, tonight!"
	"What?  Are you crazy?" Bletcher started to object.
	"Bletch, he's there.  He's just killed, his power high is at its 
peak.  He thinks he's invulnerable.  We can nab him tonight!" Frank 
promised.
	"I can't risk..."
	"Bletch, I am going out there right now.  You can choose to come 
with me, or not.  If I collapse in the woods, and you aren't there..." 
Frank trailed off.
	Bletcher's face expressed deep concern as his mind fought the 
argument through.  Frank looked into his eyes deeply, talking to him 
without the words, and simply started to walk out of the room.  Bletcher 
watched him go for just a instant.
	"Frank, do you know that you're one stubborn son of a..."

---

CHAPTER 7

Lake Sylvia Park
Aberdeen, Washington
August 10
12:39am

	Frank couldn't pry his eyes from the dark trees that whipped past 
his open window, the summer's evening air pouring within the jeep.  
Bletcher glanced at him from the driver's seat and shook his head in 
amazement at how deeply Frank was into this.  He shouldn't have let him 
come.  Frank should be home now, forgetting about this whole mess.  But if
Frank was right, and they could catch the killer this very night...
	"He is here, Bletch." Frank assured, eyes still glaring within the 
woods.
	Bletcher nodded his head, watching the dirt path ahead of the car.  
"I sure hope so, Frank."
	There was a definite claustrophobic feeling to the Lake Sylvia 
woods on a night like this, the moon barely able to shine light down.  The 
dirt paths that weaved through the park barely even put a dent in the mass 
of the towering forests.  Trees swayed, breezes blew, animals sang, and
the two law enforcement officers stared out with their eyes, listened with 
their ears, and kept their thoughts on their own instincts.  
	The time passed very slowly for Bletcher, unable to tell whether or 
not the night would become fruitful or not at this point, his hopes 
lowering with each passing moment.  But Frank was intensely involved with 
the search.  He searched eagerly out the passenger's side window for any 
sign there was.
	And, after a long time, out from being nestled within a cricket 
chirp chorus of the woods, a sign did come.  It came quickly and loudly,
and neither man knew what to make of it.  A terrible, horrific scream 
passed throughout the jeep.  A high pitched scream of such intensity it 
caught Bletcher completely off guard as he slammed on the brakes.
	"Frank..."
	Frank raised his hand quickly to silence Bletcher as the scream 
faded.  It only took him an instant to decide on action.  He threw his door 
open and jumped outside, dashing into the thick woods as quickly as he 
could.  Bletcher shut the jeep down, opened his door, and followed Frank 
into the forest, following the scream.
	Running through the woods was a dangerous gauntlet of chance.  
Frank chased after the sound blindly, hoping his night vision was good 
enough to avoid the racing branches that stung against his cheek.  Bletcher
fumbled with his flashlight, the beam of light whipping around the forest
and delivering only half developed images to his retina.  Their panting
breaths soon became the only sounds that they could hear pounding within
their ears.
	Bletcher hit a stump, tripping awkwardly to the ground with a 
grunt.  His flashlight fell, shooting a hole in the black forest ahead. He
paused, panting, for many moments.  "Frank!  Frank!  Slow down, you're
going to get yourself killed.  This is nuts!" he yelled, picking himself
off the ground and spitting leaves from his lips.
	This was a dangerous needle in a haystack.  The two of them couldn't 
find anything out here alone in the middle of the night.  Frank didn't even
have a flashlight!  It was time that this...
	Bletcher's thoughts were cut short as he felt a powerful strike 
connect with his skull, a body dropping out of the branches above with 
planned precision.  His teeth jarred, his skull ached.  Again, the air 
filled with the high scream they had heard before.  "Ahh...!" Bletcher 
gasped as he fell to the ground again.
	He could feel a heavy weight upon his chest, pushing down.  He
could hear a soft growling in his ears, breathing hard.  And he could feel
a warm breath at his face, very close.  The killer was standing on top of
him.  Only, as Frank had predicted, it was a most unusual killer to
confront indeed!
	Bletcher could see the shine of his captor's moist nose reflect the 
light of his flashlight, a gleam in his two large eyes as well.  And the 
more he glared up he could see the massive, deadly, sharpened teeth of the 
mouth.  Perfect for devouring flesh.  Several sharp pricks were lodged in 
his chest, definitely piercing Bletcher's skin.  Most notably, above the 
killer's head like the horns of the devil himself were two bushy ears.  And 
Bletcher didn't need much light to realize that the killer that sat atop 
him was covered in a thick, tawny fir and had a total of four legs. 
"FRANK.." Bletcher screamed.
	The massive cat growled more noisily in response to Bletcher's cry, 
pawing harshly at his tender chest with his massive paws and slicing claws.
Bletcher gurgled in fear as the cat glared down, opening its mouth wide in 
foreshadowing for the mutilation that was to come unto him.  Bletcher 
couldn't help but remember the other victims and the damage to their 
bodies.
	"Uh...Nice kitt..."
	The animal threw its head back and screamed.  It was that scream.  
The deceptive scream that had sounded so much like a woman in danger was in 
actuality the cry of this beast.
	Not so far away the leaves rustled.  Bletcher froze in anticipation 
as he heard Frank approach from the woods.  "Bletch..."
	Frank stopped moving the instant he saw the cat poised upon his 
friend.  Of all the things he had learned about the killer, never in a 
million years would he have guessed.  No wonder he'd been in such 
confusion, the mental images had been so distorted.  A wild animal.
	Frank quickly tried to decide what to do, keeping in mind that this 
was a wild creature they were dealing with.  The cat slowly turned its 
large striped head to glare at Frank with eyes that seemed to glow in the 
dark.  It raised a paw in the air, assuming what was obviously a 
threatening posture.  It was hungry, and it didn't want to lose its food 
that easily.
	Bletcher thought about speaking to Frank occasionally, but 
ultimately decided that that was not a good idea.  This thing, whether it 
be bobcat or jaguar or what, was just about the same size as him, and it 
would be very easy for it to slice his throat in a single swipe of the paw.
	Frank arrived at an idea for action.  It took him a moment to 
decide, the glare of the cat's eyes not making it any easier, but in a 
single instant he leap into action.  Frank started to run on a path towards 
the animal and screamed at the top of his lungs.  He prayed that Bletcher 
had his gun accessible.  
	It only took the cat a second to react.  It leapt from Bletcher's 
heaving chest and took to the air, flying towards Frank with a agility that 
could only come from a graceful creature of the woods.  Bletcher gasped as 
he realized what would happen when the creature reached Frank and shoved 
his hand into his jacket, searching for his gun.  In brief seconds that 
went almost too fast for realization, Bletcher whipped out his gun and held 
his finger back on the trigger.  The cat's forepaws connected with Frank's 
shoulders, starting to plunge him towards the ground.  Then, Bletcher's
bullets started to spray across the cat's back.  The scream filled the air 
again, and Bletcher just kept pulling the trigger.  Again, and again, and 
again.
	Bang ... bang ... bang  
	When it was all over, silence prevailed.  Bletcher froze in
horrific suspense, waiting for Frank to show any kind of movement from
underneath the inanimate body of the cat.  He'd definitely hit the cat
several times.  Thank God, it was dead.  But the real question was, had he
hit Frank?
	The silence continued.  "Frank...?"
	Finally, a grunt.  A glorious grunt from underneath the bleeding 
flesh of that horrendous animal.  Bletcher sprung forward to help move the
carcass.  "Frank!"
	Frank pulled himself up, sitting in the woods.  He looked up to 
Bletcher's smiling face and then to the fallen animal, a creature so close 
to mother nature that relied solely on its natural instincts.  
	"Was I right, Bletch, or was I right?"      

---

CHAPTER 8

Lake Sylvia Park
5:47am

	Frank looked out at the scene of police and animal control vehicles 
that were scattered along the dusty dirt path through the now lightening 
woods of Lake Sylvia Park.  Men and women kept racing from the woods to 
their cars.  This was definitely one for the evening news.  From the group, 
he was able to pick out the figure of Bob Bletcher walking slowly towards 
him, trying to ignore the chaos.
	Bletcher stopped just a few feet from Frank and stared directly
into his face.  "We've outdone ourselves on this one, Frank.  Vets say its
a good sized, 214 pound mountain lion, and right now it looks like its
system was overrun with rabies."
	Frank let his jaw open slightly.  The instinctual needs, the
hunger, the territorialsm...all attributes of your average mountain lion. 
All the psychological profiling he'd been trying to do in his head, all
the motivational analysis that he did for every single case, it all
would've been useless.  This was definitely the oddest of scenarios. Frank
almost laughed aloud at the irony of it all.
	"All this time, and we've been pursuing a wild beast." Frank
sighed.
	Bletcher looked directly him.  "That's what you're always pursuing, 
Frank.  Beasts.  But this kind had its excuse..."
	The two turned their heads towards a number of voices behind them 
just in time to see the slumped carcass of the mountain lion on a 
stretcher, being hauled towards one of the vans.  In Frank's mind flashed 
the image of he cat, atop his mountain with the sun rising behind him.  A 
glorious sight.  The king of nature.