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Ceremonial Killer (Haruchai x BeauteousDeath)

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BeauteousDeath

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Joined
Sep 12, 2011
Location
In my head... sometimes a scary place
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Name: Jordan Veronica Owen
Age: 32
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 115lbs
Hair color: reddish brown
Eye color: green
Marital status: Divorced
Occupation: FBI Special Agent - Homicide division
Appearance:
amy_russ_photo05_pop.jpg

December 20, 2011

Agent Jordan Veronica Owen of the FBI was at the Hotel Mulberry on 52 Mulberry Street, NYC. The sixth victim on the fourth floor of yet another hotel. Owen was walking around the body of the young Asian woman. She crouched down, her black, flat slip on shoes that zipped on the outside, were covered in surgical booties of thin material the color of blue-green. Small hands were gloved in white latex. CSI and forensics already came in and took photos and bagged evidence. She'd watched the whole process and was still currently waiting for her new partner from InterPol, one Agent Dirk Osterhout, to come in for the meet, greet. In the mean time, she passed the time by looking around, currently, before the paramedics came in to take the body to the city morgue, she was looking at said body. Noticing the bruising, the cuts, the mortal wound that ended this young life.

Documents had been found in the hotel room, revealing that the young woman had come from Beijing, China one month ago and had her Visa card as she was looking for work, and had already put in an application to become a U.S. citizen. The wound that killed 22 year old Chen Li Jiao was caused by a ceremonial knife, at least, it was presumed to be a ceremonial knife, the blade was all that was left with this victim, and the last one, curved slightly at the middle to for a crescent shape, with it coming to a very fine point. The handle had been taken, the blades left behind. The blade had been taken out from the dead woman's back. It had pierced first her left lung, the her heart, blessedly killing her the instant it went through the cardiovascular muscle, then her eyes were cut out.

There had been a struggle though. She knew she'd been in danger in her last moments. That in itself tore at Jordan. Knowing that the victims were terrorized just moments before their death. Knowing the killer was out there still, stalking his next victim. She sighed and tucked a lock short red-brown hair behind an ear, green eyes surveying the bruising. Both defensive and offensive. Mostly defensive. She looked over to one of the detectives from the local P.D. “I'm expecting an InterPol agent any minute, can you get someone to let me know when he gets here?” The local detective bristled at her request but sent a uniform to keep an eye out and radio in when the other Agent came in.

She stood up and started walking around the room. Charcoal gray slacks and jacket fit her snugly, doing nothing to hid her curves, yet gave her more than enough room to move around and fit her Glock 22 in the holster at her right hip. Under the jacket was a light green blouse that buttoned up the front, the collar was folded over the jacket, making a nice contrast to the charcoal gray. Green eyes looked around the room, searching for the calling card that would provide the next clue to who the Ceremonial Killer was. The serial murderer was called as such because the information about the blade had leaked out, along with the intricate designs. Originally the title was Chinese Hunter, but since the last victim, it had changed. She had found out who leaked the information out and the cop was on suspension.

The room was cluttered, trashed even. The wall above the bed had intricate designs painted in red, she knew it was the victim's blood. They'd found that from the five previous scenes.

Jordan lowered herself to her knees and bent down to look under the bed and night table, there it was. Red envelope. Still wearing her gloves she pulled it from under the nightstand, flipped the unsealed envelope and pulled the ragged edged, thick parchment out. It had been folded in half, so she unfolded it and read:

The End is Nigh, and all shall Fail.

Agent Owen furrowed slender brows together as she tried to make sense of that line. There were five others before it, but it just didn't make any sense. She knew it to be something along the lines of a summoning chant or spell, she had a friend in the occult division who happened to see the first four lines she brought in from the scenes, and that was what he guessed it to be. It made sense, in an odd way.

In each victim something on them was missing. One girl it was her lungs, another her heart, yet another they ended up having to wait on DNA analysis to confirm an identity because she'd been skinned, the fourth ended up missing her kidneys postmortem, the fifth her hair, the poor woman had been scalped, again, thankfully all of these were after they'd been killed. Now the sixth, her eyes were missing.
 
Name: Dirk "Crossbones" Osterhout/ aka Cross
Age: 37
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 275 lbs
Hair color: dark brown
Eye color: dark
Marital status: Widowed
Occupation: INTERPOL Special Agent, specialized in weapons and tactics - Human Trafficking Division
Appearance:
AgentCross.jpg

--

December 20th, 2011 - 10:56 am​

Agent Cross struggled to move through China Town and in fact had to abandon his car a block away from the crime scene because the foot traffic was so heavy. Though he received many stares he didn't let that deter him in the slightest, and the people here, of much smaller stature than himself, moved out of his way as he made his walked. He was a large man, well over six feet in height, and deep chested with broad shoulders. He'd dressed in what he normally wore to work; a black pair of pants along with a black but lightweight fleece sweater, and the weather this time of year dictated a coat of some sort and his black trench sat well on his form. His dark sunglasses shielded his eyes from the morning sun.

The Hotel Mulberry. Bordering China Town and Little Italy, he found the location a bit auspicious. After the third victim his division had taken and interest, the victims eventually identified as women who had come up missing from their homeland - or daughters of such. Not that they had necessarily been reported right away. Their value, in truth, was little. At least as far as trafficking in general. However, it was believed that they might be moved across borders as sex slaves, and that was where Agent Cross came in.

Though China usually took little interest or showed much backbone in the way its women were treated, it was still a member state of INTERPOL, and the fact that something was going on here could not be ignored. They had given their full cooperation and were, supposedly, opening their own investigation within their borders.

Cross showed his ID at the entrance and was soon inside the hotel. It was a nice place, he had to admit, and was more upscale than what he had expected. If these women were part of any sort of trafficking or sex trade, then the operation was likely backed with no small amount of money. Cross had helped bust rings before, and many times the women were treated as little more than chattel and their working conditions were bordering on abject poverty, despite the money they made their handlers.

Reaching the scene, Cross stopped and waited. He was never one to push around his authority, and fully intended to cooperate fully with the FBI on this. It was shared jurisdiction, and so long as they could catch this sick fuck then Cross would be happy. He'd only seen pictures of the previous crime scenes, and the images had been burned into his memory. Taking off his sunglasses he tucked them inside his jacket, on the opposite side of the shoulder-holstered firearm he carried. Though he had extensive training in weapons and tactics, in general most Agents had to abide by the laws of the host country in regards to firearms. Which suited Cross just fine. He'd already been briefed by the FBI, and even issued their standard Glock 22. Which he immediately relegated as his back-up weapon. The .40 was nice, but was often under-powered. Instead he'd grabbed his own Desert Eagle, chambered for .44 Magnum, though he had the correct barrels, magazines and bolt assemblies for .50AE, .440 Cor-bon and .41 Magnum loads. To say he wasn't prepared would have been laughable.

Soon he was approached by a uniformed officer and he nodded when asked if he was Agent Osterhout. He frowned. He hadn't used that name for a long time, not since Nancy had died. Yet is was an easily forgivable mistake and one that could be corrected. The uniform radioed back and the order came to allow him entry. With a deferential nod to the man Cross moved beneath the barrier and pulled on a set of latex gloves. The forensics unit had moved out of the area, deeming that things could not be moved if needed, so he did not bother with the booties. The smell of blood was thick in the air, coppery and metallic. His eyes gazed at the scene before him, a lone woman the only person actually in the room containing the scene despite all the manpower he'd passed in the hall on the way here. ~She must be the lead Agent.~ he thought and stepped into the room.

"Special Agent Cross, ma'am." he said, his voice a steady tenor and powerful as he reported to her. He could see that she held something in her hands but did not yet asked what she had found. To rush an investigation like this invited diaster.
 
Jordan looked up at the voice, and up a little further when she saw how tall the guy was. A slender brow arched just slightly, "Cross? I'm expecting an Osterhout," she said. She didn't recall reading anywhere about a name change or a nickname for that matter, so she really thought that perhaps they sent a different agent in his place, "I assume you've been briefed on what we've found so far?" she then asked him. So immersed in the case, she forgot her manners and didn't bother introducing herself, instead she set the envelope in an evidence bag and sealed it. She set in there so it could be read through the clear plastic. Then did the same with the red envelope. She handed them over to the IP agent, "Victim is one Chen Li Jiao, 22 years of age. She's different from the others, we can safely assume she wasn't apart of human trafficking," she started as she led him to the body on the floor to the side of the bed. Pictures had already been taken, the body hadn't been moved around still, though the outline was made. Currently, they were still waiting for the paramedics to pick the body up.

Jordan flipped the orange sheet back to reveal the upper portion of the girl's body, "We found documentation that she was trying to obtain citizenship here, though she'd only been here a month," she continued on, then she pointed at the wound in the center of her back, slightly to the left, the curved blade used to kill her was still in, a good half an inch poked above, the handle had been broken clean off the blade, "The blade pierced her lung before it punctured her heart, our M.E. already said it killed her instantly," she stated, the tone she used was professional, devoid of emotion other than irritation, possibly something worse that was under the surface, "There was a struggle, she tried to fight back," she pointed at the few offensive wounds, only on her hands, and the defensive bruising and wounds that was every where else on the body, then gestured for him to come closer to look at the face, as she lifted the girl's hair from the face and laid it back, revealing the bloody mess of where her eyes used to be, "It fits the bill with what we've found with the other five. Some body part or organ was missing from each victim," then she pointed at the wall with the design painted in red, "That has been found in every location we've found a victim in, the previous five have proved it was painted with the victims' blood, I think we can safely assume this will be no different."

Jordan stood and held out the evidence bags containing the one-lined note and red envelope, "Notes inside red envelopes have been found on each scene as well, as this was," she told him, "Each note contains a different line, we have yet to decipher the meaning of each line, or what it might reveal as a whole," she said this with the frustration she felt with it, "A buddy of mine who happens to work in the occult division thought it might be a chant of some kind, we're not sure though, because it isn't anything that's been recorded anywhere on the internet or the database," she finished off. She then started pacing the room slowly, walking past him first. Green eyes continued to survey the room, trying to catch anything that may have been missed, the evidence bags were still in her left hand
 
Cross stood easily as the woman's eyes traveled up, and up, taking in the sight of him. He smiled. "That's me. Dirk Osterhout. Haven't went by that for years though. So please, call me Cross. And yes, I have been briefed on everything rather extensively." She hadn't introduced herself but Cross knew this had to be Agent Owen. He'd heard she was a hard-ass. By-the-book all the way, and cold as ice. So far she seemed to fit what he'd heard. As she began to fill him in on what she knew he listened intently. As she spoke he knelt down by the body. "A single stab wound." he said softly, more to himself than to Agent Owen. "Precision strike, the blade curved to pierce lung, then heart both." I wasn't ignoring the other wounds on the body. Not at all. Yet that simple single strike, as the killing blow...

"Whomever the killer is, they know anatomy. Surgeon perhaps. Butcher maybe. Strong. Fast. Yet able to get close to the victim. Someone they knew, perhaps trusted. Maybe simply someone unassuming." Cross stood and looked thoughtfully about the room. He gestured to the symbol. "Obviously tied to the occult, or at least that is what the killer would have us believe. Any indication there may be two killers? Master and apprentice perhaps?" Cross was simply tossing out ideas. He had not yet given up completely on the trafficking. However, he'd be glad if it had nothing to do with that in the least.

Cross had seen the lines and said, "Perhaps I should start some old-fashioned research then. Sounds like a lot of long nights and strong coffee." He chuckled then and his expression turned more serious. It was obvious that Agent Owen was submersed in this fully, and any sort of comment me made might be taken the wrong way. It wasn't that he was making light of the situation. Yet he had to keep his sense of humor to keep his sanity. After seeing the things he had seen he had little choice really. That or go mad. He'd rather not join the ranks of the sort he'd come to arrest.

Cross was the sort of man to wear his heart on his sleeve and it often worked against him. Yet could be a major boon as well. In that vein he'd decided to immerse himself in as much depravity as possible after he got out of the military. At least in most combat the enemy was clear cut. Point and shoot. law enforcement was often so different, and he found that, despite being an Agent for ten years now, he was always surprised and learning new things. He was ready to get into this case with Agent Owen. "So, do you have a place we can talk about the case? I'm starving."
 
She arched a slender brow at his comment of old-fashioned research. As though she hadn't already been doing that? Great, this is going to be fantastic, she thought to herself. She stepped around him and handed the two evidence bags to one of the other agents, "Tag it," was all she said as she stepped out of the room, before she went down the hallway however, she turned around and looked back at Osterhout, "Coming along?" she asked. Then she rounded the corner. Once he would catch up to her she would just keep on walking along until they got to the elevator. She hit the button for the first floor before folding her arms and leaning against the wall to the side of her. She remained silent until the doors opened, "You have your own car, or are you riding with me?" she asked him then as she lead the way to through the lobby.

Once she heard the answer that he did have a car, but left it on the streets, she looked at him as though he were insane, but shrugged, "I'll take you to it, what street?" she then asked as she walked out the revolving door of the hotel and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The weather was still quite chilly, but Jordan seemed unaffected by it for the moment. She turned to the right and lead him to a black 2011 Ford Expedition. She pulled a set of keys from her left pocket and pressed a button, the car let off a noise informing her that the alarm was off and doors unlocked, "Hop on in," she told him as she rounded to the driver's side. She had to pause for a moment to wait for other cars to drive past. Once there was an opening she opened her door and, literally, climbed in.

After she'd settled she inserted the key into the ignition and turned the motor on before she slid her seat belt over and buckled it. She looked over to Osterhout, "I'll take you to your car, then we'll go grab some food, and take it to the Bureau building," she said to him, "Anything in particular you feel like having?" she then asked him. The entire time she talked, she'd been watching for a moment to drive out of the parking spot. Once it came along, she pulled out and first headed in the opposite direction, she needed to make a U-turn to get to the street he left his car on, unfortunately, they ended being stuck before the were able to reach the intersection.
 
He caught the arch of her brow and wondered why even that small reaction bothered him. Hadn't she specifically said there was no information in their database and on the Internet? What the hell did she think the next logical step would be? Asking the prop of the donut shop? Then, as she handed off the evidence and ordered the other to 'tag it', Cross knew what type of woman he was dealing with. Too pompous and high-handed to keep track of her own evidence. After she'd been promoted, which he knew she had been at some point, she was too important to do the little things.

He soon followed, after her curt and somewhat sarcastic question as to whether he was coming, and they exited the building. Hopping into the Expedition he shook his head at the wastefulness of it all. This large vehicle for one Agent? He was happy with the Crown Victoria he'd been issued a couple years ago, and it had plenty of room. He wondered if she'd asked for this monstrosity. He'd buckled in and waited for her to start the vehicle.

After she asked what he was in the mood for he smiled wanly. "Well, we're here in Chinatown and also right next to Little Italy. I don't see why we can't pick one of those and have a wonderful meal as well. I doubt anyone here in Chinatown knows anything, and wouldn't talk if they did anyway. Maybe someone in the next part of town has heard something." Information had a way of making the rounds, and with this particularly gruesome killing happening on their border, Cross had to wonder if putting a bit of a squeeze on the civilians in the area would yield results.

As the large SUV ground to a halt Cross smirked a bit. "Told you." he said. "This is why I had to leave the car behind. Maybe we should just walk? Get some fresh air. Besides, I think you'd be able to tell me more of your own thoughts on the case if you didn't have to worry about dodging folks." He smiled over at her, hoping to maybe break the ice a small bit as it seemed neither of them had made a good first impression on the other. Not that they had to. He could work with anyone.
 
Jordan leaned back with a loud sigh as she leaned her left elbow on the door and started rubbing her forehead, an attempt to rid herself of the massive headache that was forming. She nodded to Osterhout, "Yeah, we can get some Italian," she told him. Her green eyes ahead as she continued to rub her forehead, then she buried her fingers in her hair and started rubbing her scalp before she pushed her hair back and watched the cars slowly move forward, "You can walk if you prefer to. I need this car though, so I'm staying in it," she answered him when he did his Told you so routine. Damn but she hated men who did that. Then her cell phone rang. She quickly put her bluetooth piece in her ear from the console between her and Osterhout then answered her cell, "Owen."

"Ms. Owen, this is Caroline Fitzpatrick from Bellevue Elementary, I'm the nurse here. I'm calling because your daughter, Samantha, is running a high fever, and she needs to be picked up," came the reply from the other end.

Jordan closed her eyes a moment, "I'm stuck in traffic right now, I'm not sure how quickly I can get there, have you tried calling her father?" she asked then.

"I have, and he said he couldn't get her because he was in a meeting that would be going on all day," she explained. Which caused Jordan to end up with an irritable look on her face.

"Alright, I'm sending one of my co-workers there. He'll flash identification so please don't release her until you see an F.B.I. badge, he'll be able to get to her quicker than I can right now," she said. Once the nurse consented to this, Jordan pressed the 'end' button on her cell then went to contacts and pressed send when she got the name she wanted, her foot pressing on the gas lightly to move the car forward a couple of feet. The phone on the other end rang, "C'mon Jim, answer...," she muttered to herself. She looked over at Osterhout, "Sorry... we're going to have to-," she held a hand up to signalling to give her a moment.

"Anderson here," Jim answered much to Jordan's relief.

"Hey, Jim, I need a huge favor from you," she said to him, the way her voice sounded, it was completely different than what she'd been using around Osterhout so far, "Sam's in the nurse's office at Bellevue, apparently she's running a high fever and they're sending her home," she explained, "I'm attempting to leave the last site to the victim on our case, but I'm jammed in traffic, and Jake decided to use his meetings as an excuse to not picking his daughter up," she continued on, "Are you able to get there to pick her up quickly? If not, it's cool, I'll make my way to her as soon as I can," she finished up saying, the SUV had stopped again, much to her aggravation.

"I can definitely pick Sammy up, Jord. Let the school know I should be there in about fifteen minutes, you want me to take her straight home or to the office?" He then asked.

Jordan thought about it, "Take her to the office, depending on just how she feels and how high her fever is, will be the answer if I take her home or not," she then replied.

"Got it, see you when you get here then, I'll see about getting some medicine for her too," Then he hung up.

Jordan quickly called the school up again and after she got the nurse on the line, she informed of who would be picking Samantha up, with that done, she set her phone in the cup holder and leaned back, "Sorry about that," she told Osterhout, "I'll be putting my Mommy Hat on as soon as we get to the Bureau, so we'll be having to get something else for lunch, so whatever questions or theories you have about the case, you may want to start now, while we're busy fighting traffic," she told him as they were able to move past the intersection finally, she made the U-turn and was able to drive half way down the street, only to be stopped again from the traffic jam.
 
Cross watched as she massaged her scalp and the way she rested her head in her hands. He'd seen that before. His mother had suffered from migraines. He wondered if it was the same for Agent Owen. Not that he cared. So long as she could do the job. He was about to answer that he might indeed prefer to walk rather than continue to be an annoyance, which he obviously was, when her phone rang. He sat silently, only able to hear one side of the conversation. Apparently there was something going on with a child, as Agent Owen mentioned her father.

He continued to sit silently as she made a call of her own, addressing what he had surmised was a fellow Agent as 'Jim'. She'd said that another Agent would be sent to pick up the child, presumably hers. ~Such a wonderful application of resources.~ he thought wryly, and still held his tongue. He was never one to say how things should be done, and each Agent and agency had their own means and ways. As she continued her conversations, his theories proved themselves and he at least took a bit of solace in that fact.

One would think she'd be grateful for any help other agencies might lend, and he could tell that she was rather burdened - both with the stress of the job and whatever family life she had. Yet she had not shown one iota of graciousness or relief in the slightest. Instead he'd been met with contempt and annoyance. Which made his decision on whether to stay and help easy. This last victim cut all possible ties to human trafficking. Agent Owen had said so herself. So Cross was no longer needed. It was possible that further victims might shed light on that avenue again, but this particular victim was all Agent Owen's problem. Once they reached his car he'd call his Director and he'd inform her of the problem. If he was lucky he'd be reassigned to strictly work on those victims. It may all tie together, it may not.

Then she mentioned her 'Mommy Hat'. Cross frowned. Nancy had always wanted children. He didn't. It was the only point of contention that had existed between them. He knew that Agent Owen's first concern was her child, no matter the depth of the case. It took her focus from where it needed to be. He'd seen it first-hand already. What if that call had come while any other number of things were being tended to?

Cross found it disturbing that he needed to clear his head already, get away from Owen for awhile. She hadn't even introduced herself yet and he found her presence... uncouth. "Once we part ways at my car then I can just meet you back at the Bureau." He finally said. Then he remembered she'd likely have her daughter and changed. "That might not be the best idea, sorry. Maybe it would be better to meet sometime tomorrow morning? Perhaps at the Bureau then? Or someplace for breakfast perhaps."

Once he had her answer he asked, "As for the case, obviously the vics are all Chinese females. Any theories on that yet?"
 
Jordan nodded, "Yeah, we can meet at the Bureau tomorrow morning," she said, "Before you leave though, could you give me a number I can reach you at in case something comes up?" she asked as she glanced at him for a moment before looking back at the road, finally moving again, this time it looked as though the traffic cleared up, "Vics being Chinese females," she mused as she leaned back a bit, both hands on the steering wheel. She was silent for a few moments before she spoke up again, "The obvious theory, and most likely reason, is racism.. unfortunately," she said to him with a slight shake of her head, "another, considering all but this last one, were all victims of human trafficking, that could very well possibly be a strong connection, I've been thinking that possibly the killer had a loved one who became a victim of it and is now trying to get the attention of the higher ups in trafficking," she continued on, she brought her shoulders up a bit, tensed, then released them, as though she were stretching the muscles and attempting to relieve some pressure.

Always, when on a case as tense and horrific as this, or worse, she ends up with sleepless nights, and migraines. The migraines had come into play about a month ago, the insomnia triggered just a couple of nights ago. Thank goodness for make up, otherwise she'd look like hell with bags and circles around her eyes.

"I've also been theorizing that perhaps the ritualistic nature of the murders is just to throw us off, but unfortunately, until we find solid evidence that proves otherwise, we'll have to keep it in mind," she told him with a shrug. Then she had to apply the breaks due to yet another stop in traffic. She took in a deep breath and slowly released it, "I hate this time of day... lunch hour," she muttered.

"Another reason we can't discount the ritualistic nature, are the lines we find in each scene, a letter, with only one line," she told him, " Here's the chronological order:
In another's blood comes my life.
When the last heart beats its last, mine starts.
Their breath becomes my wish
With her eyes, comes my sight
With her hide I have mine, and the latest one found today,
The end is nigh, and all shall fail" she had ticked off as though counting the victims as she spoke the lines, in truth, with each line, came the face of the victim and the state she found them in, "That last one sounds ominous, but we've found the girls with parts missing, just like those lines, all indicative to a summoning according to an agent in the occult department.," she paused, "Sorry, I'm sure you knew most of this already," she commented.

She looked back to the road and started rubbing her forehead again, then the back of her neck, waiting for the cars in front of her to move along, "What about you? You have any theories on what you know so far?" she asked him.
 
Cross watched as she struggled to relieve the migraine, for he knew that was what it was, and he had a way to help, but it couldn't be done in the SUV. Oh, he wanted to, but he didn't know her well enough yet. So he winced in sympathy and then listened as she spoke.

"That's a good theory, though I'm unsure if you'll like mine."

Cross glanced at her and cleared his throat, voice steady and not jesting in the least as he explains. "In doing some research at the library in Washington, I found references to older passages and phrases, much like the ones you've been finding with the bodies. They're not exactly the same, but they match well enough. I tried to find the original writer, or just where this manuscript was held so that I might track it down. I know you'll think I'm crazy, but I think this is a ritualistic killing. Or at least has to do with the occult. I think whomever is doing this is trying to bring forth a demon. Maybe free one. Or is possessed by one. I really have no idea, but I think that's what it is."

Cross sat and waited for her reaction. The one he knew was coming. The one where she told him he was crazy. A fucking nut. He was getting used to that reaction. Despite that, despite that he'd just met her, he valued her input and expected her to value his as well.
 
She dropped her hand from her neck and looked over at him. Wondering if he was pulling a fast one on her or serious. He was serious, no fucking way! She looked back at the cars in front of them and leaned back. Actually looking like she was considering his theory. "Think you can get a copy of those manuscripts you saw?" she then asked him, she didn't think it was possible to bring forth, free or be possessed by a demon, but knew there were those who did. Possibly their serial killer was one of those, "I like the angle, it would fit with the evidence found so far, but why only in China Town? Why only Chinese women?" she asked then.

She rubbed her forehead again, waiting for the traffic to get moving again, "Maybe we need to brush up on Chinese demonology," she mused. She was hoping to have gotten an agent to think outside of the box. She just didn't expect this far out of the box. Still though, it put things into a different perspective. She leaned forward a little, scrunched her shoulders up and rolled them back as she leaned back in her seat. Her cell rang and she looked at it, then hit ignore. She definitely didn't want to talk to him right now.

"I think we definitely need to study those manuscripts you found. Possibly, if we find who the original author is, we might be able to get a better profile on the killer and narrow the search down," she continued on, then she sighed as she propped her elbow on the door again, holding her head and rubbing at her left temple, "Still. Its going to be tough until we get a description, or until this guy slips us and leaves us more than he intends," she commented. The entire time she'd been talking, her tone, while professional, it also sounded more conversational.

The wheels in her head were turning at his theory. Even though she did think he might be a bit on the loony side, he still brought something on the table that she would never have considered, and she definitely appreciated that.
 
He expected her reaction and couldn't help but smile a little. Then as she considered, and seemed to actually perhaps accept it, he felt a small bit of vindication. With a nod he says, "I have some copies at my hotel room. I'll bring them tomorrow. As for why China Town, I think you may have answered your own question. I haven't really delved into it yet, but if my hunch is right, there's a huge amount of mythology that goes with Chinese history."

Cross watched as she hit the 'ignore' button on her phone. Most likely the father of the child. It seemed the relationship between the man and Agent Owen was strained. At best. It wasn't something that surprised Cross. Maybe the man really was an asshole. Maybe not. Still, it was none of his business. Just hard to ignore when it was so blatantly obvious.

"I'll get the manuscripts. Maybe even call the office in DC and see if I can get more research done. I'm the only Agent on this so far, but more people looking never hurt anything. I'll make the call." He'd noted the way her tone was more conversational now and his own followed suit. He tended to give back what he received and he had nothing against Agent Owen. Yet.

Soon his car was in sight and Cross nodded deferentially as he prepared to leave the SUV. "Thanks for bringing me to my car. I appreciate it. I'll see you tomorrow then?" He knew that they'd said so, but wanted Agent Owen to set the time and place.
 
She nodded at his offer to call and mention of more people looking never hurt, "That's the truth isn't it. That would be fantastic if you made that call. See if maybe they can even send copies of anything pertinent," she suggested, "Hopefully that wouldn't be too much trouble, but it would hopefully help us out in the end," she continued on. Then she stopped and pulled to the side when he pointed his car out.

She nodded, "Yeah, I'm usually in the office between five thirty to six in the morning," she said, "We can meet up there, I'm on the fourth floor, when you get off the elevators, just go straight ahead, the office my division is in is the last door on the right," she told him, then she grabbed her card from the inside pocket on the right side of her jacket and handed it to him, "Call if you need anything, or get lost, I usually give pretty good directions and I know New York like the back of my hand as they say," she told him with a shrug, "Oh, what do you usually like for breakfast?" she then asked. An odd question to anyone who didn't know her, but she believed in the first meal being the most important, and you have to eat what you're used to or at least like to give a good work performance.

Once he would answer her and close her door, she would pull out into the street first chance she got, and headed off in the direction of the freeway that would take her in the direction of the Bureau.

* * * * *​

December 21, 2011 4:30am

Federal Bureau Building​

Jordan came in early yet again. She couldn't sleep. She'd come in the day before after dropping Osterhout off at his car, and found that Sammy did indeed have quite the fever on her. Thankfully Jim grabbed some Children's Acetaminophen and he was able to have had it down a bit by the time she got to her office. Sammy slept on the couch that was placed out of the way, in a separate office inside the division. For the rest of that day, Jordan went over evidence and the rest of her routine. Close to the end of the day, she called her mother and received the okay that she would watch Samantha while Jordan worked.

Now, with Sam at Grammy's and Jordan in the building, dressed in a black suit and light gray button down blouse, she took the jacket off and draped it over the back of her chair, then proceeded to unbutton her sleeves and roll them up to just below her elbows. Her standard issue semi automatic was in the holster on her right hip. Then she turned her computer on and walked over to the kitchenette and started up some coffee. She leaned her left hip against the counter and pushed back her just barely touching the shoulder, reddish brown hair, closed her eyes and sighed as she tilted her head back, moving her hands to the back of her neck, the pain in her neck and the left side of her head still there.

Her mind was still whirring around on the case. Particularly Osterhout's angle. It made sense. She dropped her hands and rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck to one side, then the other. She'll have to try to make a point to go to the Occult Division and see what they had to say on it, probably also bring in an agent or two from there on this case.

Coffee made, she poured some in a white ceramic coffee cup and walked back over to her desk, sipping on it black. She sat down, and after she'd set her cup down in front of her keyboard, she typed in her password and and started everything anew. She was nothing if not thorough, and she knew she was missing something, and hoped it was just the lack of information on what this ritual entailed, as well as the end result.
 
Cross nodded. "I'll make a few calls and see what I can do." He took her card looked at it and then tucked it in an inside pocket of his jacket. When she inquired about breakfast he said simply, "I'm a bacon and eggs kinda guy." as if that answered everything. He smiled softly as he started to exit the truck. "I saw from your card that you're Agent Owen. It's nice to meet you."

With that he exited the truck and shut the door and smirked to himself. The car looked like it had been left untouched and he got in and started it up. The V-8 came to life and Cross pulled out of the small lot and onto the street. Whatever had been holding up traffic had been cleared and he moved smoothly into the street and was soon on his way to his hotel. He could order dinner there.

December 20th, 2011 - 5:07pm​

Cross arrived in front of his hotel. 341 West 36th Street, the Wyndham Garden Hotel. He parked, hanging the lot placard so he'd not be towed and then headed inside after grabbing his laptop from the trunk and locking up the vehicle. He was greeted by the staff at the front desk, who informed him that he had a couple messages. They handed them over. One was from his Director, wanting contact to make sure he'd checked in alright. The other was in an envelope, the man behind the desk relating that it had been dropped off and had not been opened. Which meant that it was hand-delivered by someone who knew he was here. Odd.

"I'll open this in my room." he said.

"Very good, Mr. Cross." the young man at the desk said.

Envelope in hand Cross gets on the elevator and heads up. His room is on the eighth floor and as the elevator is otherwise unoccupied Cross opens the letter. There, on a single piece of folded notebook paper, in ink and a spidery sort of script, is scrawled out -

You shall NOT prevail​


~What the fuck?!~ Cross thought, and exited the elevator. He'd barely had time to ponder just what the hell the note meant, or who had left it, when he opened the door to his room... and froze in his tracks. His clothes, all the drawers, the bed - all of it had been tossed and rummaged through. ~Motherfucker!~ Cross exclaimed in his mind and moved gingerly into the room, drawing his firearm as he did so. There was no indication that anyone was still here, but one never knew. Carefully moving through the scattered possessions Cross cleared the room and then shut the door. His laptop had been in the car, so that was a boon. Obviously whomever had been here had been looking for something... but what?

As Cross began to organize his things, he soon found out... a quick call to leave a message with his Director was made.

*****​


December 21, 2011 - 5:00am​

The alarm awoke Cross at 5am, and the Agent roused himself and moved from the bed and groggily to the shower. He shaved and showered and picked another suit. Once he'd determined just what was missing, he had called the staff, who were entirely apologetic and had even arranged for new clothes for him. It was their security that had been breached after all. Cross was no convinced that it was more than a single killer. Perhaps an entire group was not doing the bloodletting, but more than one was certainly responsible.

After the shower he dried vigorously, dressed, and headed out, laptop in hand. His car was as he had left it and he was soon on his way to the Federal Bureau Building, 26 Federal Plaza.

Showing his identification he felt his stomach complaining a bit at the lack of food, and silently growled at himself for forgetting to eat the night before. Things had been too hectic, and he knew that Agent Owen would not be happy. The elevator ride to the fourth floor was long and tedious, and Cross stepped out onto the appropriate floor and headed for Agent Owen's office.

The floor seemed empty, though one office near the back could be seen to have weak light coming through the blinds. Cross headed that way, following the directions Owen had given him. The door of the office with the light was Owen's office. Seemed she was the only one here. Cross rapped lightly on the door and said, "Owen, it's Cross. May I come in?"
 
Jordan looked up and nodded to him, "Yeah, come on in," she said, she had been holding her head, much as she had when they were in the car yesterday, but when she had looked up, lowered her hand and grabbed her coffee even as she gestured to any of the seats in her office, "Take a seat," she said, then she sipped her coffee, half way through her third cup, and opened a drawer to pull out a menu to The Harrison Hotel on Greenwich, "Let me know what you want to eat, and I'll go pick it up when its ready," she offered him. She set the menu on the other side of her desk for him to grab, "Unless you had something else in mind?"

She looked at him for a few moments before returning her attention to her computer screen. She had been doing research on the lines that had been found so far in each of the scenes, and came up dry as usual. Something that infuriated her to no end. Her desk was strewn with books, as was her couch, and various parts of her floor, all of the books were on various branches of occult. Satanism being the most prominent, however, there were various other types, and demonology, mythology. The list went on. It looked as though Jordan had checked out the entire occult section of a library.

Looked as though she'd been doing research the old fashioned way. Even though she continued to try every resource on the internet as well, just in case she happened to run across something. Then she seemed to have remembered it and looked back at him, "Please excuse the mess, it isn't usually like this," she said then.

A few more moments of going through the world wide web and she leaned back rubbing her face with both hands then let them drop into her lap as she looked up at the ceiling, "I don't suppose you brought those manuscripts?" she then asked as she sat back up and looked at him.
 
Cross entered her office and was quite taken aback at first. Seemed his initial impression of her had been wrong. She was doing lots of old-fashioned research. ~Not bad.~ he thought. It showed initiative on her part, and a willingness to actually read something that wasn't glowing softly. She sipped her coffee and many of her mannerisms still spoke of her pain. Small twitches and the way she favored her left side in her movements, however small. "You don't happen to have a brush around here do you?" he asked, wondering if a trick he'd learned from his mother might help relieve some of her pain.

"As for breakfast we can have something delivered here if you like. No need for you to rush out on my account." He waved away her apology and smiled softly as he took a seat, carefully moving the pile of papers and a couple of books out of his way. He was quite familiar with this look, and knew that as chaotic as things seemed she likely had it all organized in some manner. He'd have to remember to place those items back where he'd found them.

He watched her for several moments, the silence between them growing a bit awkward, and he opened his mouth to speak just as she mentioned the copied manuscripts. A wan smile graced his face as he sat up, his voice hushed despite the fact they were the only ones in the office.

"I'm afraid we have a problem Agent Owen." he stated flatly, and pulled the folded note had gotten at the desk out of his pocket and handed it to her. He waited as she read it and explained. "I went back to my hotel last night, and that message was waiting on me at the front desk. I then went to my room. It had been ransacked." He let that sink in a moment before he said, "The manuscripts were taken, as well as a few small personal items. Luckily I had my laptop in the car." He patted the case he had with him.

"I have a few scans in here, but not all of them, and you really can't examine them as well. We can't, for example, have them authenticated. So, whomever is behind this, a single person or a group, at least knows about me. If that is the case they likely know about you as well. I called my Director and she said she can try to free up an Agent to get more copies, but truth be told I'd rather just do it myself. Make sure it is done right."

Cross waited for her reactions. It was a lot to absorb, and raised a few more questions on its own.
 
She had looked at him with a look of curiosity when he asked for a brush and she shook her head, "No.. why?" she highly doubted it'd be for him, then nodded, "That would be preferable at this point, besides, then we wouldn't have to stop the research for however long it'd take," she commented, then leaned to her right and grabbed a menu to a delivery place, "This will take an hour for them to get the food to us, but its the closest," she said as she handed the menu to him, then she heard the ominous comment of them having a problem. 'Great, what now?' She thought, brows furrowed slightly as she took the note.

Green eyes widened as she red the one line and she set it on her key board as she leaned back and rubbed her face, "Shit.. fucking sons of bitches," she muttered under her breath. It was rare that she cursed, but when she did, it was like being the same room with a sailor most of the time. "Have you taken a look at the security footage to see who dropped the letter off? Or went up to your room?" she then asked him. She stood from her desk chair and started pacing behind her desk. The only real clear spot for this kind of movement.

The longer she thought about it, the more pissed she became. He may not have actually been one of her agents, but he was on her team, at least for the moment, and this happened under he watch, she looked at him then, "You called your director, great, kudos for you, but you had my number, why the hell didn't you call me?" she asked him, she wasn't trying to reprimand him, and as soon as it came out, she realized that is what it sounded like so she ended up holding a hand, "Let me rephrase.. you're a part of my team now, I know you're not one of my agents, but there's still teamwork here, I've got to know when something like this happens.. when it happens," she said then, "Can you please.. if this ever happens again on the duration of this case, call me after you call your director?"

"I agree with the thing about the scans. Personally I prefer paper, internet is just handy, we'll book a flight for D.C. today, maybe even get lucky and get a flight out today," she commented, she almost seemed to be talking to herself at the moment, though the words were directed at him. She'd stopped pacing and just stood there, facing a wall, lost in though, green eyes narrowed, both her hands on the back of her neck as she tilted her head back, "Lets just go grab something to eat on the way to your hotel, I want to take a look at that security footage, hopefully we'll get lucky," she said as she dropped her arms and grabbed her jacket, slipping it on as she walked out of her office, then stopped and turned and waited for him to catch up to her.
 
Cross just shook his head and waved away her question about the brush. "Nothing." The next few minutes were telling, and Cross felt that, perhaps, he deserved the scolding he got. Maybe a little. Honestly however, calling Agent Owen wasn't the first thing on his mind. He saw her point however and remained silent as she worked it out of her system.

"Of course the footage has been reviewed. Dark clothes; hoodie and sunglasses, dark jeans and sneakers. Not even able to tell what race, though the guy at the front desk said he thought it was a white guy. About six feet tall, medium build. Not a lot to go on." His dark eyes settled on her green ones. "I apologize, for not calling. I figured that yesterday was stressful enough for you, and there was really naught to be done. I followed all protocols, except for calling you, and I knew the copies would not be recovered." Cross shrugged.

As she talked to herself Cross had already stood and gathered his laptop and he'd moved as she spoke of booking the flight and then as she massaged the back of her neck. Her arms dropped and she grabbed her jacket and as she turned Cross was already close by, a knowing smile on his face. "Already with you." he said, and gestured for her to lead the way. It was, after all, her office building.

Making their way to the parking garage, Cross was greeted with that familiar Expedition, and he asked, "So, you want me to call ahead for breakfast, or try to set up a flight?" Just then his phone rang and he answered. "Cross, talk."

He slowed a bit and then said, "Yes ma'am. Thank you." He smiled at Agent Owen as he flipped the phone shut and said, "The Director already procured tickets for us, last night. If we want them our flight leaves at eight a.m. What do you think?" That actually left them a couple of hours before they'd have to be there. Enough to sit and discuss things further if they wanted, and to eat a proper meal.
 
Jordan grinned and nodded when she saw he was already right there with her, "That's a first," she said as she used her badge to open the elevator door. Then they were in the garage headed toward her Expedition, both paused when he answered the phone. When he told her the news of his director she nodded, "Nice. Alright, so the footage was blurred?" she then asked as she started back toward her SUV. She took her keys out of her left pocket and hit the button to deactivate the alarm and unlock. She rounded to the driver's side, then stopped and looked over at him. She took her phone out as she opened the door and half jumped, half climbed into her car, "We'll come on back here and use your car to get to the airport, if that's alright with you?" she asked him, "I'll need to give my mom this car so she can take care of my daughter and move around town, while I'm in D.C. with you," she further explained as she quickly text her mother what the plan was, then settled her phone in the cup holder in the center console before she inserted her key into the ignition, triggering the engine to come to life.

"If that footage is blurred I can see about getting the Tech team to clear it up, see if we can get something out of that surveillance in the hotel, as well as get an sketch artist, see if we can get a rendition of this guy," she mused as she waited for him to get in the car with her. Once he did she looked over at him again, "What did you want to eat?" she asked him, then after he would buckle up she would back out from her spot and start driving to the exit of the garage.
 
Cross shook his head as she asked about the footage. "No, it wasn't blurred. They were just very careful. Dark clothes, hoodie pulled up, dark glasses. You couldn't really make out any features. The cameras are black and white, so I couldn't even tell if they were white or Asian. Definitely not a black guy though, and yes, certainly a man. Women have a certain gait."

Cross grinned as she half jumped and half climbed into the SUV. She was petite, that was for sure. "Sounds like a plan." he said as she spoke of how they'd have to swap out vehicles. She started the truck and then asked about breakfast. He smiled. "I'm starving. After all the shit last night, I haven't eaten in almost twenty-four hours. So anything sounds good to me right now. If you have a favorite place then let's head there."

He sat back in his seat and buckled up. "You know, I could follow you in my car and we could just take this to your mom now if you like. Unless there are some things here in the office that you need to come back for anyway. It'd save us a trip though." He smiled. He was just trying to be thoughtful.
 
She shrugged a bit, "I wanted to come back and take a few of those books from my office," she told him as they drove up the street, she had a place in mind, though she wasn't hungry, she knew she needed to eat, and usually had to be reminded, "The ones that I had actually bought myself when I came across them," she explained a little more, "The rest of those are from the library," she shrugged as she sat back in her seat some. She took in a deep breath, practically willing the migraine behind her left eye away. Though it didn't work of course.

After a few minutes of silence, she pulled up to a restaurant called The Hub, "Best food all around," she told him as she nodded to the medium sized building. She unbuckled, opened the door, and after taking her keys, she slid out of the Expedition. Once he would exit her car, she press the button her keychain to lock the doors and activate the alarm, at which point, she would actually not walk ahead and lead him, but instead walk alongside him to the building.

They only had to wait a few minutes before they were seated in a booth beside a window that faced the street. The waitress had given them menus, which Jordan was already looking through, and looked up at her when asked what they would like to drink, "Coffee, please," she responded with a small smile.
 
Cross nodded. "I see. There should be even more books in DC we can pick up, as well as those manuscripts." He'd watched as she drove, and could tell her headache was back. With a subtle nod to her he asks, "Anything you can do to take the edge off that?" He looked mildly concerned.

Then they pulled up outside of The Hub. Cross smiled and got out, shut his door, and headed inside with Owen. Soon they were seated and he ordered a hot tea as he looked over the menu. The weather outside was clear and bright, but cold, the temperatures dipping into the teens and with a brisk wind. Still, he didn't care for coffee, but damn was he starving! The waitress came back and asked for their orders. Cross waited until Owen was done, then seemed to order half the menu. "I'll have a shortstack of pancakes, some sausage and bacon, four eggs, scrambled, some biscuits and gravy, and keep a plate of biscuits with butter coming, alright?" Cross smiled and handed the menu back. Then he looked at Owen. "What?" he asked, an innocent smile on his face. He sipped his tea and sat back in his chair.

"So, I guess it is nice to meet you Agent Owen." he said, half-joking and half-serious.
 
She shook her head at his question in regards to her migraine, "I also don't like taking drugs. Hate the grogginess that comes along with it," she had told him.

Jordan widened her eyes a bit at the amount of food he ordered, then looked up at the waitress, "Just some toast please, sourdough," she said. She knew if she ate anything more than that, with her migraine kicking in full force, she would just throw it back up. As they waited she sat back in her seat, head tilted back some and closed her eyes, only to look at him again.

She cursed at herself mentally, "I did forget to introduce myself yesterday didn't I," she stated, it may have been in the form of a question, but it really was a statement, then she held her right hand out to him, "Jordan Owen," she then said. Once they would shake hands, she would prop her left elbow on the table and rub the back of her neck with that hand, while she sipped at her coffee from her right hand.

"Why go by 'Cross', by the way?" she then asked him, green eyes were slightly squinted in the pain that was behind her left eye and in her neck, but one could tell, she was used to ignoring it and pushing past it to get her job done.
 
"I can understand that, about the drugs I mean." he grinned as his food was soon brought out, and dug in with gusto. "Toast? You're only eating toast?" He had an idea of why, but still - no wonder she was so damn small. He took her hand and shook it. "No worries on my end of things. I figured out who you were." At her question he shrugged and explained. "It's short for my nickname 'Crossbones'. I've had a few partners over the years and each has gotten killed or hurt. Not my fault in any way, still... Then my wife got sick and died too. Hopefully we won't work together long enough for my curse to rub off on you." He smiled ruefully.
 
She shrugged at his scoffing of her toast. As he explained the reasoning for the nickname, and shortened version of it, she tore a piece of her toast off and set it in her mouth, slowly chewing as he went over the drama of his former partners, then his wife. She looked at him, head tilted to the side slightly, "I'm sorry to hear about your wife," she told him, her tone quiet, voice soft. Though she couldn't help but feel slightly amused at his thinking he had a curse. She did realize he thought himself serious on that matter.

She swallowed the piece of toast she set in before and tore off another piece, noticing the man was probably halfway through his food already. She looked at him with amazement and shook her head, "So anything else you needed to know?" she asked him.
 
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