Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jonathan knew about the serial killer. Of course he did, how could he not? Every news station, every paper, every person was talking about it. It started somewhere near the west coast; a couple of murder cases turned up. Sad, but not that uncommon. More and more bodies piled up but still no trace of a culprit. Five months and fifteen murders later and still no killer. As far as anyone could tell the victims were random, just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were all killed by multiple stab wounds with a simple knife. No fingerprints, no DNA, no evidence. No, what connected the murders was how the bodies were found. Drug from the spot of their death and posed, eyes closed, curled around their wounds as if they were only sleeping. News stations started calling him “The Sleepwalker,” picking his way across the country, leaving a trail of murders in his wake.

Jonathan knew all this, but it never quite seemed real. Untouchable mass murderers were something you found in crime novels from the 80s, not real life. So even when victims started showing up closer to his city and the police advised that everyone practice caution while going about their days, he wasn’t really worried.

He probably should have been.

It was a pretty normal, boring Wednesday night when his mom called him out of the blue. He was just pouring himself some coffee, preparing for an all-nighter to finish some paperwork he’d been neglecting. His phone chirped loudly from where he’d set it on the counter. Jonathan sighed and set the coffee pot down, snatching up his cell to check the caller ID. ‘Mom’ glared back at him in bright text. Jonathan blinked, and checked the time before answering. It was around 2AM where she was, whatever it was, it must be important.

“Hello?” The line was silent other than the subtle rustle of clothing. Jonathan tried again, “Mom?”

“Jonathan,” his mom’s voice came out slightly wobbly over the phone, like she was trying very hard to sound normal, “have you talked to your sister recently?”

“No.” Jonathan picked up his mug and turned so he could lean back on the counter. “Should I have?” It was kind of a weird question; he and Chris didn’t talk all that much outside of birthdays and family events.

“She was supposed to call me earlier and she didn’t.” Her voice was gaining a worried edge now, thin and fast. “She normally texts if she can’t make it, I tried calling but she didn’t pick up.”

“Mom,” Jonathan started awkwardly, “I’m sure she’s fine. She probably just had to work late or her phone died or something.” His mom sighed heavily on the other end.

“I know,” she said finally, “I just worry, with you two so far away, and all this stuff happening…” She trailed off.

Jonathan nodded, making a noise of agreement when he remembered she couldn’t see him. His mom kept up on the Sleepwalker case far more that he did. She always said there was power in knowledge, like knowing about the killer could help you avoid him. Jonathan, on the other hand, thought it was a waste of time. Somehow it seemed like using your free time to learn all about a rampaging maniac, and every time the police tried and failed to catch him, was more stress than it was worth. Jonathan let out a breath through his nose and set his mug down on the counter beside him so he could rub at his eyes.

“If you want, I can give her a call tonight. If she doesn’t call back, I’ll go to her apartment after work tomorrow and check on her.” Chris’ apartment was very out of his way, and he’d be more than a little irritated if he drove all the way there only to find out she’d stayed up all night binge-watching a TV show and forgot to call. But if it would make his mom relax enough to go to sleep and let him glare at his stack of paperwork in peace, he could deal with it.

“Thanks, Sweetheart, I appreciate it.”  

Jonathan picked his mug back up. “No problem. Now go to sleep, Mom.”

Gentle laughter hummed through the line as they said their goodbyes and Jonathan waited until he heard the soft click of the call ending before he pulled his phone away from his ear. He swallowed another gulp of bitter coffee as he scrolled through his contacts to pull up his sister’s phone number. As it dialed, he trudged over to sit heavily on his couch. It rang for a while before going to her answering machine, a personalized one. ‘Hi! You’ve reached Christian Combs, leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’ Jonathan had never bothered to record one himself, the default message was good enough.

The machine beeped.

“Hey, it’s Jonathan. Mom just called to tell me you hadn’t talked to her in a while and she’s worried.” Jonathan massaged his temple. “So just… call and let her know you’re not dead... I guess.” He tapped the ‘End Call’ button and set his phone on the coffee table. He really hated leaving voicemails.

Jonathan glared tiredly at the stack of paperwork in front of him waiting to be filled out. He should have been groggily signing papers, drinking coffee, and avoiding the temptation to turn the TV on, but now he just felt like going to bed. He shouldn’t be concerned, but he couldn’t help that the whole conversation had left him feeling a little on edge. His mom was a worrier; she always had been. She was just being herself. So why did he feel so uneasy?

Jonathan stared at the papers for a few seconds longer before pushing the stack away. It could be done in the morning. He stood up and poured the rest of the coffee down the sink, quickly rinsing the mug out. It was probably the caffeine making him jittery. He just needed to get some sleep—what Chris was probably doing, and what his mom should be doing. He was just getting himself too worked up.     

He didn’t finish his paperwork in the morning. Jonathan could be called many things, but a morning person wasn’t one of them. No matter how long he sat staring at the papers he couldn’t get the words to un-blur long enough for him to make sense of it. In the end he got maybe four sheets done before he needed to get ready. It wasn’t that bad really; he could finish it at work with the rest of the day’s tasks without much hassle once he woke up. He’d still probably get chewed out though.

He checked his phone once before he got in the shower, and three times after he got out: still no word from Chris. He checked the time on his phone, 7:30am. She usually got up pretty early for work and she always responded to messages in her downtime before she started teaching. It was starting to look more likely that he’d have to make the trek over to her apartment.

It was close to 8:00 when Jonathan finally made it out of his apartment. He was definitely going to be late. That, plus the stack of unfinished paperwork he was carrying, was going to equal one unhappy boss. He couldn’t really bring himself to care all that much though. His job sucked.

By the time he made it to work, he was very late. So late, in fact, that he had to park a block away and walk to the building because of the traffic cluttered around it. Now he was grouchy, tired, and exasperated. Jonathan yanked the door open with a little more force than necessary, trying to think of a good, convincing excuse for when his boss inevitably cornered him. What could he say? His mom was a worrywart and she was probably rubbing off on him?

Traffic; traffic was always a solid excuse.

The receptionist at the front desk waved at him. He returned the gesture much less enthusiastically, mainly to be polite, then stalked past to start the day.

It was probably one of the longest days of Jonathan’s life. Meticulous data entry was pretty mind-numbing on a normal basis, but today it felt like torture. Jonathan couldn’t stop checking his phone every three minutes, both to look at the time and to check for any word from Chris. That, coupled with a pretty rough night of sleep and the fact that he hadn’t had time to drink coffee in the morning, led to a tough day. By the time his lunch break rolled around, words were blurring together and he was close to throwing his computer across the room.

Jonathan shoved his chair out and stood up. He was going to drink a fucking gallon of coffee and no one was going to stop him. Of course, the universe had something against him today and Friendly Co-worker #1 happened to cross paths with him at the exact wrong moment.

“Hey, Jonathan.” Zack said politely, falling into step beside him. Jonathan nodded curtly, hoping to convey the idea that he really wasn’t in the mood for this. “How’s the day been treatin’ you?”  

Jonathan sighed, apparently the message hadn’t gone through. “I’m tired and I really need some coffee. What do you want, Zack?”

The words came out a little more harshly than intended. It wasn’t like he hated the guy; he was nice enough, just... very friendly. Most of their interactions consisted of awkward hellos and drawn out pauses that Jonathan would rather avoid. Yet each day without fail, Zack Melto came to talk to him. Zack rubbed his neck, at least seeming to pick up Jonathan’s irritation and for a moment the only sound was their footsteps on the dingy ceramic flooring.

“Boss-man actually asked me to come talk to you,” he said finally. Ah, there’s the lecture Jonathan had been waiting for all morning. “He noticed you were late again this morning.”

Zack hesitated for another second, looking about as uncomfortable as Jonathan felt. “Look it’s probably not any of my business, but is there a reason you’ve been late so much? Like, do you need a ride, or a new alarm clock or something?”

A reason? He hated this job, and his life, and it was difficult to drag his ass out of bed every morning to come back and do the same menial tasks he did the day before.

Jonathan sighed.

“Let me guess, Simmons wants you to give me a ‘final warning,’ huh?”  Zack shrugged once, staring at his shoes.

“You’re a pretty good worker and all, but being late so much isn’t something he can overlook forever, I guess.”

“Alright but why send you to do the dirty work? Simmons doesn’t have the balls to come chew me out himself?”

He shrugged again,

“I’ve been covering for you.”

Jonathan stopped just outside the door to the break room and turned back to gape at his coworker.

“What? Why?”

Zack grinned and shoved Jonathan’s shoulder in a way that made him feel like he was back in high school.

“You’re a nice enough guy, I just didn’t want you to get fired because you suck at catching the bus or something.”

Jonathan had no idea how to respond to that. It was a little too friendly and enthusiastic for a coworker he’d interacted with very sparsely, so instead he just pushed open the door tossing an awkward “uh, thanks I guess” and left Zack in the hallway.

Inside, the break room smelled like stale air freshener and burnt coffee, but Jonathan didn’t really care. The last place he worked at generally smelled like cigarettes or weed, so he considered this an improvement. It was a small room, pretty much consisting of a table, a little T.V., a couple cabinets, and the coffeemaker. He kind of liked it though, it was small enough that people usually didn’t stick around for long so he didn’t have to force himself to make small talk.

Zack passed him to grab an apple from a basket perched at the back of the room. Jonathan poured himself a cup of coffee and took a large gulp of it, grimacing at the bitterness. He didn’t really like black coffee, but it took too much time and effort to sweeten it, so he usually didn’t. It tasted like piss but he needed the caffeine.

                The little T.V. next to the door was turned on. Someone here earlier probably forgot to switch it off on their way out. Jonathan turned to lean on the counter and sip his coffee. Zack sidled up to the front and settled himself at the table before biting off a chunk of his apple. Zack turned up the volume on the TV. Jonathan sipped his coffee.

It was set on a news channel, and like every other news channel the mysterious serial killer was the main topic. At least it was the only topic anyone really cared about; the world is always strangely fascinated when some maniac is trying to kill them. Jonathan was only half paying attention but the women on the screen was gesturing to a map behind her, where various little pinpoints across the US were lit up. Presumably places where the Sleepwalker left a body count. Los Angeles, San Francisco, Las Vegas, and Denver to name a few. Even some in Nebraska. What the fuck kind of serial killer went to Nebraska?

“Pretty crazy, isn’t it?” Zack said suddenly, “All this serial killer stuff.”

“Mm.” Jonathan grunted around his coffee cup, a little perturbed by how much conversation this guy could make without prompting.

“You just don’t really expect this kinda stuff to happen, but it is. I mean—” Zack gestured at the T.V. with the hand that was still clutched around an apple. “The last body they found was just across the river. This guy could be in the city somewhere and we wouldn’t even know it.”

“Yep.” Jonathan didn’t really care about the serial killer, but it seemed like everyone else on the planet did. Everyone was reading news articles, sharing safety tips and panicking—his mom started texting him every other day with new bits of information to “keep him updated,” he didn’t read them. Overall he thought everyone was giving this way too much attention, which was probably exactly what the lunatic wanted.

Still. Jonathan glanced at the screen again, to the little glowing red dot a hair's breadth away from his city and thought about Chris, and how weird it was that she didn’t call their mom. He crushed his empty cup and tossed it in the trash. The day would end soon enough and then he could stop thinking about it.

---

The drive to Chris’ apartment wasn’t long, but he still had to punch her address into his phone’s GPS and balance it on the dashboard. She lived in a pretty nice neighborhood, much nicer than his. His apartment was shit, but it was also far away from anyone who knew him, which was what he really wanted.

When he got there the parking lot was nearly full, so he couldn’t pick out her car in the lines. She didn’t answer when he buzzed her apartment, so he buzzed every other apartment on her floor until someone did. The com crackled for a moment before a muted voice chimed in.

“Hello?”

“Hi. I’m here to check on Christian Combs, but she’s not answering. Can you let me in?”

The com was silent and for a moment Jonathan thought they’d left, then it crackled again and the voice was back.

“You’re here to see Chris?” Another pause. “Who is this?”

“Jonathan Combs,” he said, then added awkwardly, “her brother.” Another hesitation.

“Alright, I’ll let you in. I’m not sure if Chris is home though.” The door clicked and Jonathan pushed it open.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t waste any time getting up to her apartment and knocked sharply on her door, then listened for a moment. He didn’t hear any movement inside so he tried again.

“Chris?” Still nothing.

Trying to choke down his irritation, Jonathan squatted down to the potted plant next to her door and dug around until he found the stupid, dirt-covered Ziploc bag she kept her spare key in “just in case.” He wiped the dirt onto his pants and opened the door.

All the lights were off except for a dim lamp next to the couch in the far corner, which meant his sister probably wasn’t home. More than a little annoyed at this point, Jonathan flipped the light switch on and closed the door behind him.

“Chris?” He tried one more time, not really expecting an answer. Her apartment consisted of one bedroom, a bathroom, and a little living room slash kitchen area. The door to her bedroom was open and even through the dim lighting he could tell it was empty. The place was pretty tidy, other than a stack of papers scattered across the coffee table. He leaned over to look at them. Student papers. Some of them were covered in red marks, others were still blank; it looked like she was in the middle of grading them. The kitchen didn’t reveal much else, there were a couple of dishes in the sink and a calendar stuck to the fridge with magnets. She didn’t have anything written down for today, Friday, or Saturday, but she had a dinner party on Sunday.  

Jonathan sighed and sat on the couch, hesitantly pulling out his phone again. No messages, none. He dialed the number. It went to voicemail again and he couldn’t help the gross feeling settling in his stomach.

“Chris, you’re really starting to freak me out now. You’re not in your apartment. Seriously if you get this call me, or Mom.” He rubbed his temple for a second then added, “I swear to God, if you dropped your phone in the toilet or something I’m going to kill you.”

He scribbled down a quick message on one of the post-it notes next to her phone, just in case she had drowned her phone and came back later. When he locked her apartment he didn’t hide the key again, it didn’t feel quite right. He slipped it into his pocket instead and tried to ignore how dry his mouth had gotten.

Chapter Text

They found Chris’ body three days later.

His mom filed a missing person report and unfortunately they found her. His phone woke him up early that morning, the sun hadn’t even come up yet, and his mom was crying so hard he couldn’t understand what she was saying. Someone found Chris at the far end of the city, lying in a pool of her own blood and curled up like she was sleeping.

Jonathan wasn’t sure what you were supposed to feel when you find out your sister’s been murdered, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t feeling it. You’re probably supposed to be angry or crying or both, but really he just felt kind of numb. It wasn’t that different from how he normally felt. All he could really do was listen to his mom cry and try to comfort her without any idea of how.

He stayed on the line with her for a long time. Eventually, she wore herself out and said she was going back to sleep. She told him she loved him and asked him to stay safe and call her later that day. He was going to tell her not to worry, but thought better of it and agreed.

The line clicked off with a quiet beep and Jonathan set his phone back on his nightstand.

He couldn’t go back to sleep, so he just stared at the ceiling for a long time.

It was probably 7:30 when he called into work. He told his supervisor he was sick; it probably wasn’t too unbelievable, his voice was pretty dry and hoarse. When he hung up he dropped his phone beside him on the bed and rolled over, twisting the sheets tight around him, thinking about his mom alone in the house they grew up in.

What was he going to do?

Around 8:00 someone started insistently knocking at his door. He waited for a moment, to see if they’d just go away, but after about two more rounds of knocking he was forced to roll out of bed. Jonathan stalked over to the door and yanked it open just enough so that he could glare at the person behind it.

“ What?”

Standing outside his door was a young woman; her dark hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She stood up straight, her hands slipped casually into the pockets of her jacket. Her purple shirt was undone at the top button and tucked neatly into her pants. Her eyes flicked up and down him once before she spoke, probably taking in his bedraggled appearance.

“Jonathan Combs?”

Jonathan blinked once, then opened the door a little wider.

“Yeah, that’s me. What do you want?”

“I’m Lt. Magill Nancy. I’m here to talk about your sister.” She pulled a wallet out of her pocket and flipped it open to show him a badge. As she moved her coat he thought he caught a glimpse of a gun strapped at her hip. Oh.

“So you’re a cop then?” he asked, he wasn’t really surprised, that explained the powerful aura of “Don’t fuck with me” she gave off. She dipped her head.

“I’m the lead detective on your sister’s case. If it’s alright I need to ask you a couple questions.” She shifted her weight to one side, and drew her hands from her pockets to link them together in front of her.  He sighed and opened the door the rest of the way, allowing the detective to sweep her way inside his apartment. It was kind of impressive; she was shorter than him by quite a lot, but she carried herself like she was three feet taller.

For a second, he thought about making some coffee, then decided against it. He wanted to go back to bed once she finished. He gestured for her to follow him into the living room. It wasn’t very decorative. A little coffee table shoved in between a short couch and an arm chair that was probably older than him. The shelf near his bedroom stuffed with CDs and other miscellaneous crap was pretty much the only thing that showed someone actually lived here.  He sat down on the couch, Lieutenant Nancy took the seat across from him and pulled out a small recording device and a notebook.

“So,” he started, “shoot.” It occurred to him that he probably looked like a complete mess, sitting there in some pajama pants and an old tank top he’d demoted to a sleep shirt when it started to unravel. He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to comb it into some semblance of neatness. Lieutenant Nancy leaned forward a bit.

“Well, first I’d like to offer my condolences.”

Jonathan suppressed the urge to grimace and dropped his hand from his hair. This was probably going to be the beginning of a lot of half-hearted sympathy.

“Thanks,” he muttered. She fiddled with the device for a moment and it lit up, she placed it on the coffee table between them.

“I’m just gonna ask you a few routine questions, and I’m going to record our conversation.” She leaned forward a little, propping her arm against her knee. “We don’t have the autopsy back yet, but the time of your sister’s death was probably around 9:00 pm on Friday. Where were you around this time?” Jonathan sighed, reaching up to scratch his cheek.

“I dunno… I think I was just here.” It was a boring day. He couldn’t exactly remember but every day was boring, he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary for a while.

“Nothing you remember doing? You didn’t go anywhere?”

“No.”

“Did you talk to your sister at all that day?”

“No.”

“When was the last time you talked to your sister?”

“I don’t know… Christmas I think.” Jonathan dropped his hand into his lap, staring at her incredulously. “Why does this matter anyway?”

She lowered her notebook and looked up at him. “I just need as much information about her life as I can get, it’ll help me narrow down a list of possible suspects.”

“And I’m one of them?” He snapped.

“ Mr. Combs. ” Something in her voice told him she wasn’t fucking around, and he sat up immediately. “If you watch the news at all I think we both know who killed your sister.” Jonathan swallowed, remembering the red dot blinking just outside the city. He opened his mouth, not really sure what he was going to say.

“Jonathan.”

“...What?”

“Just call me Jonathan.” Lieutenant Nancy didn’t answer for a moment, just kind of looked at him, then down at her lap, lips tight like she was considering something.

“Okay—Jonathan—I’m just doing my job, covering all the bases to make sure I don’t miss something obvious.”

Jonathan sighed. “Okay, sorry. What else?”

She looked at him for a second longer then back down at her notebook, jotting something down.

“Do you know if there was anyone who might have wanted to hurt your sister?” She asked.

Jonathan shrugged and shook his head.

“I need you to answer verbally.”

“Oh.” He twisted his fingers together, glancing at the blinking green light from the device on the table, a little irritated that he had to sit here and answer these questions when he really just wanted to lay in bed. “No, not that I know of. Everyone loved Chris.” This was weird, even though he was telling the truth he felt like he was lying. They should have been asking his mom, she would have had a lot more to say, more specifics to offer, but he was kind of glad they weren’t bothering her.

“What about hobbies? What did she do for a living?”

“She’s a teacher, over at University of Illinois.”

“What does she teach?”

“English.”

“What about her relationship with her students? Any problems there?”

“Not that I know of.”

Lieutenant Nancy turned her pen over in her hand, twisting it absentmindedly, the tip left black smudges on her fingers.

“You seem to be taking this well.”

Jonathan looked up at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She held his gaze. “Just that you seem a lot calmer than a lot of people would be after this kind of thing.”

“What does it matter?” He snapped. She looked at him for a second, not quite a glare but almost, like she was trying to keep herself from biting back. He wouldn’t blame her.

“Jonathan, I’m going to be real with you here.” Lil turned off the recorder with a click and set it on the coffee table in front of her. “There’s something different about this case. It’s just a hunch right now, but I think he messed up. I think we can catch him.” Jonathan opened his mouth, but he wasn’t quite sure what to say. If he’d been expecting something it wasn’t that. “I know you just lost your sister, and this is a hard time for you and your family, but I’d appreciate your cooperation.”

“My cooperation?”

She nodded. “I need to know everything there is to know about your sister. I want to find out where she might have gone and why, and any connection she may have had with the other victims. I want to catch this bastard before he hurts anyone else. If you’re willing, I’d appreciate your help.”

Jonathan hesitated and looked down at his hands. He nodded. “Yeah… Yeah I’ll help.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and the intimidating pressure dissipated. For whatever reason, it made Jonathan incredibly uncomfortable.

“Is this almost done?” He asked, gesturing to the device on the table. “I need to get ready for work.” It was a lie, but he wanted her gone, he didn’t want to deal with any of this right now.

“Oh.” She nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. If it’s alright though I want to talk to you more later, get some details.” She flipped to an empty page in her notebook and scribbled something down. “Here’s my office number in case you need to contact me.” She tore the page out and slid it across the table to him. Jonathan picked up the piece of paper and tucked it in his pocket. “I have your number on file so I’ll be in touch. I need to check some things out first, but your help could be invaluable.”

She stood up slowly and lingered for a moment, like she had more to say, but Jonathan refused to meet her eye.

“Thank you for your time, Jonathan.” He nodded curtly.

“No problem, Lt. Nancy.”

“You can just call me Lil.” She smiled at him again, then she swept out the door, leaving Jonathan to sigh in relief at the end of the encounter.

His hands were shaking as he locked the chain lock behind her. It wasn’t really necessary, the door locked automatically, but he did it anyway. He paced back into his living room trying to absorb all this information.

A homicide detective knocking at his door and asking him where he’d been Friday night. There was a tear in the arm of his crappy couch and he ran his fingers over it, plucking at a loose thread. She might go back to her office, officially file his alibi. She’d call his building manager, maybe get a verbal confirmation, maybe check the security tapes, maybe ask some of his neighbors to confirm that he was telling the truth, that he was really here that night. Jonathan huffed as he flopped onto the couch, closing his eyes and scrubbing his hands over them.

What would she do then? Talk to her bosses; her supervisors, if she had them. See if they’d let him help, or maybe she’d just go under the radar. She’d call him and ask him questions, ask him for details about Chris’ life, where she went, how she’d act if this happened. She asked him for help, because she wanted to catch the killer. She needed his help. She needed his help because Chris-

Chris was-

Jonathan stood up and shuffled over to the shelves on the other side of the room to flip through his CDs. He needed to put on something to cover up the growing silence in his apartment. It felt like even the obnoxious cars outside had pillows on their wheels. He stopped, fingers twitching against a random album. He wouldn’t admit it but there was a lump of dread settled somewhere in his stomach wondering if Lt. Magill Nancy--Lil--would actually call him, and wondering how much help he’d actually be.

There was a picture of the three of them sitting on top the shelves, the only picture he had in his apartment. It was taken a couple days after his college graduation. Chris was wearing a pair of earrings he’d got her for her birthday. His mom framed it and gave it to him when he found his apartment, he’d considered leaving it at home because he hated looking at pictures of himself.

He was smiling in the picture but he wasn’t happy. He was a mess that day. He’d drifted through four years of college and still had no idea what to do with himself. His mom and Chris were so proud of him though, he pretended to be alright. Chris was different from him. She’d always known what she wanted to do, and knew exactly how to get there. She had her whole future planned out. He’d always envied her for that.

He flipped the picture face down on the shelf and went back to his room.

---

Jonathan looked at his phone, one more time to make sure he had the address right. The text from Lil blinked back up at him.

Your alibi checked out, if you want to help come by the station, The address is 3078 Southwell Rd, I’m usually there by 8:00AM on wednesdays, tell the lady up front you’re there to see me she’ll tell you where to go.

He locked his phone and got out of the car. It was a ugly day and the wind cut right through him. He hustled into the station, tucking his coat further around him.

The building was relatively empty, contrary to what crime shows would have made him think, always full of petty thieves and delinquent teenagers. The woman at the front desk smiled at him as he approached.

“How can I help you?” She asked.

Jonathan hesitated.

“Uh- Magill Nancy asked me to come here.”

“Oh, Mister Combs.” Her long pink nails clacked against the keys as she quickly typed something out on her computer. “Have a seat, I’ll let her know you’re here,” she said, nodding towards the uncomfortable looking chairs lining the wall.

Jonathan sat down and plucked at the end of his coat. He’d never been inside of a police station before and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t be here. You go to a police station when there’s something wrong.

Something was wrong.

Chris.

There was a newspaper on the seat beside him left here by someone earlier, he picked it up. The headline read Terror Sweeping the Nation and he didn’t have to continue to know what it was about, he skipped to the next page.

It wasn’t too long before Lil appeared in the back doorway, just as impressive as the first time he’d seen her.

“Hey Jonathan, thanks for coming.” She gestured with a flick of her wrist for him to follow, leaning against the door to let him through.

She lead him down a long hallway lined with small rooms, probably offices. There were a few other people milling around, but for the most part it was relatively quiet.

“Is it always this empty in here?” he asked

“No, I sent a squad out earlier, and we take rotations patrolling the city.” She turned her head to look at him. “The crime rate is pretty low right now, everyone’s staying inside, even the people who usually cause trouble. No one wants to be the next victim.”

The room she opened the door to wasn’t an office, it was more like a small conference room. It was cramped and grey with a whiteboard on one wall and an american flag on the other. Lil sat down at the end of the table just inside the door, then spun the chair sideways and gestured at the seat adjacent to her. He wasn’t sure if he should close the door or leave it open. After a moment of indecisiveness he pushed the door until it was only open a sliver and sat down in the seat she’d pointed out.

“How much do you know about this case already?” She asked him, opening the file in front of her and shuffling to a certain page, he got glimpse of pictures as she flipped through, smiling faces clipped to crime scene reports.

“Not much.” He admitted. “I didn’t really keep up with it.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said, looking up from the file to make eye contact with him. “I wouldn’t either if I didn’t have to.” She turned the file towards him. It was open to a paper titled Incident Report-Seattle Police Department . “The first murder happened in Seattle, Washington. Samuel Korbin was found two days after his death in an alleyway about a mile away from his home. The next was Alex Smith from Chico, California, who was found in a park three days after her partner reported her missing.” She passed him another clump of papers. “Then San Francisco, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and so on.” She pushed another person’s file towards him with each word. “All of them were found in remote places out of the way, alleyways and warehouses, and all of them were posed.”

“Curled up like they were sleeping,” Jonathan finished, repeating what he’d heard on every news channel, lowering the report on Helena Marko back to the table.

“Yeah.” Lil confirmed, shaking her head slightly.

“So where does Chris come into this?” he asked.

“Like I said, her- she was different.” Jonathan didn’t miss the way she stumbled around the word murder. “In every other case, the bodies were posed very meticulously so all their wounds were covered and it looked like a natural way to lay. With Chris it was different,” she waved a hand looking for the right word, “sloppy. It looked rushed, like he was in a hurry, or got interrupted.

“There haven’t been any witnesses for any of these murders, not even a hunch that something was wrong, but this seems different, and if there’s a chance we have a witness we need to find them.” She leaned forward towards Jonathan, tilting her head down. “So I need to know everything you can tell me about your sister. Who she spent time with, where she liked to go, what she usually did. Anything you can tell me.”

Jonathan wasn’t sure how to answer, mostly because he didn’t know those things, but he couldn’t just say nothing. Who did Chris hang out with? She had to have talked about friends before. Chris wasn’t like him she had a life, she had friends, she was happy. Why didn’t he know any of this? He had to say something, he could leave here without giving them something. He had to say something.

“She, uh- she went out a lot. She was a people person, always on the move.”

Lil opened the case file, flipping passed all the pages of info and smiling pictures to a sparse page with a familiar face clipped to it.

“Did she tell you anywhere specific she went recently?”

The photo was upside down, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“No, we haven’t really talked the last couple months.”

“Was there a falling out?”

It was from her Facebook, he remembered seeing her put it up a couple weeks ago. She looked happy.

“No, we just aren’t… weren’t that close.” She tried though. For a while after Christmas she called him, tried to get him to talk, she tried . Eventually the calls stopped, he figured she gave up on him.

“What about hobbies? What did she like to do?”

It went on like that for a while. He mentioned some random thing about Chris, Lil asked a follow up question, he answered to the best of his ability, and Lil jotted something down on the paper. About an hour later Lil flipped the file closed and put down her pen.

“Thank you, Jonathan. I know this wasn’t the most enjoyable use of your time, but I appreciate your help.”

She stood up and held out a hand, he followed her lead and shook it, limbs feeling abnormally heavy. It didn’t feel right just leaving it like that. There had to be something more he could do.

“I can let you into her apartment.” Lil looked taken aback. “I have the spare key.” He explained.

“Well… okay. I’d have to fill out some paperwork, but Jonathan you really don’t need to do that.”

“I just want to help. You said Chris’ case is the best chance you have of catching the Sleepwalker.” The name tasted sour in his mouth. “I want to help in any way I can.”

Lil studied him for a second, and for a moment all the warmth in her eyes was replaced with a simple calculating stare. He had no doubt she was a great detective.

“Alright,” she answered slowly. “If you don’t mind helping I can use you. But Jonathan, if this gets to be too much, bow out. You have no obligation to do this.”

He nodded, but he wasn’t so sure.

---

When Jonathan pushed through the front door of the police station the sky was a foreboding grey color, clouds hanging low and heavy. He fished his keys out and stood there for a second, staring at his car. He didn’t really want to go home yet.

He slid the keys back into his pocket and started walking. It was a gross day, it was just cold enough to be miserable and the air was wet and thick, he shivered. There weren’t very many people out on the streets.  It was like Lil said, most people were staying inside, only going from place to place when they had to, and always in groups. I hindsight it probably wasn’t the best idea for him to be out here on his own.

A drop of water hit the back of his neck and rolled down underneath his coat. He looked up and another hit his forehead. The clouds were dark and angry, if he didn’t find an awning or something to hide under he was going to get very wet.

Jonathan caught sight of a bar across the street and ducked inside. It was a nasty little place, the dim yellow light above his head buzzed obnoxiously and it smelled faintly of cigarettes, but it was dry and empty so he took a seat.

The bartender slid over to him. He was a tall guy with dark brown skin and long dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail.

“Hey man, what can I get you?”

“Uh, just a bottle of water.” He fingered the edge of the menu in front of him. The bartender raised an eyebrow. “I still have to drive. I just came in here to avoid the rain.” The low sound of thunder rumbled in the distance adding punctuation to his excuse. The bartender nodded and bent over to reach for something under the counter. “How much is it?”

“Water’s free, brother,” he responded, straightening back up with a glass in hand, “I’m not gonna charge you to not get drunk.” He filled it up at the tap and slid it in front of Jonathan. “Besides I’m happy for the company. Things have been pretty quiet around here because of… well, you know.” Jonathan made a noise in his throat. He did know. “Speaking of which, it’s probably not the best idea to be wandering around alone downtown on a day like this.”

“I know.” Jonathan took a gulp of his water, quietly wishing it was alcohol. The bartender gave him a weird look.

“You alright, man?” He asked. “You seem kinda… down. Bad day?”

Jonathan laughed at that. Actually laughed like an asshole, like he’d just had a bad break up and his sister hadn’t been stabbed to death at the far end of town. He ran his fingers through his hair and down his face.

“You could say that.”

“Wanna talk about it? I’m a pretty good listener.”

The bartender was being genuine, completely genuine, and Jonathan had no doubt he could spill his guts to this guy, the empty bar suddenly felt much too crowded.

“I- I actually need to go.” He slapped a five on the bar even though the bartender wasn’t charging him and stood up from his stool. “It doesn’t look like it’s letting up, so I’ll just have to run.” The door swung shut on the bartender’s confused face and he wondered if later, when the story was released, he’d figure out why Jonathan walked into his bar tonight.

He didn’t run. Rain pounded down on top of him, icy and sharp but he didn’t fight it. One foot after another as the lights of the city blurred into wobbly silhouettes bearing down on him and a heavy ache settled its weight in his chest.The rain rolled down his head, slid beneath his coat, and seeped into his socks until he was soaked to the bone, so saturated with water it felt like he’d never be dry again.

He thought about Chris.

His door opened with a creak that drove splinters into his head. He toed off his shoes in the kitchen and dropped his coat on the living room floor not caring for one second about the trail of water he was leaving to soak into the carpet. Finally he collapsed on the couch, pushed his hair off his forehead and stared at the stains on the ceiling. He stared and he stared until his eyes refused to focus. His wet clothes sapped the warmth from his skin until he was shivering. He couldn’t get up. He was shivering. He was alone now.