Thank God it’s Saturday, she thought glumly as she sat in front of her dresser, staring at herself in the mirror. She was absolutely miserable. And it was not because of her hair or face.

As much as she hated to admit it, she could no longer deny it. She missed him.

Though it was unbearably painful for her to accept that there was somebody else in his life right now, Vanessa’s heart pounded with desire for him. When she first met him, she had been aware of the fact that his heart belonged to someone else and she was glad Joe had let her try to fill in the emptiness in his broken heart after Iola. After a while, Vanessa thought that they actually had something for each other and she was led to believe that he had indeed belonged to her, and she to him. But not anymore.

Oh my God, what have I done? Vanessa sighed inwardly. She bowed her head in frustration and her blond hair cascaded down over her face like a veil.

She shouldn’t blame him for choosing Tessa. In fact she had helped him make the choice.

I’m sorry, Joe, Vanessa thought. I am so, so sorry.

She had never intended for things to go this far. In fact her ‘infatuation’ with Craig, as Joe had called it, was actually nothing more than a harmless interest. She had just found him fascinating that’s all. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t love Joe anymore. But obviously that wasn’t the way Joe saw it. And when Vanessa saw how close Joe had become to Tessa, she had to admit she WANTED to hurt Joe. Now that Craig was gone, Vanessa couldn’t see the point of avoiding Joe anymore. Ever since the break-up she had not said a single word to him, and neither had Joe.

He’s happy now, Vanessa thought bitterly. She thought of the new girl who had managed to steal Joe’s heart from her. Vanessa knew she wasn’t to blame; Joe only went to her because he was hurt with what Vanessa had done to their relationship. But if only Joe had confronted her, if only they had sorted this out right from the beginning…they would still be together.

"I’m not a mind-reader, Joe," Vanessa whispered softly to herself. "How was I supposed to know? You should have told me." Vanessa’s eyes began to sting but she quickly swallowed the tears which were threatening to spill. I will not cry, she thought. Not until I know that it is really over between us.

"I don’t know if it’s of any significance," Frank said, his forehead furrowed. "Maybe it’s just a typing error or something."

Joe shrugged. He tried not to think of Tessa. It hurts less when you don’t think about it. "Maybe, maybe not. But it couldn’t hurt to check it out." That would take his mind of Tessa.

"So what do you suggest?"

"Why don’t we split up?"

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Split up?"

"You go find out more about the wonder drug and what the connection may be to this case and I’ll go try look for more clues," Joe said.

Frank narrowed his eyes. He knew what Joe wanted to do. "You can’t go after the killer yourself, Joe."

"Frank, we are nowhere that close to finding the killer and there’s been too many victims already! I’ve got to try. And besides Tessa might still be alive," Joe said pleadingly. "There’s got to be an answer lying somewhere and I have to find it."

"And how do you intend to do that?"

Joe broke into a mirthless smile. "We’ll just have to start with whatever we have. I think the stimulant drug is the key and it might just lead us to the killer."

"Craig Henderson? He’s dead!"

"Even dead people can tell stories, Frank. And one thing dead people can’t do that living people can? They can’t tell lies."

"That’s impossible," Fenton declared. "There must be some kind of mistake."

Ridgewick shook his head. "You’re not the first person to say that. In fact my assistant and I ran a complete check on the blood sample more than twice. The blood indeed belongs to Tessa McCaffrey and it’s stale. Now I guess it’s your job to find out what the real story is."

"I guess it is." Fenton shook his head. "Is it possible that the killer could have gotten hold of Tessa’s blood somehow? The absence of a body is indeed intriguing since in all the previous murders the killer had left the victims’ bodies. Maybe Tessa isn’t really dead?"

"Hmm, I think I have the answer to your first question. Don’t high schools have the blood donation thing going on right now? My son Danny just donated blood yesterday. Maybe Tessa had donated her blood and that’s how the killer got hold of her blood."

"But why? Why all the trouble?" Fenton was perplexed. "What really happened to her then?"

David Ridgewick shook his head. "But that is also just a theory. The blood found at the crime scene yesterday was definitely more than a pint, and someone who has just donated blood has to wait at least three weeks before he or she can donate blood again. So there is no possible way the killer can get that much blood in the short period of two weeks she was here."

Fenton’s mind was racing. There were too many questions and so little time. Fenton’s gut feeling was telling him that the killer would strike again. His fellow officers were trying to detect a pattern; when he would strike, where he would most likely bring his next victim and they were still working on it.

Then there was the issue of the wonder drug. His contacts in Sweden had acknowledged the issue and they promised they would send as much information as they can on the drug and the drug company itself and he was expecting it anytime now. Fenton had yet to tell his sons about the blood but he could certainly imagine what Joe’s reactions would be like.

After applying a fresh coat of moisturizing cream on her badly peeling face and downing 2 cups of strong, black coffee, Vanessa was beginning to feel human again. Now she was rummaging through her backpack, looking for a pen and a paper. She was too embarrassed to call Joe up. Upon finding what she was looking for, Vanessa sat cross-legged on her bed and stared at the measly piece of paper. After taking a deep breath, she started to write.

Vanessa crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it down onto the floor. Duh, Vanessa, it’s not as if you’re writing to a pen pal somewhere in Thailand or the Philippines.

I just want to say that I am sorry. Will you forgive me? I swear I’ll make it up to

Another ball of crumpled paper joined the first one on the floor. Yuck. Wouldn’t want to sound too desperate.

"Arghhhhh!!!!!!" Vanessa bent double and buried her head into the pillow she was propping the writing pad on, stifling her scream of frustration. I am SO pathetic! I can’t even write one lousy letter!

Wait a minute. Why not just send him an e-mail? Then if I’m too embarrassed about it I can just send him a virus and delete his whole computer system before he could read it. Vanessa, you’re a genius!! Vanessa thought triumphantly, giving herself a silent applause.

But as she stared at the computer screen for God knows how long, Vanessa began to sense the first signs of uncertainty. Do I really want to do this? Should I give it another go? Or should I just let it be? Joe seemed really happy with Tessa. But then Vanessa realized that her uncertainty was not because she was thinking about Joe’s happiness. Vanessa was too proud to give in. She had been too proud the first time to admit her wrongs and she had paid the dear price. Joe was no longer hers, like she had always thought he was. How her pride and ego had dragged her down.

No, Vanessa thought. I’m not going to let it stop me this time. Deep down she realized that it was all her fault. Though she had accused Joe of two-timing her behind her back, she had done the exact same thing. And she was the one who started it.

Slowly Vanessa leaned back against her chair and breathed in deeply. Restlessly she removed the mounting files and folders on her desk and transferred them onto her bed. She was about to type the first word when suddenly something under the PC desk caught her eyes.

What’s this? Vanessa wondered as she picked the piece of paper from the floor. She stared at the unfamiliar writing which filled the whole first page and half of the next one. She then recognized the squiggly cursive as Craig’s. Vanessa felt a lump in her throat as she read the heading of the essay.

Why I Would Like To Study In America, by Craig Henderson.

It was the essay Craig had written before he came to the States; the same one that had enabled him to be chosen out of hundreds of candidates. Little did either he or Vanessa or anybody else for that matter know that if Craig hadn’t written it, he would still be alive, healthy and well back home with his family.

Vanessa suddenly slapped a hand to her forehead. She couldn’t believe she forgot to call Frank up to ask about the drug she’d found in Craig’s backpack the other day. She had been meaning to call him earlier but every time she lifted the receiver she would place it back immediately. She would never know what to say if Joe picked the phone up instead of Frank. And soon she had forgotten completely all about it. Vanessa looked at the pile of crumpled balls of paper littering the floor and then at the monitor. Then she looked at her phone.

Oh, what the hell. Guess I have to call him then, Vanessa thought. More than a little reluctantly, Vanessa reached out for the phone by her bed. I will have to speak to him sooner or later anyway. I can’t exactly avoid him forever.

"Hey, who left this on the doorstep?" Joe asked aloud, staring at the carefully wrapped box at his feet.

"Left what?" Frank stuck his head from the living room.

"I don’t know. It looks like, a birthday present or something."

"Does it say who it’s from?"

"No, I don’t see-Wait-" Joe knelt down and carefully lifted the box. It was surprisingly light. Frank was at first surprised when Joe didn’t bother to take any precaution with it, despite the fact that they both had for several times been victims of all kinds of dangerous and lethal living and non-living things disguised as mysterious packages, much like what Joe was holding now. But then he understood.

"It’s from Vanessa," Joe said slowly. He walked with the package back to the living room. In his hand was a neatly folded letter. Frank noticed the familiar signature at the bottom right-hand corner of the envelope.

Joe sat down on the couch and stared at the envelope in his hand.

"Aren’t you going to open it?" Frank couldn’t help feeling excited. At last Vanessa had come to her senses. Now he could only hope Joe was open-minded about it too.

Just then the phone rang.

"Frank, would you mind getting that?" Joe asked, giving his brother a sharp but meaningful look.

Frank shrugged and rose. After a little hesitation, he said, "Go easy on her, will you, Joe?"

Joe didn’t know how to answer to that so he just nodded.

After Frank had gone to answer the phone, Joe leaned down and reached for the package. Carefully, he ripped off the bits of cellophane tapes one by one. After the last bit of wrapping paper had been removed, Joe slowly lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a metal cylindrical canister.

Joe frowned. What could this be?

Before his mind could tell him to stop, Joe’s fingers were already enclosed around the lid. With a loud pop, the plastic cover toppled off and instantly billows of fumes hit Joe and he gasped. That was apparently a mistake as more sharp and pungent fumes seeped through his nose and mouth, burning his throat and attacking his lungs. The canister dropped from his hands and with a cry, Joe collapsed to his knees.

Steam billowed out of the canister and as Joe coughed violently, he struggled to clear his lungs but every breath he took stabbed him in his chest like a thousand knives. Frank, he thought dimly. Frank, help me.

As more invisible knives ravaged his lungs, Joe grabbed his chest weakly, and tried to breathe but he just couldn’t. The pain was so great it brought tears to his eyes. Slowly Joe’s body sank to the floor. Out the corner of his eyes, he dimly saw a clear liquid seeping from the fallen canister and Joe didn’t even have the strength to stifle his gasp. The liquid was eating away anything it touched. It was pure, concentrated acid. Acidic fumes were now attacking his lungs and Joe realized that he was going to die.

Just as he was about to lose consciousness, Joe could hear the sounds of running footsteps against the floorboard. Frank, he thought dizzily. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. Joe was no longer inhaling air into his lungs.

Then everything went black.