**Author's Note: I've written lots of stories, but this is my first on FictionPress. It's rather long so I hope you don't have a really, really short attention span, but we all have our moments. It's not a fluff story, but the people outside of fictionpress who have read have liked it and I hope you do too. Read and Review because otherwise I won't know if you like it. You can flame if you want, but you have to tell me in 25 words or more why it deserves your flame. Enjoy!**

Vials of Blood

It was pouring rain outside, yet the storm that was drenching Toronto was only warming up. The slow, rumbling thunder promised to ravage the city tonight. The people had places to go, things to do and people to see. A storm wasn't going to keep the people at home. Some were depending on that fact.

The anticipation of tonight was all but bursting inside him. He had waited for her so long. Longer than he had waited for any of the others. The small box was in his hand. He couldn't wait to see her face when he presented it to her. He couldn't help himself. Like so many other times that evening, he opened up the velvet black box and ran his fingers over the necklace. It was perfect, perfect for her.

He closed the box and continued his way down the street whistling. She was out right now working. He sighed with a slight frown on his face. She worked too much. That was okay though, that was how he first met her. The frown was replaced by a smile as he thought about that eventful night. She would never forget that night and just like she would never forget tonight's surprise. He walked up the steps to her house, used his key to get into the house and waited.

He couldn't sit still. He walked over to the framed pictures of her and her family or friends. He traced her jaw line in the picture. He knew Caitlin Foster would be the one when he first laid eyes on her. After tonight, she would be his. He smiled and went to the kitchen where he put out food for the cat.

Victoria Carter was in a lousy mood. She had a killer migraine from the hangover from hell. She wasn't even sure it had been worth it. She had just woken up next to a guy she didn't know, in a bedroom that wasn't hers. It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened. She never indulged in one-night stands. They made her feel cheap and dirty.

She certainly felt cheap and dirty now as she stumbled back to her house. She stopped at the top of the steps and fumbled around in her purse to find her keys. When she finally found them it took her three times before she was able to unlock the door and get in. She kicked off her heels to appease her aching feet. Was pretending to be a few inches taller really worth the abuse to her feet? She wondered.

When she stepped into the living room, her foot sunk into something squishy and wet. She muffled a curse and groped the wall for the light switch. She swore to Caitlin that she would throw the cat out on the street if it puked up all over the carpet one more time. The light flooded the room and a bloodcurdling scream escaped Victoria's throat as she lurched out of the room and out of the house before she vomited all over the front garden.

The police were there in a matter of minutes after the neighbor was able to get what happened from a hysterical Victoria and called them. The homicide detectives came soon afterwards. They only needed to look at the victim's neck to know they had a serial killer on their hands. The serial killer's M.O. was not only the necklace around the victim's neck holding the small vial of blood, but the way he killed them.

Both victims were found in their homes. Most people shared the disillusion that their home was safe and secure. It was believed that upon entering the home, the victims found nothing amiss only to discover once they were deeper into their homes that they were not alone. The killer grabbed them before they could react. The killer was rather violent, or so the bruises on the corpses had led the detectives to believe. There were bruises on the victim's neck, face, hips and on their inner thighs. A small cut was made just above the left breast where the killer extracted blood from, but the blood from the vial did not match that of the victim's. This was done while the victim was alive and probably still begging for her life or praying for help to arrive. He raped them, but used a Trojan condom which they deducted from the wrappers that were left at the scene. Then he would strangle them until they were unconscious and then stabbed them once in the throat. Stabbing was a passionate and personal fashion of killing.

They dusted the place for fingerprints. Of course, there wasn't any. Detectives Joss Martin and Margaret Gough were on the case. They scoured the apartment looking for clues. There was no sign of forced entry and not much of a struggle. Detective Gough looked at her partner. "Do you think he came in with her?"

"There was no sign of forced entry, but I don't think he came in here with her. Look, right here is where she dropped her bags. In the threshold of the living room," he replied.

"You think he was waiting for her. She came in and saw him, dropped her bags in surprise and then he got to her. If he was inside, then how did he get in? Let's take Miss Carter down to the station and ask her a few questions. Perhaps she could provide us with some much needed insight." Detective Martin nodded and was already out the door.

Weeks had passed by and the detectives were no closer to finding out who killed Caitlin Foster or Angeline Delacroix, victim number one. Two helpful tidbits of information had turned up. One was, though they didn't know where the blood from the vial around Angeline Delacroix's neck came from, forensics had matched the blood from Caitlin Foster's vial to Angeline Delacroix's blood. The second was that in each of the victim's home there was a picture frame with a missing picture. This was not left by the serial killer; it was more likely that he took a picture. It wasn't odd that a killer would take something for memorabilia. The picture taken from Angeline Delacroix's home had been on of her playing baseball back when she was in highschool.

It was just a feeling, but Detective Martin wanted to know everything there was to know about this picture. Perhaps there was something in the picture that would be the key in this investigation. He walked into the interrogation room where Victoria Carter was waiting for him. He had summoned her. Detective Gough was already sitting in the room.

He entered the room and sent Miss Carter a disarming smile. "Sorry to bother you, Miss Carter, we just need your help on something."

"You can call me Victoria. Caitlin was my friend. I'll do anything to get that bastard off the streets. That monster, he even had the gall to feed the cat! Probably while he waited for Caitlin to come home so he could kill her, he put out food for the cat," she exclaimed.

"I beg your pardon?" he questioned.

She sent him a quick guilty look. "I was supposed to feed the cat, but I was in a hurry and couldn't find the can opener. I got fed up and just left. If you guys are right and he killed her as soon as she came in, then he fed the cat because there was food put out for the cat."

Detective Martin made a mental note of that and returned to the business at hand. "We need your help with something that may be very well end up solving this case. We have a frame here picked up from your apartment. The picture is missing. We suspect that is was of Caitlin Foster. What we need is for you to tell us about this picture. It could help us if we figure why, out of all the pictures, he took this one."

"Of course. I'll try my best," Victoria replied solemnly. When she was shown the frame, she drew back and frowned.

"Is there something wrong?" Detective Gough questioned.

"Well, yeah," she replied. "That frame didn't have a picture of Caitlin. Before I moved in there, Caitlin lived with her older sister, Rene. That had a picture of Rene's bestfriend. Jean Summers, I think that was her name. The picture was pretty. We left it in there."

Detective Martin surged to his feet, heading toward the door. He turned back to face her. "One last question. Did Caitlin Foster like baseball?"

Victoria smiled sadly. "Are you kidding? She never missed a game. She used to play for her highschool team. She still had a T-shirt from way back in those days. Go Bucks."

Detective Martin left his partner to see Miss Carter off. He went to the radio and ordered any available cars to get their asses down to 66 Marster Drive. He was almost grateful Jean Summers was in the record for unpaid parking tickets. It only took him a second to find her address.

He was heading toward the front of the building so he could go to her place as well when a rookie officer stopped him. He was about rudely brush off the rookie when what the rookie was saying penetrated through his thoughts. "Sir, we just got a 9-1-1 call. The guy has struck again."

It was then the sense of doom afflicted him. "The address?" he asked, already knowing that he knew the answer and just sent squad cars rushing there.

"It is 66 Marster Drive, sir."

For a moment, Detective Martin considered holding his temper in check. He decided against it. "Damn it!" he screamed as he picked up a lamp off the desk that was within reach and smashed it against the floor. The entire station stilled. He glared at every one of them. "What the hell are you staring at? You aren't paid to gawk. Get back to work!" He strode out to go to the newest crime scene.

** I know, that's one long prologue, but bear with me. I wanted it just right. Note that the detectives do play an important role in the first bit of the story so that's why there is a lot of them in the beginning. I hope you aren't bored to tears yet. Please review and read more the next time I put up a chapter.**