Of Course, Nothing Is To Good For The. . .

What, exactly? You'd been avoiding the news as much as your perverse fascination would allow- had they given him a name? Probably something low brow and trashy, meant to sell newspapers and little else. With that in mind you weren't entirely sure you wanted to hear it. Ms. Jackson would be walking in the door in half-an-hour after you got home, and you almost were relieved that Ingrid had not opted to surprise you.

Heh, almost. Most of you wants her body underneath you again. Familiar stirrings begin in your loins as you gets one simple phone call. Ingrid. Hmm. . .

"Jon?" she asked more from habit then anything. The background noise suggests she's in her car, stuck in traffic.

"Hey, how's it going?"

"I missed you baby, I really did."

Heh, were you and her actually reconciling? The possibility wasn't impossible maybe, but really out there.

"How was your work?" she asked first, small talk of course.

"Meh, some mathematician buddies of mine got back to me- heh, looks like the hyper-pyramid idea is considered on par with string theory."

"Isn't that good?"

"Not really, physics theories have to be testable- the math works in string theory but no tests can be done. What about your work?"

". . .Jon, can I get a promise from you? You can't say anything I'm about to say to anyone."

You pause for a moment, she doesn't say that often. As a TV news reporter, it's her job to do the opposite in fact.

"Okay, I promise."

"Have you heard what's new about the rapes?"

What? She doesn't mean. . .

"That's still making headlines?" you ask, a bit surprised- or maybe just hopeful that it would die down on it's own.

"Jon, the police confirmed that there's a local serial ****. That's huge, there's Criminal Profilers that want to weigh in on this case."

What?

"Really? Not to belittle what's happened to the victims- but why are they so interested in this particular case?"

"They're saying serial **** tend to stick to a single age group, rarely deviating by more then a few years if they can help it, and tend to stick to a narrow racial profile, almost always their own. This guy attacked a 34 year old Hispanic woman, then a 28 year old Asian woman, then a 20 year old Caucasian woman. They're saying a spread like that almost never happens."

"So he really is attacking at random?" you ask, feigning ignorance very well.

"Not quite, there is one thing every victim had in common. All of them were married when they were ****. We're calling him The Wedding Bells **** around the office, we'll start using it on air soon."

The Wedding Bells ****, eh? Got to admit, it's better then you thought it would be.

"And Jon?" she asks, continuing and sounding less sure of herself.

"Yes?"

"It's not that I don't empathize with the victims, but I've read the reports and. . .well, remember that key I gave you just in case Friday needs you?"

No way, that can't be what she's asking for.

"Yes?"

"Could you use that some point next week, Friday is usually asleep by midnight, to. . .um?"

"Roleplay?"

"Yes,"

"As the Wedding Bells ****?"

"Yeah."

Heh, she has no idea what she just asked. Mental note, however many names Ms. Jackson gives, add one more. . .