The beginning.
There was a runner on a deserted stretch of road. Just jogging in the wee hours of the morning, alone. Just her and the road, all that could be heard was the forest and the crunch of gravel under feet. Suddenly just forest was heard. The runner was gone. The killer had struck again… Three weeks later, an investigation was started. It ended much like it began. With more questions than answers. The family held a memorial, the residents of the small town of Greensboro went.
After a while, people moved on to other things, and she was gone but not forgotten. Her file was put with others like it. Cases where the trail had gone dark, or just couldn’t even be found. There was a pattern, yet to be seen by the cops. Girls out alone, in the wee hours of the morning, seemingly disappearing. Out of existence, into memory. And the killer was glad. For he had work to do yet. His love was waiting, and soon she too would join the others.
F.B.I. analyst Agnus Perkins is daydreaming at her desk, when the phone rings. Her boss is standing over her, a stern expression written all over his face. "Awake are we, Ms. Perkins" he asked? She lifted her head and bleary nodded. Wiping her eyes, she stands up. "Good. They're ready for you in the conference room. Oh, and don't screw up this time!" Mr. Bones walks off, presumably to harass some other poor schmuck.
She gathers her files and as she's walking to the conference room, she sees it. The break room tv. She stops to watch. The tv was on mute, so she sets her files down and grabs the remote. What she saw and heard, horrified her beyond belief. 'The church of Greensboro was officially under investigation for hiding an underage sex trafficking ring.' She remembered that town!
She grabbed her files, and went into the conference room. As she made her case, she kept wondering. Going back to that small town, reliving the past. She couldn't believe it, how such a well respected pillar of the community... "Is there something on your mind Ms. Perkins," Davis asked? Perkins nodded and then said, "I wish to be assigned to the Whitlowe case. Sir." Mr. Davis asked her why, and when she gave her reasoning, he simply nodded.
"It is done," he said. Now Mr. Davis, mind you, wasn't just your average headhunter of a F.B.I. corner office. He was THE F.B.I. corner office, the bossman of the region. As area supervisor of district 12, zone 5, he had all the power he needed to put people in their place. So when word got out, that he had assigned her a case. She was accorded all the respect and tools she needed. Which is to say none at all. She was on her own on this one. Going home, well home was subjective in this case, seeing as Greensboro was never a home to her. She sighed, and left the office to pack her bags.
