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I suppose that I hadn't really expected this. Over the past ten years, I've been chasing the /her/ that I thought was a /him/, and I must say, I'm not quite sure I'm ready to come face to face. I'll admit, this woman was good, and it came as no surprise. After all, people across this glorious nation had come to call her the invisible killer. The name did her no justice in my opinion.

Every time, every time we had found the bodies, it was the same thing. They lay naked on the ground, face down, a single arrow in the back of the neck. She went to great lengths to keep the ten men from being identified, (Yes, men, a curious factor indeed,) cutting off their fingertips, and often deforming the faces, knocking out the teeth. The only ways we had of identifying them were simply by DNA evidence, and even then, it was rather difficult. In fact, if I recall correctly, only five of the men had been identified, and we could only find one link; they were all doctors.
As I walked down the halls of the station, I couldn't help but muse over the past ten years, the Hell they had been, what with all the sleepless nights. Stroking the stubble on my chin, I merely grunted as people greeted me, or congratulated me. "Good job, detective Miller," And all I could do was merely utter a small noise in response.
After all, I hadn't really met Annie Phillips yet. That was her name, it seemed, as I looked over the yellowing file in my hands. It was a file that was ten years old, yes, ten years. Ten murders, all sequential, one a year. It seemed that as we were hot on her trail, she disappeared once more into the normality of life. She was hard to track, and although primitive, her method of killing was far more difficult to distinguish. After all, one does not need a license or a serial number for a homemade bow and arrow. Fingerprints? Forget it, she was too smart to slip up, and left us with only teasing cloth fragments from gloves.
In fact, her capture had merely been a simple case of luck. Her latest victim, Dr. Brandon Millankas, had managed to call 9-1-1 on his cell phone, and hide it in his back pocket. Unfortunately, after tracing and finding the location of his phone, we were too late, and Annie had just shot the arrow as we arrived on the scene. She was apprehended and tossed into the back of a car, laughing as if this was merely a slap on the wrist.
Opening the door to the room she sat, I had to take in a soft breath and collect myself. I hadn't really talked to

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