The darkness is thick like tar.

Inescapable.

It drips through her fingers.

Pools under her feet.

And brings relief...

* * *

“Tell me.”

“I don't know.”

Jiho shakes her head as she rushes into the kitchen and grabs a mug with steaming coffee. The bitter liquid burns her tongue and she hisses.

Standing in the kitchen's entrance, Yewon arches her eyebrow. “Tell me,” she repeats, arms crossed at her chest and a teasing smile on her lips.

Jiho rolls her eyes.

“I honestly don't know what I want for my birthday. It's the last thing on my mind, right now.” Her tone is harsher than she intends and she takes a breath to calm her nerves.

But Yewon doesn't take offense. She never does. Coming up to Jiho, she fixes the white collar of her button-up and smiles.

“It's your thirtieth birthday. It has to be something special.”

Jiho puts away her mug then stares into the warm eyes of her lover. “The best present would be to spend that day with you. Just the two of us. No bad guys, no bad news.”

A soft chuckle escapes Yewon's lips. “Sounds nice,” she says, but neither of them make any promises.

A police detective and a journalist – a disastrous combination, Jiho thinks. But they are a perfect match nonetheless. Because despite all the bad news, Yewon never loses her smile. And that smile is what gives Jiho strength to fight all the bad guys.

Like a light in the darkness, Yewon gives her hope and chases away her demons.

“It'll be a surprise then,” Yewon murmurs and pecks Jiho's lips.

The detective flares up a little. They have been together for six years but some things never change.

“I have to go,” she says with a pained smile.

Yewon nods. “Take care.”

Before she leaves, Jiho brushes a stray lock behind Yewon's ear with tenderness that catches the other girl off guard.

* * *

The late April morning is chilly and moist with heavy fog. Treading through tall grass, Jiho regrets not taking a warmer jacket instead of just a blazer. Catching a cold wouldn't be advisable now.

“The body was found by a local,” Jungkook pauses, scratching the back of his head with his pencil, “or rather his dog. The man says it's his usual spot for morning walks.”

Jiho acknowledges the young officer's words with a grim nod.

“He hadn't seen anyone else. Immediately called the police.”

They reach the yellow tape and Jiho ducks under it. Jungkook stays, looking unsure of what to do next. He's a novelty in their homicide investigation unit. Jiho thinks he has a potential, just sometimes lacks confidence.

Alone, she approaches the crime scene technician who snaps another photo of the body. The woman in her simple business attire, an office worker most surely, creates a stark contrast to the surrounding her nature. Lying on her stomach, she looks almost as though she just tripped and was about to stand up and continue her bizarre walk through the suburban wilderness.

However, her neatly shaved head indicates a much more cruel narrative.

“Same like with the two others,” Jungkook voices out her thoughts as he joins her after finding enough confidence to breach the yellow tape. “Death by strangulation and shaved off hair.”

Jiho crouches next to the woman and stares into her empty eyes. What was the last thing they'd seen? She wonders. A pair of equally empty, cold eyes?

“You think it's a serial killer?” Jungkook asks and she looks up at him as if surprised by his presence.

Glancing back at the victim, she remembers the two others, still fresh in her memory, one from the beginning of December, the other from the end of February. All in their mid-twenties. All with beautiful long hair that was shaved off. All strangled to death and dumped in the middle of nowhere.

Standing up, Jiho answers, “I'm afraid so.”

* * *

Another red pin on the map marks another found body. Jiho steps back from the board, squinting. In the labyrinth of colorful roads, she tries to make out a correct path. Some logical connection between the victims, their homes, or workplaces. But each time she arrives at a wall, ends up in the one way streets.

With a sigh, she leaves her office to get herself a cup of coffee. On her way back, Hyojung walks past her, throwing a rushed 'my office' over her shoulder. Startled, Jiho swallows a mouthful of the scalding drink, burning her lips and her tongue.

When she enters her boss's office, she is greeted by an unfamiliar face framed by a mane of short, wavy hair. The woman's dark eyes pierce Jiho in an instant like a sharp blade shoved under her rib. But there's some childish innocence to it as if it was just an unfortunate accident. A lollipop dangles from .

“I'm Bae Yoobin,” she says once she removes the candy from . “It's a pleasure to meet you detective.”

“U-hh, likewise,” Jiho mutters unsure and turns to Hyojung for help.

“Miss Bae is an FBI's profiler who has been invited to give a series of lectures at the University of Seoul. She's considered somewhat of a prodigy in her field and she agreed to help us with the case,” Hyojung provides from behind her desk and motions them to sit down.

“How did the media named him? The 'Samson killer'?” Yoobin chuckles and stares at her orange lollipop.

There's something unsettling about her amusement. Unsettling but infectious...

Jiho squirms in her seat.

“Shouldn't it be Delilah?” The profiler glances at Jiho with a shadow of a smile on her thin lips.

“Are you suggesting it's a woman?” Jiho counters.

Yoobin's smile grows wider. “Not at all. It's just that she was the one who cut Samson's hair, stripping him off his strength.”

“He forgave her though.”

“True.” Yoobin pops the lollipop back to .

Jiho blinks.

“I would prefer if the media didn't name him at all,” Hyojung cuts in, catching their attention. “The last thing we need is a serial killer with an idol status.” She casts Jiho a glance laced with apparent distrust.

Somewhat understandable but it annoys the detective nevertheless. Conflict of interests - that's how Hyojung once referred to her relationship with Yewon. She tightens her grip on the armrest at the memory, but catching Yoobin's curious stare, she relaxes.

“Anyway, we've wasted enough time. Hyejin is already waiting for you.”

* * *

The artificial light in the autopsy room irritates Jiho's eyes. She hates it. It reminds her too much of the hospitals. Hyejin's faint smile on her sunken face does little to alleviate her nerves. The forensic pathologist blends so well with the surrounding, Jiho has problems to imagine her outside this room.

“Kim Sohyun, twenty-six years old, an office worker,” Hyejin reads out from her clipboard and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “She was strangled to death, most probably with a wire. There are faint marks around her neck and bruises around her wrists and ankles. He must have bound her.”

“Any traces of ual assault?” Jiho inquires while Yoobin silently examines the victim's body from each angle as though looking for some missed out clues and hints.

Hyejin shakes her head. “No, there's none.”

“Maybe, it's the shaving,” Yoobin waves her palm, pointing to her own hair, “that gets him off.”

Neither Jiho nor Hyejin question that train of thought.

“How long has she been dead?” The profiler asks as she takes out a chocolate candy out of the pocket of her trousers. She offers one to Hyejin but the woman gives her an odd look. Yoobin shrugs and tries with Jiho. The detective feels oddly compelled to take it and does so, but saves it for later. Vaguely she remembers that candy to be her favorite.

“Approximately, twenty-four hours,” Hyejin finally answers.

“She went missing five days ago.” Jiho frowns.

“So he keeps them somewhere before he kills them,” Yoobin mumbles around the candy in . “The funny thing is, he doesn't seem to torture them.” Her lips stretch into a grin.

Jiho doesn't get what so funny and stifles her own smile.

* * *

The darkness spills further and further.

Until it stops under someone else's feet.

She can't see the face.

Hidden behind a curtain of long dark hair.

* * *

Jiho's eyes snap open and she comes face to face with Kim Sohyun. Her head resting next to the photo posing as its mirror reflection. She jerks back and almost falls of the chair.

“Bad dreams?” Yoobin asks, placing a cup of coffee beside the scattered photos.

The clock on the wall displays half past eleven. Yewon is probably sleeping already.

“Something like that.” Jiho takes a sip of the coffee and winces. Hot.

“Are you always so impatient to drink your coffee?” Yoobin asks amused.

Staring into the black liquid, Jiho shrugs.

Yoobin sits on a chair across and observes her - again. Despite working with each other for mere couple of hours, it has already become a habit. Jiho doesn't mind. To tell the truth, there's something comforting about Yoobin's eyes. As to what it is, she cannot quite tell.

“So have you found out anything yet?” the detective asks and puts aside her coffee.

Yoobin grins. “I have.”

* * *

It's a little after midnight when Jiho arrives at home. Quietly, she goes to the bathroom for a quick shower. In the mirror above the sink, she examines the scarred, coarse skin that covers her right arm from the elbow up to her shoulder. Tracing its jagged shape with her fingers, she wonders why Yewon never asks about it. Is she afraid of the answer? Or does she wait for her to tell her about it?

But it happened such a long time ago. And Jiho is no longer sure what is true and what is nothing but a distortion she created herself. Sometimes she isn't even sure whether she herself is real. Dreams blend with reality and memories fade away, pushed back to the dark recess of her mind. It's better for Yewon's light not to reveal them.

When Jiho slips under the warm covers, she feels a pair of hands wrap securely around her waist. She draws strength from them to face another day.

* * *

A faint light glimmers in the darkness.

It's thin and sharp.

Like a knife's blade...

* * *

“Our unsub is a male between twenty and thirty years old,” Yoobin says to the gathered police officers, giving them time to note all the important details. “He's mobile, owns a car, probably a van in which he transports his victims.” She flips the board over and reveals the victim's photos.

“He targets women in their mid-twenties with long, dark hair. Once he kills them, he shaves off the hair and, most probably, keeps it as his trophy. With each kill, he hones his skills. The first victim had her hair hastily cut with scissors. With the second and the third, he used a shaver and took his time.”

Jungkook raises his palm, a confused look on his face. “Why does he kidnap them before he kills them? Isn't that just an unnecessary hassle and risk to him? Especially, since he doesn't seem to torture them or them.”

Yoobin beams, eyes flickering with enthusiasm. “That's what so interesting about him. He seems to possess all the characteristics of an organized, controlling and violent killer. He carefully chooses his victims, kidnaps them, leaves no evidence behind but at the same time, he seems... guilty.”

“Guilty?” Jungkook arches his eyebrow.

“Look where he dumps his bodies.” Yoobin once again points to the photos. “In the woods, face partially to the ground. It's like he hides them but not quite. He wants us to find them but doesn't brag about them. And the fact that he keeps his victims for several days, without physically torturing them, before he strangles them might mean that he actually tries to fight his urges.”

“Yet he keeps on doing it,” the young officer scoffs.

“It's a futile battle, really. The need will only grow stronger with time,” Yoobin glances at Jiho in a strange attempt at non-verbal communication that fails completely.

Leaning against the wall, Jiho shifts her weight from one leg to another.

“It may also be a case of dissociative identity disorder,” Yoobin adds, turning to the police officers again. “A struggle between his good and bad persona.”

“Okay, but still, that's not much,” Jungkook states, tapping his pencil against his notebook. He finally starts showing his true colors, Jiho notes. “How are we supposed to find him based only on these information?”

Sitting down on her desk, Yoobin takes out a candy from the pocket of her suit.

“Interview the families and friends of the victims again,” she says as she unwraps the candy. “Recreate the victims' last seventy-two hours and look for men with big cars - taxi drivers, couriers, mailmen, food delivery guys. The victims were from different parts of the city, had different social status, didn't know each other and didn't frequent the same places. The only link between them is the killer himself. He came to them and he'll appear somewhere in those testimonies.”

* * *

Hands shoved into the pockets of her pants, Jiho approaches the profiler as she gathers her reports and photos.

“It's quite impressive, how you can tell so much based on so little.” There's no hidden envy in Jiho's words. She was never the one to be competitive about her job. Ambitious, yes, but she doesn't see much sense in rivalry between people who are supposed to work together toward the same goal.

“That's a nice change,” Yoobin chuckles lightly, reaching for her cup of hot chocolate. “In my line of work, I'm more often met with skepticism rather than admiration.”

“Why is that?”

“I guess people like to think that they are more complicated than they actually are,” the profiler says and takes a sip of her drink, hiding her smirk behind the rim of the cup.

Repeating those words in her mind, Jiho rounds the desk and approaches the board to once again take a look at the photos. She knows them by heart already. No feelings of sadness or remorse accompany her, just plain, old curiosity.

Yoobin is right, she decides.

“Do you think he does it because of something that happened in his childhood?”

Standing next to her, Yoobin nods. “Killers like him aren't born this way.” She glances at Jiho with her dark eyes.

A cold shiver slithers down Jiho's spine as she holds her breath, anticipating the next words.

“They are created.”

* * *

On their way to the exit something disturbs Jiho's line of vision on the TV screen in the common room as they pass by.

“Sunghee?” The name slips unaware from Jiho's lips.

She checks the time but the clock in the bottom right corner of the screen stubbornly insists it's twelve o'clock. If so, then why is Sunghee presenting the twelve o'clock news instead of Yewon?

“What happened?” Yoobin asks, but the detective ignores her as she takes out her phone, almost dropping it to the floor.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she chants under her breath after speed-dialing the only number she knows by heart. However, instead of Yewon's bright voice, she listens to the soulless 'the number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable'. She calls her friend next and finds out that Yewon hasn't shown at work today.

Panic rears its ugly head as Jiho barrels through the exit doors and rushes to her car. Her gut instincts are rarely wrong, but this time she hopes it's just the professional bias that got her stomach twisted in knots.

Yoobin enters the car without asking questions and somehow Jiho feels she doesn't need to explain anything.

* * *

There's buzzing inside Jiho's head - an irritating white noise. It dulls her senses and distorts perception. The empty bedroom feels uninviting but safe at the same time. She knows that beyond these four walls only darkness awaits her. But then Yoobin strides in with a laptop in her hands and just like that brings back the lost sense of familiarity.

The profiler picks up a chair, which Jiho sent flying across the room once they'd confirmed that the apartment is empty, and moves it beside a desk to take a seat. “Have you been ordering something through the Internet?”

“What?” Jiho blinks, barely registering Yoobin's words. She comes up to the profiler and looks over her shoulder. There's a confirmation e-mail about some delivery arriving today.

“Birthday present,” Jiho mutters although she wants to scream. “I have birthday tomorrow. She must have ordered a gift for me.”

Yoobin fishes a phone out of the pocket of her suit. “Mimi, run a quick search for me. Check which couriers work for jewellery.co.kr and whether the three victims ordered anything from the site choosing courier delivery.”

“Right on it!” A cheerful voice booms from the phone's speaker.

“Mimi?” Jiho mouths.

“Short for Mihyun,” Yoobin replies in the same silent manner.

Jiho arches an eyebrow and guesses it must be some colleague from the FBI.

“Jackpot! Two of the victims bought bracelets and one bought a necklace. Aaand hold on, yup, all three used the super fast courier option.”

“Do the dates of the deliveries overlap with their disappearances?”

“The first disappeared two days after while the others the day after they'd picked up their trinkets. And guess what? All three deliveries were made by the same guy, Son Junghyun.”

“Send me his address.”

“Done! Good luck Bi--”

Yoobin ends the call, grinning at Jiho. But the detective is far from sharing her enthusiasm and takes out her own phone.

“We need to tell Hyojung,” she states and is about to dial her boss's number when Yoobin grabs her wrist, stopping her.

“Why? So that she could pull you off the case?” The profiler tilts her head, bearing her teeth in a challenging smirk. Jiho tries to free her hand but only manages to pull the woman closer to herself.

“He accelerated, Jiho.” She feels Yoobin's hot breath against her lips and swallows thickly. “He didn't wait this time. He may also not keep her as long as the others.”

It's infuriating the way these thin lips curve up as if mocking but not quite. And the eyes - they her in like a bottomless void. She needs to get out. She needs Yewon back.

For a brief moment, Jiho closes her eyes and her hand goes limp.

“Let's go,” she mutters gravely and leaves the room in haste.

* * *

Drawings of long dark hair cover the walls, lay in stacks on a desk and litter the floor. Some of them are beautiful wavy tresses, others are just angry doodles of a four year old.

Clutching her gun, Jiho slams her fist against the desk and the papers scatter like a flock of startled ravens.

Yoobin doesn't even flinch.

“It's the mother.” The profiler comes up to her and shows her an old family photo. A woman, whose face is scratched off, embraces a little boy. Long, dark hair cascade down her shoulders.

“The hair reminds him of his mother. That's why he doesn't them,” Yoobin says pensively.

“He still kills them though and we still don't know where he is.” Jiho starts pacing around the room, running fingers through her hair. She feels like ripping them out of her head.

“If he doesn't keep them here, it means there must be a place of some greater importance to him.”

Jiho stops and exchanges a knowing look with Yoobin.

“His childhood home,” the words fall quietly from their lips.

Instantly, Yoobin makes another call. “Mimi, check where Son Junghyun lived when he was a child.”

“He moved a lot actually...”

“Okay, but one place where something important happened.”

“Like the death of his mother?”

* * *

The highway is relatively empty, making it easy for Jiho to maneuver between the cars while driving way over the speed limit.

“His mother hanged herself a year ago,” Yoobin reads from her laptop the files her friend had sent her. “She suffered from severe depression. Dad, an alcoholic, left them when Junghyun was ten. He must have felt betrayed by her when she left him just like his father did. That's why he feels some sort of compassion for his victims, but in the end, they all must be punished.”

“Then why he chooses such young girls?” Jiho asks as she takes a sharp turn and lands on a gravel, country road.

“She had him when she was only eighteen,” Yoobin replies unperturbed by the bumpy road. “At twenty-seven her illness began. He basically wants to remember his mother as this young beautiful and healthy woman.”

“With long, dark hair...”

* * *

On the outside the farmhouse looks abandoned with broken windows and blue paint peeling off its wooden walls. To its right, some distance away, stands a barn that looks like it's about to fall apart. An uncanny silence prevails over the area disturbed only by the whistling wind.

“Check the barn, I'll check the house,” Yoobin says, taking out her gun.

Jiho shifts her eyes between the two buildings in hesitance.

“It'll be faster like that. Go!” The profiler gives her a light shove and she finds herself running through the muddy field.

Anger surges within Jiho once she stands in the middle of the barn. It's empty. There's no reason for her to be here.

It doesn't make sense, she thinks as she rushes back to the house.

She enters the house and aims her gun at the floating dust. Carefully she looks around the old-fashioned, dimly lit interior, porcelain figurines and lacy napkins, when she hears quiet creaking sounds coming from the room above. She makes her way up the rickety stairs and opens the doors to the attic.

In the middle of an empty room sits a young man bound to a chair and gagged with a piece of cloth. Behind him stands Yoobin.

“I'm sorry,” her cold eyes shift to the body lying in the corner of the room, “I was too late.”

“No...”

The gun clatters down to the floor. Dazed, Jiho approaches the body and falls to her knees beside it. Gently, she turns it around and closes her eyes as the air is being knocked out of her lungs. Yewon's eyes are empty; the light, the warmth - it's all gone. And the darkness slowly pours from every corner of Jiho's mind.

“Hey.” A tentative touch against her coarse shoulder grounds her back in reality. Looking up, she finally understands what so comforting about Yoobin's eyes - their emptiness is alleviating, pleasantly numbing.

“Shhh, it's okay,” she murmurs, Jiho's cheek with her thumb. “I got you an early birthday present. Look.” She beckons with her head at the struggling man bound to the chair.

“Wha-t?” Jiho utters weakly, frowning when Yoobin slides a kitchen knife into her hand.

“Come on, Jiho,” Yoobin pleads, her voice laced with desperation. “You have to remember how good it felt to be free.”

“What are you talking about?” Jiho winces. Her head hurts, flickering with images of blood that doesn't makes sense but she keeps her grip firm around the knife's handle. It feels familiar in her palm.

“I know, I know.” Yoobin helps her to stand up and embraces her, whispering into her ear. “They've drugged you, told you to forget and even separated us, but I've never forgotten, Jiho. I've never forgotten.”

Something flickers, catching Jiho's attention. It's the light bouncing off the knife's edge. Just like in her dreams. And as she glances at Yewon lying still on the dusty floor, she thinks she no longer has a reason to keep disguising her memories for nightmares.

Gently, Jiho pushes away Yoobin and looks at her, seeing in her the girl from her dreams. With her fingers, she traces long, black tresses that suppose to fall over her shoulders but aren't there anymore.

“Binnie...?” The nickname falls from her lips, tasting of candy sweetness.

Yoobin beams. “Yes, it's me. It's your Binnie, the one with whom you always shared your candies.”

“You've killed my father,” Jiho says and although it's not an accusation, Binnie shakes her head.

“No, no, no we both did, remember? After he scarred you, he no longer wanted you so he took me. But you wouldn't let him hurt me,” she chuckles happily, leaning her forehead against Jiho's. “You grabbed a pan and hit him across his head, but it wasn't enough, so I took a knife and shoved it under his rib. And then you took it from me and kept stabbing him and the blood kept flowing and you looked so... beautiful. And it felt nice, right?”

Staring at her hands, Jiho remembers blood dripping through her fingers, washing away all the pain her father had caused her. Binnie is right, she once again decides. It felt good. Too good, in fact.

“I'm sorry I hadn't told you. I needed the real you first; the Jiho I know. Not that fake persona created by the shrinks,” Binnie murmurs and takes Jiho by her hands, leading her to the bound man. “But now we can be together again. And experience the same sweet relief...”

Eyes wide with panic and fear, the man keeps on struggling, his long hair flowing wildly across his face. A pitiful sight.

“You've found him first and he attacked you, knocking the gun out of your hands. You kept wrestling and you managed to punch his face,” Binnie says as she comes behind the man and unties him.

He lunges forward but Jiho lands a punch against his jaw and he falls to the ground. At the sound of cracking bone, both Binnie and Jiho inhale sharply.

“But he came back right at you, so you've reached for the knife..,” Binnie's voice trembles unlike Jiho's hands when she wordlessly fulfills her scenario. “And you slashed his cheek... and then stabbed his... stomach... and... yes...”

The blood drips and pools at Jiho's feet, bringing sweet relief...

* * *

Sitting on the porch, they admire the glowing moon hanging above the barn. Jiho wonders just how long it took her to run to the barn and back to the house. Too long, probably. But at least, it all makes sense now.

She glances at Binnie; there's a soft smile on her lips. Jiho remembers how the girl cradled her in her arms when the police came knocking on the doors. Not because she was scared, but because it felt right.

They should have never been separated, she thinks. But the doctors called their friendship 'harmful' and 'co-dependent'.

Idiots.

As though reading her mind, Binnie laughs under her breath.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I knew we were different,” she says as she stares into distance. “I felt it and I was certain you felt it too. I've become this,” she makes a vague gesture with her hand, “because I hoped it would help me find you faster. And it did, just in a different way that I'd imagined.”

Hearing the reason behind her amusement, Jiho smiles as well. She knows it was thanks to Yewon that she and Binnie didn't find each other on the opposite sides of the conflict. But now that Yewon's light is gone and darkness shrouds her mind like a thick veil, she knows she will seek relief again, and again, and again...

A faint sound of police sirens echoes in the distance, interrupting her thoughts.

“I'll testify you had no choice.” Binnie takes out a lollipop out of the pocket of her suit and unwraps it. “They'll do some tests, interviews, nothing you aren't familiar with. I'll tell you what to say.”

Jiho nods wordlessly.

“I'm sorry I couldn't stop him,” Binnie adds as an afterthought.

The lie elicits a soft chuckle from Jiho.

“No, you'd done alright.” Binnie looks at her, caught off guard when Jiho takes her lollipop and gives it a . “He deserved it, just like my father did.” She puts the lollipop back into Binnie's mouth and stands up to step down from the porch.

“But we need to be more careful next time,” she says, looking over her shoulder at Binnie when the first police car arrives at the scene.

A/N: This didn't come out as I initially intended. I guess it's much darker than I planned it to be. Nonetheless, I'm glad I've finally got this story out of my system, since I'd come up with this idea a long time ago. And it's actually the first proper one-shot I have ever written, so yay me.

Anyway, some things in the story are left vague on purpose, others are hinted. And the ending itself is open, so it's up to you how the story ends for those two. But if you have any questions, feel free to ask me and I'll try to answer them.