The stage door opened, and Kurt Hummel slipped out of the theatre unnoticed by people congregated there. His blue eyes glanced around, as if hoping someone would light up by the sight of him, recognize him, tell him how marvelous he had been tonight. But everyone was either chatting excitedly about the show or waiting, gazes fixed on the stage door, hoping one of the stars would appear soon, ready to dazzled them again before the evening was over.

Kurt might as well had been invisible. He was only in the ensemble, after all.

It wasn’t often that Kurt was bitter about the fact that he didn’t have a more important role. He had worked hard to get to where he was, and he was grateful to have a job that paid the bills while allowing him to do what he loved at the same time. But his thirtieth birthday had been the previous week, and he was starting to wonder whether he was a little too old to keep waiting for his big break. Did dreams have expiration dates? Was there a point where all you had left was to settle or give up?

And what would he do if he gave up? Kurt’s whole life had always revolved around being on stage. He didn’t know what else he could possibly do…

He was about to turn around the corner, when he heard the crowd gathered at stage door cheering and applauding. Mona and Brian must have come out. He didn’t look over his shoulder to check if he was right. He didn’t need to. He knew what it sounded like when a star showed up.

Kurt walked down Broadway towards Times Square, his hands jammed deep into his jeans pockets, with a slight frown on his face. He knew he had talent. Everyone knew he had enough drive to get what he wanted. Yet, for some reason, the big leading role that could give him everything he had ever dreamed was elusive, always out of reach. He couldn’t understand what he was doing wrong…

“Hey, Kurt! Where are you going?”

The voice startled him, making him stop and almost collide with a French family walking behind him trying to make sense of a huge map. Kurt blinked in confusion before he recognized his brother, standing at the entrance of the diner they had agreed to meet at after Kurt’s show. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he had missed Finn completely, something that was quite difficult to accomplish, considering Finn was the tallest man Kurt had ever met.

Kurt reached him and was immediately enveloped in a bear hug. Finn was always generous in his affections, and Kurt smiled against his shoulder as he accepted it. “Sorry, I guess I was distracted.”

Finn released him and then guided him inside, towards their favorite table. They sat across each other and Finn’s almond eyes settled on him. “Are you okay?”

Straight to the point. Kurt loved that about his brother. He shrugged and started playing with the salt shaker. “I guess. I’m just being stupid…”

“I’m sure you’re not. Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Finn leaned over the table, all his attention on his brother, and Kurt felt a rush of affection all through him.

Before he could say a word, though, the waitress arrived at their table to take their orders. Finn glanced at the menu quickly, trying to decide, but Kurt looked up at her and said: “I’d like a cheeseburger, please. With fries and onion rings.”

Finn arched an eyebrow, said he wanted the same, and waited for the waitress to be gone before he turned back to Kurt. “So something’s definitely wrong. You usually don’t eat greasy stuff. You keep saying you can’t gain weight or you won’t fit into your costume.”

Kurt groaned and let his head fall on his arms on top of the table. “Do you think I’m wasting my time on this show?”

“I thought you loved the show,” Finn commented.

Kurt peeked at him. “I do. I just feel like I’m not getting anywhere. I’m a chorus boy…”

“I thought you said it was called ensemble…”

“… and I’m not exactly a boy anymore, am I?” Kurt continued, ignoring Finn’s words. “I’m thirty. I’m already too old for some of the parts I always wanted to play…”

“You’re not old, that’s ridiculous,” Finn interjected, rolling his eyes. “You don’t look a day older than twenty five and you know it.”

The waitress left the food on the table between them, forcing Kurt to sit up. He sighed as he grabbed a French fry and popped it into his mouth.

“Are you sure work’s all that’s bothering you?” Finn asked, watching his brother closely. “I know it’s not exactly what you wanted, but at least you’re on Broadway, right? You used to say that was all you needed to be happy.”

“Maybe I was wrong,” Kurt replied quietly, staring at his burger as if it had all the answers. Finn seemed a little lost, unused to see Kurt so crestfallen, so Kurt decided to change the subject. “Anyway, how are you? Did you have training today?”

Finn probably couldn’t find something to say. He didn’t know what it was to be in his brother’s shoes. Kurt had had to fight for everything so hard all his life, and Finn, though he had had his own battles too, had achieved everything he had ever wanted.

Finn was currently a center in the New York Giants. Since he was young, Finn has worked his ass off to make a career in the football world. He had earned a scholarship, played for the Buckeyes during college, and transferred to New York a few years ago. Word on the street was that he was next in line to be quarterback. Kurt wouldn’t have been surprised if that happened within the next year – if there was one thing he and his brother had in common, it was their drive.

They chatted amicably for the rest of the meal, and then stayed silent as they waited for the check. They tried to get together for a meal at least once a month, more often if they could get away with it. Family was important to them, and it had been only the two of them for a few years now.

They stepped out of the restaurant and back into the ever busy New York street. Kurt was about to say goodbye when Finn clasped a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Look, I don’t know if what you’re going through now is some kind of insanely early midlife crisis, but if you’re not happy… then find something that makes you happy, man,” Finn said, smiling in that quirked way that was so loveable. “Life’s too short to be stuck in a job you’re not enjoying. If it makes you miserable…”

“It doesn’t make me miserable, per se…” Kurt muttered tiredly. “I just thought I would have gotten farther than the ensemble by now. But it seems that there aren’t any right parts for me anywhere…”

“Then why don’t you write them?” Finn said with a shrug, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “Didn’t Dad tell you the same thing when you were bummed about not landing a role in that high school musical?”

At the mention of their father, Kurt’s heart seemed to pound against his ribcage. It always did when he thought of him. But he shook his head. “I’m not a writer…”

“Kurt, if there’s anything I know for sure is that you can be whatever the hell you want to be. No one can stop you,” Finn answered, squeezing his shoulder one more time. “Just think about it.”

As Kurt watched his brother walk down the street, failing at getting lost in the crowd since he towered over all of them, he thought that he may not have found the job of his dreams yet, but he had certainly lucked out in the brother department.

He turned around and headed in the opposite direction, towards the subway station. Everything Finn had said seemed to keep him company on the ride home, echoing in his head as he tried to make sense of it. Could he write a show? Was he good enough for that? He had always been a creative enough person, but this was about more than being creative. He had enough connections in the industry to find people who could be interested in helping him bringing a show to life, but…

Kurt felt a tickle of excitement. Was he really considering this? He didn’t even know where to start…

He got down from the subway at his stop and climbed the stairs up to the street. His neighborhood was calm, the sidewalks pretty much deserted. Even if it was New York, it was Wednesday, and most people were home. Kurt was eager to get home, too. He wanted a shower, maybe a glass of wine before bed, and some quiet so he could think.

He was only two blocks from his building when he heard a choking sound, followed by a louder noise, like something heavy was dropped. Kurt frowned and looked around, and thought he saw a shadow moving in an alley just a few feet away.

Kurt had been a New Yorker for over a decade now. He knew that nothing good could be happening in an alley in the dark. He knew that what he had to do was keep walking, get to his building, and forget about it. He knew it could be a mugging, a drug addict, someone taking the trash out. He knew it was none of his business.

He fished his cellphone out of his pocket, tapped it to have some light, and peeked into the alley.

The first thing he saw was a pile of clothes thrown carelessly on the floor. That was almost enough to make him turn around – it wasn’t usual to find prostitutes in this neighborhood, but if that’s what this was, he didn’t want to walk into her doing her business. When he saw a pale, female foot just a few inches away from the clothes, he assumed he was right. But when he discovered the blood stains on the floor around the woman’s body, he realized he had just seen something a lot worse than someone having sex for money.

The still woman on the dirty floor was completely naked, her brunette hair fanned out around her head. Her gorgeous blue eyes were staring up at the New York sky, incapable of seeing anything anymore. Her lips were slightly parted, like she had just exhaled a breath. But the most horrifying thing was on her bare stomach – someone had cut a rough heart shape into her milky skin, and blood poured down her sides steadily.

Kurt’s legs seemed to give up under him, but he managed to catch himself with a hand against the wall. He gasped, horrified, only to find out he wasn’t the only person standing in the alleyway. The light coming from his cellphone fell on someone looking down at the woman’s lifeless body.

The man turned his head and looked at Kurt, who was staring back at him with wide, petrified eyes. Kurt couldn’t breathe, and somewhere in his numb state of sheer horror, he remembered some articles he had seen in the newspaper, that he had scanned vaguely while having his morning coffee, about the women who had appeared death, naked, with heart shapes carved into their skin like a morbid signature in an atrocious piece of art.

His stomach churned as he realized he had to get the hell away from there right now.

The man’s head quirked to the side as he regarded Kurt with interest. There was something manic and unpleasant about him, and Kurt couldn’t look away. When he tried to, his gaze shifted down, and he realized the man was aroused – aroused by the crime he had just committed, aroused by a dead girl’s body.

Kurt had never felt so sick in his life.

“Hello,” the man said in a low voice, as his lips stretched into a little smile. He was holding a knife, and Kurt took a deep breath to keep himself from passing out at the sight of it.

Kurt’s eyes shifted again towards the girl’s body, as if he expected her to get up and start running.

“Isn’t she pretty?” The man asked, with a sigh. “I think she’s a model.”

Kurt was shaking all over. He was mentally screaming at his legs to move, to get him out of there, but he was paralyzed. This couldn’t be real. This kind of thing didn’t happen in real life, not in his real life. Maybe he had fallen asleep on the subway ride home. He would wake up at the last stop and he would have to ride the train back. It wouldn’t be the first time…

Please, wake up, he told himself desperately.

“You look like a model too,” the man murmured thoughtfully, stepping closer. Kurt could feel his breath against his skin now. The man’s eyes were bloodshot and slimy green. “I really like your pretty brown hair and blue eyes…”

Kurt had felt trapped and scared a million times before. When he was a teenager, he had been terrorized by bigoted assholes who thought they were better than him. He had been pushed, insulted, spit on, tossed into dumpsters, attacked for who he was. But he had never felt as scared as he felt now – this wasn’t a stupid jock who projected his insecurities on Kurt. This was a maniac with a knife, who had just killed a person.

Despite knowing it was crazy, Kurt couldn’t shut down his survival instincts. He had learned to fight back so long ago that he couldn’t just stay there and let this insane person hurt him. He felt his body vibrate as if came back from the shock. His legs were now steady under him. He had to get out of here.

He pushed the man and turned to run back onto the sidewalk and towards his apartment. But the man was faster, and grabbed onto Kurt’s arm, pulling him back into the alley, pushing him farther inside. Kurt almost tripped with the girl’s leg, and forced himself not to look down at her.

The man was now standing right in the alley’s entrance, blocking Kurt. Kurt swallowed nervously and looked around. There wasn’t much there that could help him – a couple of dumpsters, a few garbage bags, nothing that would be useful to defend himself.

With a sickening smile, the man started approaching again. He knew Kurt was trapped. “Don’t be scared. There’s nothing to be scared of…”

Kurt’s back hit the alley wall. His free hand started feeling around for something, anything that could help him. “Stand back! Don’t touch me!”

The man extended a hand towards Kurt just as Kurt’s fingers closed around something. He didn’t know it was a bottle until he smashed it on the man’s head and watched the glass break on his skull with a crunch. But he didn’t stop to think – as soon as the man was doubled over, moaning in pain, Kurt ran.

By the time he was with one foot out of the alley, he was already dialing 911. His hands were shaking but he still managed it on the first try, doing his best not to listen to what the man was screaming at him from the dark. He heard the footsteps behind him that told him he was being followed. Kurt knew he wouldn’t make it home before the man caught him. He needed to try. He needed…

There was a phone booth at the end of the street. He knew it wasn’t the best place to hide, but it was his only option for now. He slipped inside and locked the door, breathing heavily. He could see the man now, just a few step away. He was smiling. He thought he had Kurt now.

There was another voice in his ear, and it took a moment for Kurt to realize there was a 911 operator talking to him. He sobbed and looked away from the man, knowing there was nowhere to hide. If the door gave in or the glass walls were broken, it would be the end.

“Please,” he cried desperately, gripping the phone so tightly that his knuckles were white. “Please, I need help.”

*

It was just a few minutes after midnight when Blaine Anderson slipped the key into his door and stepped inside his apartment in Brooklyn. It was the earliest he had been home in weeks. Things were always hectic at the office, and it was so easy to get sucked into the vortex of the cases and their paperwork.

He slipped out of his shoes and undid the knot of his tie simultaneously. His grey suit had been pristine when he put it on that morning. Now it was wrinkled, with a stain of coffee on one of the sleeves. Blaine had always been very neat who took care of his clothes and tried to look his best at all times. Now, it was difficult to look his best when he spent almost sixteen hours a day at work.

His dark curls had already slipped free from the gel he had put on this morning. He ran his fingers through them, loosening them, as he walked towards the kitchen. He looked into the fridge, hoping for something to eat. There was only a bowl of leftover spaghetti from three nights ago and something he had bought at the deli last week that looked quite dubious. He hadn’t been grocery shopping in weeks, and he usually lived on take-out. Blaine sighed and settled by grabbing a bottle of beer and walking barefoot towards the living room.

Most people, when they were at home, felt at ease. They relaxed, had a meal with their families, shared stories about their days, and went to sleep in the arms of the person they loved. Blaine dreaded his time at home – it was tainted with loneliness and too much silence. Maybe that was why he was always at the office, letting the bureau become his life. At least when he was working on a case, he had a purpose and something to keep him busy.

He uncapped his bottle and took a long sip, as he flipped through the channels on the television. He let a mindless sitcom play in the background while his mind wandered back to the case consuming his life. Blaine had been an FBI agent for almost eight years, but nothing had ever felt as challenging or life threatening as his current case. A sicko went around New York City killing women, stripping their clothes off and cutting heart shapes into their skin. There were eleven victims, and they still had no idea how to trap him. They never knew where or when he was going to strike next, and the guy seemed clever enough to leave absolutely no clues in the murder scenes.

It was driving Blaine crazy.

He let his head drop to the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. This was why he didn’t like going home – he couldn’t turn off his brain, even if he tried. At least if he stayed at work he didn’t feel like he was wasting his time.

His gaze shifted to a portrait standing on one of his bookshelves. It was of him and his family when he was a kid, during a camping trip. Both he and his brother had pestered their parents to take them camping, until they finally agreed. Their mother had hated every second of it, but their father had been relaxed and happy from the moment they arrived at the campsite. He gladly sat by the lake and taught Blaine how to fish, showing him how to put the bait on the hook very carefully so he wouldn’t prick his little fingers. At night, he and Cooper would put marshmallows on sticks and toast them on the fire, while their mother sang quietly under her breath to keep them entertained.

That had been one of the happiest times of Blaine’s life.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he had pushed the memory away from his thoughts. He tried focusing on whatever was on television, even though he knew it would be better to just go to sleep.

Blaine ran his thumb over the rim of the bottle. He was restless, as usual. There were several minor cases that needed his attention, but there was always one that would push to the front. It was the first time in Blaine’s career that he couldn’t solve a case in just a couple of months, tops. All the others had always screwed up at some point – they would find a hair, or a drop of blood, or a cigarette butt that would give them the DNA they needed to find the criminal, or they would find a surveillance video that would lead them to close the case. But this time… there wasn’t a single clue. It was like a puzzle where no pieces matched.

Blaine had never really liked puzzles.

He was about to give up and just go to bed when his cell phone rang. He fished it out of his slack’s pocket and glanced at the screen and found it was one of his teammates.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asked distractedly, already standing up and taking his bottle with him to the bedroom.

“Are you home already?” Santana asked without preambles.

Blaine put the bottle on the nightstand and rummaged through his dresser without bothering to turn on the light. He found some soft cotton pants and an old t-shirt and pulled them out to sleep in. “Yeah, just got here a few minutes ago. Why?”

“You have to get back here, Anderson,” Santana said, and then Blaine noticed something in her voice, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

Blaine frowned. “Why? What happened?”

“It happened again. He killed a girl in an alley in the Lower East Side.”

Blaine exhaled slowly and dropped down on the bed, as his whole body tensed with the news. “Fuck. Send me the address. I’ll be there soon.”

“No, you have to come to the office,” Santana replied and she sounded… excited?

“What? Why? I need to see the crime scene so I can…”

“Blaine,” Santana interrupted impatiently. “You have to come to the office.”

Blaine gripped the edge of the bed in anticipation. “Wait. Did you guys find anything?”

“No. Some guys are at the scene already, but they say everything looks the same as in all the others. There are no clues.”

“Then, why…?” Blaine began saying, but Santana cut him off.

“Blaine, there’s a witness.” Santana stopped for a few seconds, letting the information sink. “We have a fucking witness.”

Blaine stood up and left his room, quickly walking towards the front door. He gathered his shoes and put them back on hastily. They had never been able to find a witness before.

He slipped back into his jacket and ended the call. Blaine left his apartment, walking down the front steps two at a time. His street was as calm and silent as New York could ever be, but Blaine was thrumming inside – this could change everything.

*