It was another busy morning. Navigating the streets of New York required a special skill, born from habit and years of living in the city. Blaine Anderson made his way down the street, dark sunglasses perched on his nose, expertly avoiding tourists and New Yorkers alike.

It had been a very long night, and he had gone home for just two hours to shower and put on some clean clothes. Still, he didn’t mind the fatigue. He had never been closer to catching this son of a bitch. The excitement of the chase and finally having concrete evidence kept him functioning like a well-oiled machine.

This case had been his obsession for a long time now. The murderer always committed the perfect crime. He was careful and smart, and in less morbid circumstances, Blaine would have been impressed with how skillful he was. Criminals always slipped up – sometimes they didn’t know about one of the surveillance cameras, or they fled the scene so quickly that they left something behind, or they screwed up while trying to deactivate an alarm. There was always something – but in the time Blaine had been following this particular criminal, he hadn’t been able to find anything.

Until now.

Blaine walked into his favorite coffee shop and stood in line, waiting as patiently as he could. All he wanted was to be in his office already. He checked his phone, but he had no missed calls or messages from his team mates. The results from the facial recognition test should be arriving to his desk any minute now. He had no idea what they would find, but he hoped it would lead them somewhere.

He ordered his medium drip, immediately moving towards the end of the bar to wait for it. In his head, he couldn’t stop organizing and listing every single thing he knew about this case. It had been interesting from the beginning, and had only grown more and more urgent to solve as weeks and months went by. Blaine had worked in plenty of cases before, but this one… this one was special.

He couldn’t figure out why the man targeted the same type of woman every single time – women with brown hair and blue eyes. All of them had been naked when they were found, with those damn hearts carved somewhere in their bodies. He felt like there was a clue there, something he wasn’t seeing. Criminals who followed patterns, who always did something specific… those criminals were cheeky. They treated their crimes like they were games. They loved to see the FBI dancing around trying to figure out something they left there in plain sight. Those hearts, the removed clothes… they had to mean something. Blaine was frustrated because he had no idea what he was supposed to see.

Blaine thanked the barista who handed him his definitely-needed cup of coffee. He took a sip, not bothering to add cinnamon to it like he usually did, already making his way to the door. He needed to be in the bureau. It was going to be a long day, but Blaine hoped it would also be productive.

He stopped to hold the door open for a woman who was struggling with her baby twins' stroller, just as his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket, not recognizing the number. He accepted the call as he nodded to the woman, who was thanking him with a smile.

“Agent Anderson,” he said in way of greeting.

The first sound on the other end was a shaky breath and an echo of his own words. “Agent Anderson…”

Blaine frowned and stopped under a shop’s awning, slightly confused. The voice seemed familiar. “Yes?”

“It’s Kurt Hummel. I… we met last night,” the man said, unsure.

“Of course, Mr. Hummel. I remember. Is everything alright?” Blaine asked, suddenly alert.

Mr. Hummel exhaled sharply, and his voice was tinged with anxiety. “No. No, it’s not.”

“Tell me what happened,” Blaine said gently, already on edge.

“He was here. In my apartment,” Kurt explained. “I… he was in my home. He went through my stuff. He… he left one of those horrible red hearts in my bedroom.”

Blaine felt the hairs at the back of his neck raise. He patted his pockets in search of a pen and a piece of paper. He always carried some with him. “Give me your address.”

Kurt recited an address in the Lower East Side. Blaine wrote it down as he mentally calculated how long it would take him to get there.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Blaine promised, eyes scanning the street for a taxi.

“Please,” Kurt said a little desperately, and Blaine didn’t understand why his heart constricted in his chest at how scared the other man sounded.

On the drive to Mr. Hummel’s apartment, Blaine called the bureau. He explained what had happened and askedfor a team to search the place for evidence. It was extremely disturbing and odd that the killer had changed his pattern and broken into Kurt Hummel’s home. Blaine could only hope that he would have left some other clue that would lead the FBI to catching him sooner rather than later.

The taxi stopped on the curb in front of a renovated townhouse. Blaine checked the address quickly as he handed some money to the driver. He jogged to the front door and knocked, noticing the lock was broken, but the door was firmly closed. Mr. Hummel must have barricaded something against it to secure it. Blaine waited, letting one hand rest lightly on the gun at his side, just in case. It was always better to be prepared.

“Who is it?” Came a voice through the wooden door. Blaine recognized it.

“Mr. Hummel, it’s Agent Anderson!” He exclaimed, and raised his badge to the peephole.

The door opened immediately, preceded by a scraping sound, like something heavy was being moved, revealing Mr. Hummel. He was wearing the same clothes from the night before – the tight jeans, green button down and brown leather jacket. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were blown wide and obviously scared. He looked a lot more vulnerable than when he had been sitting in front of Blaine at the bureau.

“He was in my house,” Kurt muttered, as he held onto the door, his knuckles white. “How did he know where I live?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine answered, wishing he had a better answer to give him. “But we’ll figure it out. Can I come in?”

“Yes, please,” Kurt said, stepping aside.

Blaine entered the house. There was a heavy trunk right behind the door, which explained how Mr. Hummel had managed to close the door. The small living room and kitchen were a mess, broken mugs mixing with stabbed pillows and cracked picture frames. Mr. Hummel stayed by the door while Blaine took a look around, his arms around himself as if he needed a protective shield.

“You said he left a heart painted?” Blaine muttered.

Mr. Hummel nodded. “It’s in my bedroom.”

Blaine followed him to the master bedroom. The pillows were in shreds, and there was red paint dripping all over the white duvet. The heart painted right above the headboard was familiar to Blaine. He had seen it twelve times before – on every single one of this bastard’s victims.

Before Blaine could say anything, there was a loud knock coming from the living room. Santana’s voice rang through the apartment.

“Mr. Hummel? Anderson?”

“That’s my partner,” Blaine explained, as he left the bedroom quickly. Mr. Hummel followed.

Santana Lopez was a tall, stunning woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and some would even say, a dark soul. She was fierce and ruthless when it came to catching criminals, but Blaine had known her long enough now to know that it was only her work persona. When Santana was off-duty, even though she was still sarcastic and sharp, she was a much nicer person. Unless you made her angry…

“This is Agent Lopez,” Blaine introduced her. She entered the apartment, followed by Agent Hart and Agent Berry. “We’re going to need to search the apartment, see if we can find any evidence…”

“Do whatever you want, just tell me how he got here,” Mr. Hummel said. He still had his arms wrapped around himself. “How could he know this is where I live? I didn’t come here last night. I went straight to my brother’s. I don’t understand…”

Blaine exchanged a quick glance with Agent Berry. Rachel and Blaine were actually very good friends outside of work. She was a little intense, but she worked harder than anyone and Blaine knew he was lucky to have her on his team. Especially because she knew what he wanted to say without him needing to use his words.

“Mr. Hummel, why don’t you come with me?” She asked gently. “You can sit outside with me, get some fresh air. I have a few questions for you.”

“I don’t…” It looked like he wanted to protest, clearly realizing they wanted to get him out of the way. But he deflated, with a defeated look on his face. “Fine.” He followed Rachel outside just as two more agents arrived.

Blaine had the whole apartment searched carefully. He stood with Santana in the middle of the bedroom and stared at the wall. He frowned at the damn heart.

“How did he do it?” Blaine asked, mostly to himself. “How did he know this was his apartment?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Santana replied harshly. “This fucker must have more resources than we thought.”

“I don’t get it,” Blaine said quietly. He glanced at Santana, and she could see the concern on his face crystal clear. “He’s never changed his M.O. before. He’s never done anything unexpected. He goes after the same kind of women, he kills them, he carves hearts into them, and he leaves them there for us to find. Why would he go after him now? Why did he change his tune?”

Santana’s dark eyes fixed on the painting on the wall as if she could see right through it. “Because Hummel saw him. He’s our first witness. We never had anyone who could identify him before. So I guess now he wants to either scare Hummel into not talking…”

“… or make sure he can’t talk,” Blaine finished, with a heavy feeling settling on his chest.

“Remember what Hummel said in his statement last night?” Santana said, turning to look at Blaine. “The killer told him he had pretty blue eyes and pretty brown hair…”

Blaine exhaled heavily. “He fits the description of the victims. Even though he’s a man…”

“Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Santana took another look around the room. “But it’s one hell of a coincidence…” Her phone began ringing. She glanced at the screen before turning back to Blaine. “It’s my wife, I have to take this.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Blaine nodded distractedly. He had a lot to think about.

He left the bedroom and went back into the kitchen just as Kurt Hummel stepped back into the apartment, followed by Rachel. He looked impatient and worried.

“Have you found anything?” He asked, marching straight towards Blaine.

“Not yet,” Blaine replied. “Why don’t you go back outside with Rachel, sit in the van? Maybe we can get you some tea or coffee…”

“No, I don’t want tea,” he said. “I need to know what’s going on.”

One of the crime scene investigators walked up to Blaine, then, saving him from having to answer.

“Agent Castro, do you have anything for me?”

Castro shook his head. “Nothing here. It’s all clean. He left no trails.”

Blaine cursed under his breath. “Fine. Send the team to inspect the bedroom now, please. There has to be something somewhere.”

“He’s like a ghost,” Rachel said as she watched Castro head to the bedroom with the others. “How are we supposed to find a ghost?”

“He’s no ghost,” Kurt Hummel murmured. From where he was standing he could see into his bedroom, and his blue eyes were fixed on that horrible red heart. “Trust me. He’s a real man…”

“And we will find him,” Blaine assured him. The stunningly blue eyes snapped to him, and Blaine felt slightly dizzy for a moment. “No matter what. I promise you that.”

Mr. Hummel swallowed visibly, but he nodded as if he trusted Blaine’s word.

For some reason, the idea of disappointing this man sent a pang through Blaine’s body that made him feel uneasy.

*

As he waited for a group of strangers to finish going through all his stuff, Kurt sat in the FBI van with Agent Berry. He slowly sipped some of the same bad coffee he had had the night before.

“Is this going to take much longer?” He asked with a sigh. “I have to be at work in an hour.”

Agent Berry frowned. “Mr. Hummel… I don’t think you’ll be able to go to work today. It’s not safe.”

“What do you mean?” Kurt asked, worried. “You’ll catch him, right? This is going to be over soon.”

The sad, sorry smile Agent Berry directed at him didn’t give him much hope. “I think it would be best if you called in sick today. At least until we know for sure what our next step is.”

Kurt knew when something wasn’t worth fighting. And deep down, he knew the agent was right – the past few hours had been a nightmare and it still wasn’t over. There was a crazy man on the loose who somehow knew where he lived. What if he found out where Kurt worked, too? Kurt didn’t want any of his cast mates to be in danger. It would have been stupid of him to go to work.

“I just want things to go back to normal,” he murmured tiredly, as he took his phone out of his pocket to call the theatre.

Agent Berry placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “They will, soon. If someone can catch this guy, that’s Agent Anderson.”

Kurt gave her a little smile before dialing.

He told the director he had a fever, and that he was hoping he would be better by the next day. And Kurt truly believed everything would be over by the time he had to leave for the theatre for the show on Friday. He was convinced this was going to be resolved soon. He thought his life had been altered enough.

He had no idea how wrong he was.

*

A couple of hours later, Kurt sat at his kitchen table with Agent Anderson in front of him. Most of the agents had gone back to the bureau, but Agents Lopez and Berry were still there. Berry stood by the counter, a worried expression on her face, while Lopez paced around the living room, talking quickly into her phone. Kurt had no idea what was going on, but he didn’t like the mood that reigned in his apartment at the moment.

“We couldn’t find anything,” Agent Anderson said after a long pause. It looked like it had been hard for him to admit that to Kurt. “There’s nothing. He covered all his trails.”

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment before focusing again on the man sitting in front of him. “What does that mean?”

“It means that we have no idea where he is or what he’s planning to do next,” Agent Anderson replied as calmly as he could. “And that it’s not safe for you to stay here.”

“What? But… this is my home,” Kurt retorted, confused. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“You stayed with your brother last night, didn’t you?” Agent Anderson asked and waited for Kurt to confirm that with a nod. “I think it would be better if you stayed with him for a while. We’ll have two agents stationed at his building. We’ll make sure they’re there to protect you at all times until we catch this guy.”

“But you don’t know how long that would take…” Kurt said. When Anderson didn’t confirm or deny that, he laughed bitterly. “What am I supposed to do until then? I can’t lose my job. I can’t stay hidden with my brother forever. Why is this man after me? I am not… I thought he only went after women.”

“So did we,” Anderson replied. “But you saw him, Mr. Hummel. You’re our very first witness. No one else had ever seen him before. And we have that now. It won’t be long until we find him. We already sent his identikit to every news media in this city…”

Kurt hid his face in his hands. He was tired, in desperate need of food and a shower. Everything was so wrong. “Okay, then I guess…”

There was a loud pounding on the front door that startled all of them. Agent Lopez immediately dropped her phone and grabbed her gun, pointing it at the door. Agent Berry moved beside her quickly to back her up. Agent Anderson stood and went around the table to stand before Kurt, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his weapon at his side.

There was a second knock, so loud that made the newly fixed door shake in its frame, followed by a shout. “Kurt! Kurt, are you there?! God, please, please, open the door!”

Kurt stood up, pushing past Agent Anderson, who tried to stop him. “That’s my brother!”

Agent Anderson gestured for the others to lower their guns and followed Kurt to the door. “Let me, Mr. Hummel.”

Finn was still pounding on the door, more and more desperate with every second. When Agent Anderson finally opened it, he stood there frozen with his fist mid-air, and wide eyes that flew straight to the gun on the agent’s hands.

“Holy shit…” He said breathlessly.

Realizing there was no one else there but his brother, Kurt pushed past Anderson to get to him. “Finn… what’s going on?”

“What’s…? Dude, why is he pointing at me with a gun?” Finn said.

“I’m sorry for that. We have to take precautions,” Agent Anderson apologized, putting his weapon back in the holster. “These are Agents Lopez and Berry, and I’m Agent Anderson. We’re with the FBI.”

“Finn, he was here,” Kurt said, and now that his brother was here, he felt like he could let go a little. He clung to his arm for dear life. “That… that monster was in my home.”

“What?” Finn exclaimed, as his eyes went huge in shock. “He was here, too?”

Finn’s words made the blood running through Kurt’s veins turn into ice. The three agents stiffened, too. Kurt was about to ask him to clarify, but Agent Anderson was quicker.

“What do you mean, too?”

“He… he was in my apartment,” Finn explained, a little choked. “I mean… I assume it was him. I found this stuck to my door.”

He extracted a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. Kurt knew what he would find before Agent Anderson even had time to grab it: there was a red heart drawn in it.

Kurt looked up from the paper, speechless. His terrified blue eyes found Agent Anderson’s honey gaze. There was something hard and angry in it, like a fire trying to break to the surface.

“Change of plans,” he said. “I don’t think you can stay with your brother anymore, Mr. Hummel.”

Kurt’s grip on his brother’s arm was so strong that he was afraid he was cutting off his circulation. But he still couldn’t let go, and Finn didn’t seem to notice. When he spoke, his voice sounded rough and dry. “Then where the hell am I supposed to go?”

The three agents exchanged worried looks.

*