A/N: Kansas is a damn good band. Not because Supernatural is the only thing people relate this song to.
......[(( _ _ ))..zzzZZ(( _ _ ))..zzzZZ]......

POV RILEY:

"Hal! Hal! N-no don't blackout on me now! Hal!" I cry as my hand gently shakes his shoulder. I grit my teeth; this happened because of me. He got hurt because of me. My hands reach for my phone. Hal's blood makes me leave red finger prints on my screen as I dial 911. In the corner of my eye, the owner of the car jogs over to us.

"Yes Detective Swanso-" says a woman dispatcher.

"I need an ambulance ASAP! Our location is near the Uptown Bar Corner." I drop the call, not feeling up to speaking with the dispatcher. I bite my lips, watching the cars pass by us. I blink back tears, brush my fingers through Hal's red hair to feel the blood dripping from an open wound. My stomach drops at the sight of his twisted, broken form. An arm shouldn't bend like that. His breathing is in very short intervals.

"Goddamnit, I am so sorry! I didn't see you guys in time to stop the car quick enough," says a male voice. I forgot the car owner was standing there. I shake my head; I have to take responsibility for my reckless behavior. George warned me many times how I run off on my own without a limit. I... I almost had the Hangman in my grasps! I completely didn't lookout for my partner.

"It's not your fault. I'll have my higher ups file some compensation for damaging your car," I say without turning my gaze away from Hal. The man shifts on his feet, unsure with my words. He heads back to his car and leans against the trunk.

I can still see Hal's hazel eyes staring up at me through almost shut lids. I can't have him falling asleep on me. I have had my fair share of head injuries to know my partner has a high chance of a concussion. "Stay with me, man. Help's on the way, Hal," I softly say.

It wasn't long till the flashing lights and blaring sirens of an ambulance appears. Two patrol cars follow behind. They notice the diverted traffic in our lane and force their way through the halted cars. The back doors of the ambulance open up. Four EMTs pull out a stretcher and waste no time to carefully move Hal onto it. Officers come out of their cars and head over.

Everything else happened in a daze. I couldn't shake off the guilt of Hal getting hurt. The sickening thud of his body against the windshield is replayed in my mind. His crippled form laid out on the pavement is burned in my eyes. His blood stain my hands and white button-up. I tell myself silently, he'll survive this. Won't he?

"Sir, you should get yourself check up," says an officer, bringing me out of my self misery. I shake my head. No, I have no time for this. What I predicted about the Hangman is wrong at the cost of Hal's wellbeing. I had to redeem myself for that. "Sir?"

"No, I'm fine. This isn't my blood. I'll be taking my leave." And with that statement, I get up from my knees and walk towards the direction where my car is parked. This time I look both ways before crossing the street. Sigh.

The streetlights flicker above the sleek black exterior of the car. I reach into my pocket to discover my keys weren't where I left them. I pay my coat then my back pockets. I curse out loud, kicking the wheel. Hal has them! I let out a tired sigh while leaned against the car end.

"Need a ride?" sings a familiar female voice. I turn my attention to Mabel who's pulled up in her obnoxiously neon green truck. Her excuse for not changing the color is that the cheapest paint job here is crap and the paint coated on the truck is well done. The color makes me nauseous from glaring at it too long.

An eyebrow raised, I ask, "How did you know?"

"Saw the whole dramatic scene from my window. It's like something straight out of an action movie," she explains. I narrow my eyes at the bar owner before taking her offer. I hop into the passenger seat, closing the second-hand truck's fugly green door. She continues, "I handed your goose to your pals after you left the scene. The woman was scared straight. What did you guys do?"

I sigh for  the umpteenth of the week. Of course Hal was checking if Cassandra was okay. I had to jump the gun and chase the supposed "Hangman." I still believe it's him- it can't be anyone else but him. It matches Baker's description. But what if this is someone else? I did thought it was odd that the man resorted to forcing down the drugs on his victims and lynching them himself.

My forehead slams into the dashboard. I let my head rest against it, flinching at the dull pain. "Hey hey. No killing yourself in my car," Mabel jokes. I stare at her unamused. She shakes her head, "Alright, tell me where you want to go."

"The station. I need to read through the evidence we have on hand."

"You sure after what happened tonight?"

I don't respond and she nods to be stubborn decision. The drive to the UCPD building was silent between us with only the sound of car engines speeding by. She pulls up in the front, parking her car for me to get off. "I'll keep an eye on your car until you get your keys back. You owe me, Riley." I wave her away muttering 'yah's until that damned neons green truck drives away.

I enter the building with heavy legs. Tonight's adrenaline rush is now taking a toll. I stride through the first floor, not bothering to greet the lone receptionist. The elevator ride to my floor couldn't go any faster than I wanted. I tap my foot impatiently until the high ping slides open the doors. I briskly walk towards my office. Most of our guys are already back home. Only the emergency lights emit an eerie glow in the almost-dark floor.

I slam my office door open, throwing off my bloodstained coat onto my chair. I scoop up all the documents I have on the Hangman with some effort. The stack weighed more than a pound but that's from all the speculated idea that most reported hanged suicides might have a tie to our killer.

I head out to the main area where all the whiteboard stands are. After the hitting the light switches with my side, I drop the stack onto the wooden table. I wheel over the three whiteboards, grabbing the black expo marker. I write the known victims on the board.

-Annabelle Thorne, the first reported death that sent our whole division on this chase.
-Oliver Santana, no longer than a couple of hours he is found hanged in his dingy apartment.
-Jerry McFisher, family man found dead in the master bedroom of his house.

I separate those names from the two who survived the hooded man- or the Hangman if I want to argue.

-Kevin Baker, survived. Hospitalized.
-Cassandra O'Dale, survived....

I scribble down "arrested," for withholding evidence and possessing illegal substances. She's not getting off the hook for that. Kevin has a chance of being charged for similar offenses but with less of a sentence for complying with us. Lucky for Cassandra, she won't have to worry about dying if she's behind bars.

My previous idea was the Hangman is targeting former criminals in a specific year. In January, Annabelle was arrested for prostitution. Oliver was arrested for assault and battery but was released a week later because the other party didn't press charges. Jerry got arrested for his hit-and-run.  A month later Cassandra is arrested for possessing drugs

I skim through the papers in search for Kevin Baker's criminal record. I was not expecting him to be targeted before Cassandra but that proves I need to rethink at this theory of mine again. I pull out his and, just what I thought, the guy was also arrested in the same year. What throws me off is the month- his last arrest was in October of that year.

I scratch my head in frustration. So if it isn't the months, it has to be the year? It can't be a coincidence that his targets are arrested in the same year a decade ago. I can narrow down my list of speculated victims then.

It takes me a couple of hours to sort out reported hanged suicides who match the criminal record I'm looking for. The number drops from over a thousand to the hundreds then lastly to the tens. Thirteen people have been confirmed dead- who have also been arrested in the same year as the official Hangman's victims. What's most interesting that caught my eye is that these suicides have been written for this year in early spring.

I write my list of names onto the whiteboard. The marker squeaks at every streak it makes. The nauseating smell from the whiteboard marker didn't help my exhausted state. After a couple of more minutes I have all the eighteen names listed with the months they have been arrested on ten years ago. I scan my work, leaning on the edge of the table with a sigh.

I can definitely see some connection except Cassandra's off tangent arrest in February. I circle the months my gut is telling me to look further in. With that done, I pull out the records for those months and start writing down the remaining names not on the list. A total of twenty five- counting no repeats-people cover the whiteboards in dry erase marker. I mark a star next to the deceased, a question mark for "not enough info," and an arrow to the victims I know already.

January
Zachary P. Carver *
Samuel J. Pilocke ?
Nathan Jackson ?
Keith M. Winston *
Lawrence Frankson ?
Annabelle Thorne * <-
Oliver Santana * <-
Xavier A. Moore *
Jerry R. McFisher * <-
Dylan Alfafara *

June
Robert Lombardi *
Oliver Santana * <-
Antonio Vasquez *
Fiona C. Drew *
Nathan Jackson ?
Samuel J. Pilocke ?
Martin S. Sherman *
April May *
Miles E. Wright ?
Barry F. Deece *
Steven A. Rogers ?

October
Kevin Baker <-
Nathan Jackson ?
Ethan Jackson ?
Lorraine A. Delapeña *
Katie Weber *
Kira Tijerino ?
Adrian Figueroa *
Cassandra O'Dale <-
Samuel Pilocke ?

I sit in the seat across from the whiteboards. My hands brush over my face. I take out my smartphone; it reads 4am with red prints all over it. The bloody fingerprints of mine remind me of my huge mistake a few hours ago- of why I'm sitting here alone. I wonder how Hal is doing. I don't think I can visit him- I want to but I can't! He surely blames me for the accident. I won't argue with him if he decides to switch partners with someone else. I've messed up enough as it is.

I take a picture of the name-covered whiteboards and set the phone onto the wood. I blink back frustrated tears while turning my gaze to the moonlight passing through the large windows. I rest my head on a propped up arm. My mind is mush but I can see progress in cracking this case. Maybe coffee would keep me up while I find out the meaning behind the targets and their months. I'll have to ask Jenkins to investigate on the people I have little info on.

I feel my heavy eye lids shut for a moment. I pat the side of my face, telling myself to wake up. If a serial killer has no rest to his killing spree, why should an investigator rest when investigating? I hum to Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas. It fits my shitty mood right now. I blink a couple of times. Okay, a few minutes of shut eye won't hurt anyone.

I play the chorus of the song in my head. I silently agree to the first two lines. I can't help but agree with the first two lines. "There will be peace when we are done..." I mumble to myself out loud.

I'll I need is to make sure I'm on the right lead.

......[(( _ _ ))..zzzZZ(( _ _ ))..zzzZZ]......
A/N: Holy mother of god that list was an ass to make. I use mobile to write. If there is any facts wrong in the list please tell me (i.e. like "oh it's 27 not 25, can you even count m8?"). Vote & Comment if you'd like. Let me go bang my head on the table for a bit because of finals.