"It's pizza time!"

While the teens cheered for Russell, Connor glanced at his mother with a mild frown. But at that exact moment, the bell rang and Connor's frown was replaced by a grin. Gillian stopped him when he hurried to the front door.

"Let me, son," she said, and winked at his scowl. "You don't wanna look so anxious, right?"

The boy narrowed his eyes, then shrugged and headed back to the backyard.

Gillian opened the door and felt a chill when she found Brock there with Andrea. Dammit. He wasn't supposed to get out of his car! She turned to the girl and her bright smile.

"Hey, there, Andrea!" she greeted.

"Reg!"

Andrea's hug took her aback, but she hugged the girl back, laughing with her.

The girl showed her a CD wrapped in a colorful paper. "I got it! Two Steps From Hell's last album!" she said, radiant.

"Oh, great!" Gillian invited her in. "They're in the backyard. You know the way."

Andrea kissed Brock's cheek and hurried in. Gillian turned to him.

"Thanks for having my daughter, Gillian," he said.

"Oh, please, sir. Don't even mention it," she replied, keeping her smile in place.

Brock waited for her to say something more--like inviting him in too. But she didn't. So he asked, "What time should I pick her up?"

"Don't worry about that, sir. I can give'er the ride home. Or Russell, if you don't want her back so late."

Brock nodded, blank scowl on. Gillian met his eyes. Damn, damn, damn. She wanted to grab his arm and yank him in, share that evening with him. But she needed him away.

He scowled a little deeper. What was off? Gillian looked like biting her tongue not to tell him something. But she just held his eyes, almost apologetic. So he nodded again. "Okay, thanks. Goodnight, Gillian."

"Goodnight, sir."

Brock turned around and walked away, back to his car. Jeez. How she hated it, seeing his back. She hated watching him walk away. She would've given anything to run after him, stop him, ask him to stay.

He got into his car, started the engine and drove away without a single glance at her. He had a glimpse of her figure at the doorway, watching him. She hadn't even suggested him to stay. And it was only natural, come to think about it. They were not friends, so why would she invite him to her son's birthday? Why did he expect her to? Yet there was something else. The way she'd looked at him. As if she wanted him to come in, but couldn't tell him so. Yeah, sure, Brockner. She couldn't.

Gillian let out a heartfelt sigh when Brock's taillights turned around the corner. She closed the door and turned around, to see Banks and Taylor coming.

"The wolves are feasting. Russell and Aldana have the wheel," Banks said.

She needed a deep breathe to focus, then signaled Taylor to close the door to the family room. Banks handed her a beer and a folder. She took both and went to sit in the couch.

She didn't want to open the folder. She didn't want to see any of this. But she had to. So she did. Banks and Taylor sat around her as she took two paper sheets preserved in plastic bags as evidence. Both of them had an underlined omega painted in rough strokes of red. Her mind darted away to Brock, driving alone down the dark streets.

"So, what d'you have?" she asked.

"Pretty much nothing," Banks grunted. "They're painted in human blood, but the DNA isn't in our systems. I brought a copy of the tests, so you can run them in the federal database."

"They were sent to our precinct and to Frank Muller," said Taylor.

Gillian looked up at them, narrowing her eyes at that name. "The journalist?"

"Yep. The same who covered the Libra's spree here, back in 2006, and published a book about it," said Banks.

"So the precinct assigned to the case and the journalist who wrote about it," said Gillian. "What about the dates? Did they send these messages at some date related to any event of the spree?"

Taylor shook his head, frustrated. "No. I talked to Muller. He searched a lot of information on the Libra for his chronicles, you know. As far as he knows, nothing happened on these dates. Not here, nor during any of the Libra's sprees in other states."

"So there's no telling what they mean or what we can expect next," added Banks, just as frustrated.

Thinking of Brock made Gillian think of DC. "There was this real-crime writer in DC who published a book about the Libra a couple of years ago," she said.

Banks nodded. "Arthur Somerville," he replied. "It was his last book. He's retired now."

She could sense Banks' bitterness. All of this was like sticking a knife in the wound that Andrew Lloyd's death had left. Another bleeding wound left behind by the Libra. She knew he felt they could've prevented Lloyd's death, had they been assigned to the case back then.

"I'm going to DC tomorrow," she said, meeting Banks' eyes. "I can contact Somerville and see what he can tell me about this."

Taylor raised his eyebrows. "That could do."

Banks snorted. He only wanted a clear hint to nail the bastards that were playing to bring the Libra back to life.

Gillian leaned forward to press his hand, and waited for him to meet her eyes. "We'll get'em, Bob," she said. "Let me get rid of this stupid Ghost and I'll use every resource I have access to, so we can figure who's behind this."

Banks breathed in deep and nodded with a quick grimace.

The door opened and Russell came in. "Reg, they're waiting for you to toast."

Gillian stood up, forcing a smile, and tugged at Banks' hand. "C'mon. It's my son's first legal beer, we gotta be there."

Taylor reached the folder she left on the couch, but before he closed it, Russell spotted one of the messages.

He turned to Gillian with a questioning scowl. "Reg...?"

She shook her head. "Not now, Russ. It's Connor's night. I'll tell you everything about it tomorrow."

.

Keep reading the next episode: BLACKBIRD 18 - the mirror