David entered his studio apartment and locked the door behind him with a quiet sigh of frustration. It had been a long day at work, and his supervisor had told him to go home, but advised him that David was 'on-call'-meaning that his ass could be forcibly hauled back to work if deemed necessary. He dropped the suitcase in his desk chair as he pulled down his Murphy bed to see if he could catch some sleep.

This was a Spartan, spare apartment. Aside from the pictures of his children, there was not much in the way of decoration. Well, other than the half consumed bottle of whiskey, that is. A bottle of his depression meds hung out next to it. He undid his underarm holster and put it next to the bed. The slacks and dress shirt followed suit. Clad in boxers, he slid into bed with relief.

The glow of the streets illuminated his room, which included a TV and a small loveseat. A kitchenette served his basic needs. A small door led to his private bathroom. /Behold! My large domain! / He missed his family's house in Virginia, a large and comfortable abode. He missed his family, really. After his wife cheated on him, he filed for divorce. No matter how much she begged, he was not able to forgive her. They sold the house, Morena took the kids that weren't on their own, sons Cameron and Trent, and moved to Georgia. A month later, she married the man she cheated on him with. He wished her well, then moved up to New York City. He vowed to keep their relationship civil for their children's' sake.

His cell phone rang, he glanced at it and saw "MORENA LOVELL". His ex-wife. He answered the phone, "Hello, Morena. Are the kids ok?"

She sighed. "They're fine. I …uh….just need some money."

He sat up in bed and glowered. "I sent the child support money last week. And you need more? What in hell do you do with it, Morena?" This was not the first time she asked for additional money.

"I know. You've always been good about that. Erik spent too much and we need some to cover the mortgage." Morena sounded sheepish.

He sighed. "I sent the girls money for college and I need what's left to pay for my rent. I can't send any money this week. By the way, you need to stop letting Erik touch what's supposed to take care of our children. Do you want me to buy a prepaid credit card and put the money on that? So that he can't get to it?"

She became upset. "I'm not a child, David. I don't need to be treated like one."

"Well, you need to stop asking me for money when your new husband spends it all." David was getting frustrated with this situation. "For Christ's sake, I send you $2500 a month for them!"

Morena started to cry. "I made a mistake, David, by marrying him. He doesn't have a job and spends all our money on stupid shit. If I divorce him, he'll sue for alimony."

David rather uncharitably thought this was karma biting her on the ass, but kept that thought to himself. "Open up a new account with a new bank. Don't tell Erik. I think I can send some money next week. It won't be much, but you can buy groceries with it." David didn't want his children to go without food or utilities. "This is the last time I'll bail you out. You have to rein Erik in, somehow. If you can't, it might be cheaper to divorce him. I don't think he can make a claim on your child support." He made a mental note to start checking up on Erik Lovell. There were disadvantages to marrying the ex-wife of an FBI agent and incurring the curiosity of the aforementioned agent was one of those disadvantages.

"Thank you, David." Morena sounded like she was going to add something, but David told her that he needed to rest and hung up. He knew she regretted her choice to cheat and had a feeling she'd try to wiggle her way back to his good graces, which wasn't going to happen. He could forgive small stuff, but unfaithfulness—never.

/Maybe I need to find someone to have fun with, but I don't have time to date. / He worked 50 to 55 hours a week, then once a month flew down to Georgia to spend the weekend with his children. Sometimes his oldest son got leave from the Seals and spent the weekend with him. Other times, he went and visited his twin daughters in Pennsylvania where they were going to college. So there was no time to go out to and mingle, even if he wanted to. To tell the truth, David was not of a mind to date or even casually fuck around. He still felt raw over the dissolution of their marriage; he was a devout Catholic and he took such things seriously.

Zoloft and an occasional shot of alcohol helped to ease the rawness, which he knew was a contradiction to being Catholic, but he needed help sometimes. God understood.

He looked over at the bottle of Zoloft, opened it and popped a pill. It was prescribed to help him with his panic attacks and depression. It seemed to help. He still had panic attacks but they weren't as sharply fierce as before. He hated the feelings of severe anxiousness and the sensation of heart palpitations. Not pleasant or wanted. David knew he needed to see his psychiatrist again, as he wanted to eventually get off Zoloft. He would make an appointment in the morning.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep, for all of an hour. The phone rang and he cursed. A soft rustling of bedclothes ensued. "What the fuck now?" David grabbed his phone. "Crap. It's work."

"Agent Salvatore, I need you to go on assignment. There's been several murders at a church. The victims were a priest and some men we suspect were mafia. Can you get there in an hour? I'm sorry to have to pull you back into the field, but you're the only available agent that knows Italian. I'm not sure if it's needed, but since we're dealing with some Italian people, that might come in handy."

"Yeah, I'll be there in about an hour. I need to shower and shave." After that, they hung up and he put on his coffee maker while he hit the bathroom. /Why me? / He mused as he lathered up and relished the hot water as it chased the soap off his body. It didn't take him long to shave and he roughly pulled up a fresh set of boxers and pants. The shirt, tucked in, managed to make him look like professional. A tired one, but professional nonetheless. He put on a tie and his holster. After grabbing his mug of freshly brewed black coffee, he headed out the door.

The scene was crowded with police, reporters and distraught priests. Red and blue flashing lights stabbed him in the eye as a cop was putting up the yellow crime scene tape. He flashed his badge, the cop examined it, and the agent was ushered in.

David grimaced at the sight of the priest on the cross. /He must have pissed the wrong person off. I wonder what he did. / His eyes caught the man in the baptismal font, brain matter and gore splattered against the white vestments. /Nice. Real nice. / There were several other crumpled men lying on the floor like used up Kleenex.

The detective on the case caught sight of him and ambled over to David. The man was African-American and had a world weary expression. He appeared amiable enough, though David knew local law enforcement sometimes grumbled a bit when the Feds became involved. "I'm Agent David Salvatore from the FBI and we're taking a look at this case because of possible organized crime involvement."

"I'm Detective Larry Spader. Glad to have you on board. This is a very messy case. Reports of the priest being a pedophile are starting to come in; at least three boys have admitted that he touched them inappropriately. "Detective Spader shook his head. "If you want to talk to a victim, a boy by the name of Marc Simpson has volunteered. He's a wreck so be careful."

David said. "Later, certainly. I want to get a feel for the crime scene."

Spader continued." So there's motivation for his murder. We're not sure about the others. Maybe some rival Family offed everyone? But that doesn't jive with what we found in the basement. Inside a small room, there was a box that apparently contained a person. We found fingernails in the cover of the box, as if someone tried to claw their way out. In that room, black and auburn hairs have also been obtained, indicating at least two people were held. We'll do a DNA test on them and see if we can get a hit."

David studied the room. He let his mind see the whole picture before mentally dissecting it. Large boots left their marks on the floor. Pews were knocked over. Traces of blood He noticed an imprint of a small foot close to the impression of that boot. He moved closer and examined it. "I think this is from a woman; the size of the foot is smaller than the one of the boot." David waved a cop over and had her photograph both impressions. He noted the scattering of teeth along the floor and smears of crimson blood.

David thought for a moment as he put together the pieces of the puzzle. "So she stood here in clear view of the priest." He did not want to, but he moved closer to the dead man who still hung on the cross. /If the allegations about him were true, I'm glad he's gone. / "I wonder which person shot the priest." He turned to Detective Spader. "Any available video?"

At that, the detective nodded. He held up a CD. "Want to watch it with me?"

Together, they went down the hall and into what was a Sunday school room. Detective Spader popped it in the machine and they watched the mafia men come in with the priest, followed by a huge man who was clearly the Punisher.

Detective Spader proclaimed, "Holy fuck, that's Frank fucking Castle!"

David felt a queasy sensation in his stomach as he saw what Punisher did to everyone in the room. /I've seen video like this in the past and haven't ...been affected. / They watched Frank clean up and mop the floor with his vastly superior fighting skills. Both law enforcement officers were impressed.

David made a mental note that Frank seemed to be highly intelligent and entirely merciless. He'd heard stories, sure, but this was the first time he saw the man in action. The Punisher was a divisive figure himself, some agents thought he should be locked up forever but others chose to look the other way. David wasn't sure what to think. He just felt sorry for the man who lost so much in the war then at home. David, after seeing him in action, was fascinated by Frank Castle. Fascinated in the way that David wanted to learn more about him.

The CD showed a willowy woman sidle up to Frank and aim her gun-David thought it was a 1911-at the priest. The men saw the flash of the handgun and that was when they knew she killed the man. "So we're looking for two suspects. The Punisher and Busty St. Clair."

David did not think much of the Busty comment, but he considered the woman to be rather pretty. Her face was sculpted and divine, but he could see that she hadn't been eating well and her frame was thinner than it should be. A theory sprang to his mind. "Spader, I think she's the one that was in that coffin down below. Look at her. Possibly pale, hard to tell, but certainly malnourished. The Punisher probably saved her, let her go."

"Do you think she was molested down there?" It wasn't an idea that either of them wanted to contemplate, but it sure would account for the apparent anger and her desire to kill Father Peter.

The tall, handsome FBI agent mulled it over. "If she were, it wasn't by Father Peter. She's not his gender or age preference-she's young but not that young. I'm not ruling sexual assault out, however. Maybe one of the other priests did. I think it's time to go interview them. Then we'll check out the rest of the scene. I definitely want to see the 'coffin'."

After interviewing the other priests, all of whom were in shock that not only was this a violent crime scene, but that someone was being held in the basement of the church. David believed they were innocent but took silent offense that they never seemed to check that part of the basement out. If they had, most of the cruelty could have been averted.

Both Detective Spader and David were appalled at the conditions the unknown young woman was kept in. They noted the other bodies filling the small hallway and the savagery of the throat cutting. "I can't say as I blame the lady for doing what she did." They reviewed more footage of what was recorded downstairs, so they got the full story of what happened.

"I think she knew what was happening and that it's pre-emptive self-defense. If there is such a thing. But….if we catch her, she's going to have to go on trial and probably will spend some time in prison. She'll get a lighter sentence than if this was premeditated, but this sort of action can't be tolerated by the justice system. We have enough problems with vigilantes as it is. You know that, Spader." David sighed. He felt drained and he sat in a nearby chair, all strength threatening to leave him.

He glanced at his watch. Three thirty in the morning. Oh boy, oh joy. "How far away is your station? Would you mind if I slept in your barracks? I've been up and running for eighteen hours."

"Jesus Christ, they must work you like crazy in the Bureau. I'll drive you to the station. It's not far." Detective Spader led him to his car then they drove to the station, where David just managed to climb inside of a bed before falling asleep.