The days following the Nightmare's attempted murder on Ollie have been something of a stressed smear across for Alex- not unlike watching the blur of things while one sits in a car, looking forward but then slightly to the side. It's quite distressing for someone accustomed to being able to see so clearly usually. It doesn't help that her sleep has been severely lacking recently. It seems as though something jolts her awake just before she hits deep sleep, reaches REM, every evening. So she gets up and looks back over the case files, as though reading them for the thirteenth time, no, fourteenth, will help her to see something that she is missing. Really, she's read them so often that nothing can accomplished by her skimming again- hers are old eyes now, when it comes to what little information they have on this killer. So she stays up late at night, researching and fueling herself with reheated lo mein, eyes straining against the artificial light to find that detail she must have missed. This sleep deprivation shows in bags under her eyes, of course, but they are both hard to notice and easy to see. She has the tendency to become very involved in cases- it's difficult to judge when she's pushed herself too far into them.
But it's hard to help, when this one has shoved a knife through her core and twisted it around for good measure. Alex already has something of a problem with making cases personal, and it's even harder to avoid that when someone whom she views as a brother, not just a coworker, has been put in harms way because of this psychopath- this ghost, really. Blood samples that don't match anything the state, let alone county, has on records, bullet shells that can't seem to be traced. Considering how loudly they walk, one would think this killer would leave behind some sort of footprints. It's there. I'm just not seeing it, she tells herself.
Maybe there's been something, and I just haven't heard it yet, Alex thinks, uncharacteristically willing to try and delude herself a bit. Perhaps it is this bad feeling, a heavy shadow that ways an inexplicable metric ton sitting on her shoulders, but she feels as though perhaps something needs to be done. It dawns on her how senseless she's being. That's the problem, perhaps. She's too far in, staring at the tiny details with a microscope. Alex needs to take a step back. To reassess everything. So she puts on fresh clothing and heads out, walking she likes the feel of the air, despite the fact that it is polluted with the breath of a killer, somewhere out there.
She passes by several apartment buildings, and recalls one to be where Victor lives. Roxanne should be picking up Ollie, Jonathon is still at the office, and Scout is likely with her daughter. But Victor might be home, she thinks, stopping in front of the building. Maybe the forensics have only just found something. They did the sweep last night, after all, she thinks, inexplicably hopeful once more. Alex walks over to the number she believes to be his, and knocks. No response. The woman is about to leave, but the sound of footsteps is caught by trained ears. It isn't in her nature to immediately jump to worst case scenarios, but she twists at the doorknob anyway. If it's locked, it's fine- she imagined it.
The door swings open with little effort on her part. Alex takes a step in instinctively, only to catch herself staring at Victor, who has a gun pointing directly at her head. For a moment, she can merely blink, staring back at him. "You should lock your door. I'm glad you're keeping your gun on you, though," she says, slowly raising both hands just for good measure.