“He got away?” Martin asked as he sat on the gurney in the morgue.

“He was chased to a bridge where he jumped into the river,” Agent Surman said. “By the time we got divers into the river, the body was nowhere to be found. We had dozens of NYPD rush down to the waterfront, but no one saw anyone crawling out of the river.”

Martin shook his head. “We'll have to keep Mrs. Moore in custody. We don't want him taking another shot at her if he finds out she wasn't killed.”

After a lot of paperwork, Martin went home.

Carrie was asleep on the sofa. Martin sat down next to her and she woke up immediately. “Oh, god, Martin, I heard you were shot.”

“Right between the eyes. I didn't even feel it. I felt light-headed for a second and then I was in the morgue.”

“That must have been scary.”

“Well, I knew it was a possibility when we made our plans. The real difference being I knew it wouldn't be permanent.”

“I wish I could have seen you in your dress.”

“I'm sure it's covered with blood somewhere at the morgue.”

* * *

“Tell me, Martin,” Jimenez said as Martin sat down. “I looked at the plan for the other night's op and I have a nagging suspicion.”

Martin said nothing.

“You got yourself killed so you could see what it was like to wake up in the morgue, didn't you?”

“I did.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“We have no idea who this guy is. He must like the part where he gets killed for some reason. Can't say waking up in the morgue did anything for me. But then I wasn't being chased. But have you noticed he hasn't killed any cops? He gets chased. He has plenty of opportunity to kill those chasing him. He does sometimes fire his gun but he never comes close to hitting anyone. I get the feeling it's his own deaths that he is seeking. Sick as it may sound. He might be killing people for his own death experience.”

“That was still no reason to put a bunch of officers in danger to test a theory.”

“No one was in danger. Tenefly and I were Venned. We couldn't really be killed. Everyone else was staking out the gala event that we never made it to.”

Martin left the director's office and made his way to his task force's situation room. On the big screen was a picture of Mrs. Moore, presumably Martin actually, wearing the beautiful dress he was wearing the day before. A few of the men catcalled as he entered.

“Okay, get it out of you systems or I'll report you to HR.”

“Sir,” one of the agents said. “We found a public cam of someone climbing out of the river around 3 AM last night. But the image is grainy and poorly lit.” The image of a man mostly in shadow replaced the image of Mrs. Moore on the big screen. “We sent it to the lab to see if they can clean it up some more. From what I can see here, we might have a lead telling us the assassin is a Caucasian man of medium height and indeterminate age.”

“Well, that's more than we had yesterday, assuming this is our guy. Did we learn anything else last night?”

Another agent said, “Well, we know the perp is willing to improvise. According to Mr. Moore, his wife was supposed to be killed at the gala. But the perp shot you outside their apartment building. Why would he have gone off script?”

“Well, we don't know how close to the so-called script he worked for the other murders since we haven't arrested anyone for commissioning those attacks,” said another agent.

“Maybe we should,” Martin said. “We have two suspects who deposited money into an account that Moore also deposited money. So we now can bring them in to see if they'll talk.”

Over the course of a few days, the agents discovered that the other two murders were carried out exactly as expected. Further discussion with one of them told them the assassin had a requirement that they check in with him 24 hours before the assassination. Mr. Moore had been prevented from doing that.

“Why didn't you tell us about the 24 hour check in?”

“I thought if I missed it, he would call off the attack.”

“And if Mrs. Moore never got killed we'd have to let you go.”

Mr. Moore just nodded.

As that day was ending, an agent got Martin's attention. “Sir, I was monitoring the city morgues and apparently last night, another body disappeared. They found out the records department had also been searched by someone who managed to get inside. They stole the records for Mrs. Moore, er.. your records.”

Another agent had security footage running on the main screen, “This is probably our man.”

“He's wearing a ski-mask and gloves!” The image showed a man roll off a gurney already wearing a ski-mask. Through various camera angles, he is seen sneaking into the records department and then leaving the building with a file.

“So he goes into a Venn machine wearing a ski-mask.”

“Or puts it on in the machine.”

“More likely, yes. Then gets himself killed.”

“This man was a John Doe, no identification papers, who was hit by a city bus.”

“Not a painless way to die.”

“But efficient.”

“And then when the Venn wears off, he just pops into the records room and makes off with the information he wants.”

“Why does he want Mrs. Moore's information?”

“There was no media coverage of her death or near death experience. Maybe he just wanted to know if he was finished with his task.”

“Well, let's get the morgues to treat all the John Does and suspicious deaths as  potential criminals and keep those bodies handcuffed to their gurneys.”

“It's strangely similar to a zombie problem.”

“At least this one doesn't eat brains.”

* * *

A few weeks passed without a peep from the gunman. No more unexplained murders. No more mysteriously ambulatory corpses.

“Martin, I need to reassign some of your task force. If the gunman shows up again, we can always reassemble it. But right now they're just sitting around hoping the bogeyman shows up.”

“I agree, Paul,” he said to Jimenez. “We've had no progress at all this past few weeks. At least no one's died from this guy in that time.”

“That we know of.”

Martin finished the day recommending agents for reassignment. Keeping only two of them around to keep watch of the city's Venn machines and any weirdness at the morgues.

When Martin got home, Carrie greeted him with a frown, “Sorry you didn't get your man.”

“It happens. If he turns up again, I'll get the case back.”

“What if he shows up in a city far away?”

“Then I'll be reassigned to that city for the duration. We've had this happen before.”

“I know,” she said finishing dinner prep. “Does this mean we can have some fun this weekend?”

“I suppose it does.”

“Good. Meet me at the mall on Friday right after work. I want the whole weekend to be spent Venned.”

Friday Martin arrived at the mall. He had changed into casual clothes before leaving work. He stood around outside the Venn machine looking for Carrie but he figured he must have gotten there first.

After about twenty minutes he tried calling her but it went straight to voice mail. Another ten minutes later a young boy walked up to him and said. “I was told to give you this.” He put a cell phone on the table and ran away.

Martin was going to shout after him but he knew it would be pointless. He found the nearest security camera and looked right at it. Then he picked up the phone. It was Carrie's. When he opened it, there was a video. He pressed play. An electronically altered voice spoke as the camera showed a blank wall.

“Special Agent Martin Sapretti, I've been watching you. You've been looking for me, too.” The camera panned to the edge of a picture frame and then went out of focus. “I'm afraid I can't allow you to find me. Not until we reach an understanding.” The picture moved to center the frame in the shot but it was still out of focus. “I have something you want. And you have something I want. I want Mr. Moore to pay for my services. He still owes me half.” The camera started to come into focus. “I have your lovely wife. She does love to Venn. I wonder if she's enjoying her current existence.” The picture came into focus. It was a painting. A portrait of Carrie. “I said I had a surprise Venn for her. Did I mention she thought I was you. And in her excitement she jumped at the chance to get in the machine before I finished picking the duration.” The camera zoomed to the face of the painting. The image was definitely paint on canvas and it depicted Carrie standing in a meadow, holding a handful of posies.

“Three years.”