“Three years.”

The words rang in Martin's head as, with amazing calm, he called his boss and immediately returned to the office. Within an hour, a team had results from combing through the mall's security footage.

“Mrs. Sapretti arrived at the mall at 5:04 PM where she met a man she assumed was you, Mr. Sapretti.” There on the big screen they watched Carrie give a man who looked like Martin a kiss as they headed for the Venn machine.

“Sir, if I didn't know you were here at the time indicated, I would swear that was you. Look at how he walks.”

“In the video he said he was watching me. I guess he was watching me to impersonate me.”

“The lab is still going over the video. No updates.”

“At the machine they talk and Mrs. Sapretti goes into one side of the machine. The man drops a canvas bag outside the machine before he enters.”

Martin forced himself to concentrate on what the tech said as his eyes were drawn to the three sun icons rotatin on the outside interface of the Venn machine.

“When the doors reopen, the man is now a woman. She picks up the canvas bag and enters the other side of the machine from which Mrs. Sapretti has not exited. The... I'll say perp to avoid confusion... The perp leaves the machine area, the canvas bag is obviously pretty heavy, presumably carrying whatever Mrs. Sapretti was venned into.”

“Wait,” an agent said. “We know what she was turned into: a painting. A single painting wouldn't be that heavy, would it?”

“Probably not,” said a technician. He accessed the computer and the central screen showed a still from the ransom video. “But, this isn't a very good view of the painting. We don't know that it's even is a painting. We just assume it is because the colors look like paintings do.”

There was a pause and then the agent detailing the timeline continued. “So the perp has Mrs. Sapretti in the canvas bag, presumably. She travels out of the mall's west gate and enters a car that was waiting there.”

“The car has no plates and we are working on tracking it through the city if we can. But that will take some time before we have access to traffic cams.”

“That's it,” Martin says. “We've been doing this all wrong. Our killer needs a specific venn to happen within a rather narrow window of time. Additionally, it would be a bit suspicious for them to just hang out at a venn machine hoping they find someone who will get in a machine with them and turn them into someone boring and nondescript. They must have a partner. A partner who venns them on time and as needed. Someone they trust.

“Go back through all the footage we have of the murderers in the mall. And wherever we see the murderer, see if there is someone with them or who shows up with them and maybe goes another way after the venn. Heck, it could be they meet at the machine taking different routes and leave by different routes so we might need to do a face match across all that footage during the time periods.”

The techs got to work and Martin suddenly felt very tired.

Martin was asleep in his office when an agent and a technician knocked. “It was less complicated than you speculated. Come look at the screens out here, Sir.”

“Apparently,” the technician said as they returned to their war room. “The accomplice, a Mr. William Weisman, was less careful about his comings and goings at the mall. We even found him at the mall at other suspected periods of activity where were unable to identify the perp.”

“Agent Tenefly and a team are headed to Mr. Weisman's apartment right now.”

* * *

Martin entered the conference room anxiously. “No one answered the door at the apartment. We waited for a warrant and entered the premises at 10:43 am. Inside, we found Mr. Weisman dead at the scene. We took the body to a venn machine and after the recycle, he was still dead. Nothing else of interest except for this, a framed painting of Mrs. Sapretti.”

Another agent said, “We have no motive for his death.”

The painting was about sixteen by twenty inches, canvas nailed to a wooden frame. It was painted in a style using thick lines of paint to create her features. It had the smell of a relatively freshly painted oils, even though it was dry to the touch. The likeness to Carrie was stunning.

“It doesn't seem all that heavy,” Martin said, holding it. “Was the bag there?”

“No. We did not recover the canvas bag.”

“Has it gone through evidence? I want to take it to a machine and see if putting it inside will restore Carrie.”

“Yes, you can leave now, I guess.”

Martin drove to mall. At the machine, he placed the painting inside and cycled the machine. When it was finished, the painting had vanished.

“What happened, sir?” Agent Surman asked.

“She wasn't just turned into the painting. She was apparently turned into more than one thing and this painting does not constitute more than half of her current mass.”

“You don't seem surprised.”

“I'm just disappointed. But yes, I had a feeling this had been too easy.” He stared at the empty machine for a moment.

“Sir, go home. We'll keep you appraised of any progress. But it is going to take time figuring how these two people knew each other.”

“Okay,” Martin said, knowing it would be anything but okay. The apartment felt empty without her. He did not even take off his shoes before falling asleep on the sofa, unwilling to go into the bedroom.

* * *

The smell of incense was faint but familiar as she stood behind the tall double doors. Her father stood on her left, her arm hooked in his. The organist played a single note a few times in a row as the doors opened. A familiar refrain begin.

Martie was wearing a white gown with lace and pearls sewn into the satin fabric. Ten feet of fabric trained behind her as she and her father slowly walked up the aisle. Every eye in the church was on her. Flashes from cameras filled her vision. The pews were filled to capacity, every face familiar to her, some cried and all of them smiled as she slowly passed by.

She could not wait to see Carl, looking handsome in his tuxedo. She could not wait for the ceremony that had not started to be over so she could feel his firm body pressed against hers.

At the altar she could see her sister, her maid of honor, and other family members in her bridal party. Where the groom would be was an easel facing away from her. As she and her father arrived at the altar, the artist began to turn the easel toward the crowd. It was the painting of Carrie. Her father lifted her veil and kissed her on the cheek. He whispered, “There's someone in the apartment.”

* * *

Martin awoke suddenly. He rolled off the couch softly, drawing his handgun. He heard something in the bedroom. He moved over to the doorway when heard a fluttering sound of wings. He entered the room. Empty.

At Carrie's changing table, the painting of Carrie was sitting in her chair. A feather was on the floor next to it.

There was a sudden knock at the door. “Agent Sapretti? This is Agents Miller and Gomez. Is everything alright?”

Martin holstered his weapon and opened the door to the apartment. “I'm fine. I suppose someone put you on stakeout of my apartment.”

“Yes, sir. Director Jimenez was worried about you being targeted by the venn killer. We saw a very large bird enter your terrace a moment ago.”

“Call for a forensics team. The killer dropped off another copy of the painting. It's in the bedroom. I'm going to go back to the office.”

In the office, the team already knew where the bird came from. They showed him footage of an elderly woman entering the machine and exiting as a bird. But it flew away above the street cameras and out of sight. A few big bird sightings were called into 911 but they gave differing accounts of where it was going.”

“I assume there was no painting when it came out of the machine.”

“That is correct, Sir.”

“So it had to pick that up at some point. Let's see if we can find a search perimeter. How fast was the bird moving? How far could it have traveled between the time it was venned to the time it entered my apartment? Etc.”

Later, Paul entered Martin's office. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.” Martin said staring at the ceiling. “I don't need to go home. I can do nothing here just as easily as I can at home.”

“I'm sure you can. No, I wasn't going to tell you to do that again.”

The phone on the desk rang, “Sapretti.”

“Taggart. I have some inter-agency information on your murder investigation. Can you come down?”

“Sure. I'll bring Tenefly.”

“Fine.” They hung up. To Paul, he said, “NSA has something for us.”

“Get going.”

At the NSA offices, Martin and Kyle, after some red tape were taken to a conference room where they met Taggart and a technician they were not introduced to.

“Your Agent Meryls sent us some images for facial recognition and they were a real pain to deal with,” Taggart said.

“Your man, and we think he's a man, jumps through a few hoops to avoid identification. But not enough hoops,” the tech said as a screen showed pictures of the face the murder wore for the fourth murder. There were pictures of him before and after using a Venn machine as well pictures of the before picture seen exiting a different Venn machine. “Before the fourth murder, he switched faces three times. Before the third, five times. And we haven't been able to track back far enough in the other two murders.”

“So he's gotten lazy.”

“Apparently. But this face we think, is the start of the chain for the third and fourth murders.”

Taggart hands Martin a folder. “This is your guy. Alan Jacob Cobb, 44, civil engineer. No address. He fell off the grid a couple years ago. We haven't found out where he lives but there's an eight block radius around Third Avenue and Fifth Street where he is seen often.

“Your sixth victim, William Weisman, was someone the killer's accomplice used as a body double. We don't know why they killed him.”

Back at the office, his own team has found the real accomplice.

“Rita Suarez, 38, professor of arts at The Cooper Union. She knew Weisman, too. They were former lovers. We already sent a team to her apartment. They have her in custody and they found two paintings of Mrs. Sapretti. They're on their way back here now.”

A few minutes later another agent announced, “Emergency call from dispatch!” She put the phone on speaker.

“...out of nowhere. Our vehicle is non-functional.” The sound of several gun shots ring out. “She's hit. We need medical assistance at Canal and what's that street?”

“Mott”

“Mott street.” The gunshots continue for a while before the agent checks in again.

“Male perp is dead. Rita Suarez is dead. Agents Cho and Brubek injured and on their way to a local hospital. We're waiting for the ME.”

“Negative,” Martin says. “You know where to bring them.”

* * *

The rush is the same as always. Now I wait. Paramedics and police are talking as if I'm just a thing. I'm right here you pricks. Finally I'm lifted into the antiseptic black bag. The zipper pulled close is so final sounding.

I'm jostled about and treated like a sack of shit. The ambulance siren announces my arrival at the hospital.

What? They tossed my body to the floor. How dare they? What's that sound? It's too quiet.

* * *

Three agents trained their weapons on the door to the machine. The door suddenly opened and they saw the body bag squirming frantically. “Let me out,” called a panicked voice from within the bag.

The bag was dumped back on the gurney and taken to headquarters.

Later, Cobb was released from the bag and put through booking. He was left handcuffed to a table in an interview room. Martin entered the room and sat down without a word.

After an moment of silence, Cobb asked, “How's your wife?”

“Someone in your position has the nerve to bring her up.”

“Has something happened to her? I'm sorry. I just saw your wedding ring and thought I'd ask.”

“You know exactly what happened to her.”

“I do? All I know is the police. Well, not the police. I thought it was the police. But it was the FBI. So, all I know is the FBI busted into my girlfriend's apartment unannounced. I thought it was a home invasion and opened fire. We both got shot. Luckily I was venned at the time so it wasn't fatal. I hope the officers I shot are alright. Are they?”

“What game are you playing?”

“Should I ask for a lawyer? I get the feeling you think I did something wrong. Why did your agents invade my girlfriend's apartment? She died didn't she. I need to call her mother, I think.”

“What game are you playing?”

“There's no game. Why would I be gaming when my girlfriend is dead?”

“You killed five people, attempted to kill another, and kidnapped my wife. Don't play dumb.”

“I'm curious how you think you can link me to these murders and the kidnapping of your wife when I'm the victim here.”

“We have surveillance footage of you using the Venn machines to disguise yourself before perpetrating each of the crimes.”

“Oh, you mean those secret NSA cameras that are at all the Venn machines. Are they admissible in court? I suppose they are. Is the face recognition software the NSA uses public knowledge? Will one of their agent get on a witness stand and explain why their algorithms are reliable? That would be something to see. I'm exercising my right to counsel. I need to call my attorney.”

Martin got in his face. “You will not get away with this.”

Cobb sat there silently, a huge grin on his face.

* * *

She finds it hard to focus. Her vision is distorted and like a photograph with multiple overlapping exposures. There's a weird echo on some sounds and sometimes two isolated conversations overlap. But at the moment, she hears only two voices. She can vaguely see two woman looking at her. They seem to be speaking French.

“What do you think?”

“It's a beautiful rendering of a young woman. But I wouldn't know where to hang it if I owned it.”

“That's my problem too. Who's the artist?”

“Doesn't say. It just says the title of the painting is 'Carrie.'”