RIZZOLI & ISLES
RETURNS JUNE 17 AT 9/8c
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"Man, he sure looks like a vampire," said Barry Frost, staring through the one-way mirror at the pale young man sitting in the interview room.

The subject was eighteen years old and his name was Lucas Henry. Transpose the first and last names and it became ominously familiar: Henry Lucas. Did his mother realize she'd named her kid after one of the most prolific serial killers of all time? But the boy in the next room looked more frightened than dangerous. He sat huddled at the table, a black forelock drooping over his white brow. With his jutting cheekbones, his deeply sunken eyes, he looked like a living skeleton. Multiple studs pierced his lips, nose, and god knew what other parts of his body -- so many studs that he'd set off the metal detector when they'd brought him into Boston PD headquarters.

"Why the heck do kids poke holes in their skin?" said Frost. "I never understood that."

"It's a Goth thing. You know, death, pain, oblivion." Jane snorted. "All that fun stuff."

"He's sure not having any fun."

"Let's go make his night even more enjoyable."

As Jane and Frost walked in, Lucas snapped straight in his chair, eyes wide with apprehension. Despite his grotesque piercings and the black leather jacket with the Death's head decal, Lucas looked like just a scared kid. A kid who may have wrapped his skinny hands around Kimberly Rayner's throat and squeezed the life out of her.

Jane sat down across from him. Noticed that the boy's eyes, heavily rimmed with black eyeliner, were bloodshot from crying. "Are you sure you don't want an attorney?" she asked.

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

"I take it that's a no."

"She was alive when I left her. I swear it."

"Tell us how you came to know Kimberly Rayner."

The boy took a deep breath. "I first met her a few months ago, when we were both hanging out in Harvard Square. We recognized each other immediately."

"I thought that was the first time you met."

"What I mean is, I knew at once what she was. And she knew what I was."

"And that would be?"

"Different. We're different from other kids. From everyone else."

"Every kid thinks he's different."

"I mean really different."

"Like how?"

He took a breath. "We're not human," he said.



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