Chapter 2
Oh, he was good. He was very good. Either this man has killed before or he planned these acts months, if not years, in advance. Normally there is a progression of a killer's skills as he finds his feet, so to speak, a "learning curve" as he grows accustomed to what to expect and how to make what he wants happen. Three hours with both victims not burned to a crisp and resting in an urn on someone's fireplace, and he had not found any solid evidence on the bodies. What that gave him, however, was a very solid profile of who they were looking for.
He had been faced with thorough killers before; people who knew how to cover their tracks were not new to him. That made the chase all the more exciting. But this one's work was different: for one thing, he used a knife. He had faced bullets and snipers and bombs and poison and blackmail as weapons of choice, even a boomerang, but knives were so much different because knives required a certain personalization that not many people were fond of nowadays. A blade is only one step away from taking someone's life with your own two hands, it requires you to look in their eyes and watch them fade away, feel them screaming in your ear, maybe even fight against their struggling. It is not an easy kill, it requires strength and determination. It also requires a certain level of coldness. Because you don't have to enjoy killing, you just have to want it. And this guy was determined.
The knife marks themselves were the most interesting. No hesitation marks. Not a single one. Each victim had been stabbed exactly seven times in the same seven places. Never any major arteries, the cause of death ultimately loss of blood; they died slowly and painfully. The killer had not hesitated on any thrust, his hand had never trembled. This ruled out a psychopath; when a psychopath becomes a killer, they are disorganized, sloppy, and leave a lot of evidence behind. This man is meticulous, cunning, and careful. He is also angry: the amount of overkill on each victim shows a merciless killer on a rage-fueled mission. Those are often the most dangerous, for any sanctity in life is completely absent from their consciousness. These people were tortured, beaten to be subdued, stabbed seven times, and then left to bleed.
Nothing about the method of the kills and the acts themselves added up: where there is rage there should be mistakes, but there are none that he can see, and he sees everything. Where there is a mission there is a message, but again, there are none to be found. Where there is this level slaughter, there is no control, but everything about these crimes is controlled. How they die, when they die, where they die, where they are stabbed, where they are taken, when they are found, everything is planned.
He has the police stumped. That much was obvious to him. But despite the confusing evidence, this left him with a lot to go with. He knew he was looking for someone with at least basic knowledge of law enforcement; otherwise he would not be able to play them so easily. He knew he was looking for someone with greater knowledge of the human body, for each wound is precisely placed where it will be the most painful and take the longest to bleed, with surgery able to do them minimal. He knew he was looking for someone with training in hand-to-hand combat; an average person could not subdue three grown men so easily with just a knife at his disposal. The bruising on each of the victims suggests training. A lot of things about the victims suggested training. The level of overkill combined with the obsessive nature of the kills tells him he is looking for someone mentally unstable and emotionally unattached yet highly functional: he's likely looking for a sociopath. Torture suggests a sexual sadist.
That was another peculiarity: the victims were all male. Statistically, females are more often the victim of serial killings, due to most serial killers being male. One commonality amongst all killers is that they hunt within their biological preferences: same ethnic groups or cultural backgrounds and whatever gender fits their sexuality. There are no indicators to suggest a female killer. So he is looking for a homosexual male. Torturing these victims could be a way of denying his own sexuality and punishing them for theirs; he needed to find out if any of the victims were openly gay.
Molly appeared suddenly with two cups of coffee in hand. She was still here? He looked at her in surprise as he accepted the mug in her outstretched arm. "You're still here," he mused, returning his gaze to the cadaver.
"I can't leave while you're still here," she giggled clumsily, "unless I really want to lose my job." He forced a small smile. Molly was never particularly good at making jokes, but after all this time, it was comforting to hear her awkward humor. "You haven't left this room in almost three hours, so I thought you might want some coffee."
"Thank you," he sipped it idly; it made him skip a beat. Black, two sugars. She had only gotten him coffee once, almost three years ago, and she still remembered how he took it. Fascinating creature, Molly Hooper: so anxious yet so aware of people.
"You look sad when you think he can't see you." That caught him off guard. No one just read him like that. He was a master of concealing emotions when they decided show up in his life, however infrequently that was. Yet here was Molly Hooper, strange, innocent, soft-spoken Molly Hooper, reading him like a book. "Are you okay? Don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."
He made eye contact with her. For the first time in a long time, he hesitated, unsure quite what to say. "You can see me," it was less of a statement towards her and more of a realization to himself. She could see him. She had always seen him.
"I don't count."
She had always been aware of him. She could always see him. Hearing her say that she didn't count truly and honestly hurt him. Had he been so cruel, so unappreciative to her for all of those years? He assumed he had. And yet it was clear in her eyes that she still thought she didn't count. How to make her see. Observant as she was, Molly Hooper was still just average. And very hard on herself. Yet her she was, compliant and willing to serve as ever. One day he'd show her how important she was.
"Anything promising?" she asked shyly.
"Oh yes," he smiled at her, "he's good, very good, Molly. Cleans up his act so no one can find him. But in doing that he paints a very clear picture of himself for those who know how to decipher it."
"Meaning you," she gleams in admiration.
"Meaning me," he couldn't keep the smugness from his tone, "possibly only me. Would love to stay and spell it all out to you but I should get going, get a jump on him and whatnot. Keep these for as long as you possibly can, I may need to reexamine them. If not, pictures, lots of pictures, send them to my e-mail," he rushed about to collect his coat and scarf as he talked, mind already flooded with which angles to start with.
"Still using the same one?" she inquired.
He paused. No, he wasn't, he had changed all of his contact information when he left. When he first landed in London, he almost felt like a stranger in his own city. Three hours in this hospital, talking with Molly, and it felt as if he'd never left. He smiled, and watched with some vanity as she tried to hide hers. "Yes." And he disappeared through the doors. He didn't have much time before the killer struck again, no time to waste.
The game was on.
Thank you for reading. 3
This chapter's a little short, hopefully the shortest they'll be. I was itching to get it out there so the fun could really begin. May go back and tweek it a little but hopefully nothing too major (if it ends up being important I'll let you know at the beginning of the chapter it will be relevant to).
Comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. Even if it's just a "hey nice job," it assures me I'm doing something people are reading and liking. So please don't be shy. The more comments I receive the more motivated I'll be to get future chapters up.