chapter word count: 601
noir heart: eighty-seven
A brief silence falls over the small office, abrupt and noticeable enough for Jack to twist around and peer over his shoulder at his partner, who's busy pulling his cellphone from his pocket. "What're you doing?"
"Calling a psychiatrist," Aster answers, nonchalantly perusing his screen, "...'cause you've got kangaroos loose in the top paddock, mate."
Rolling his eyes, Jack returns to the pictures. "...I'm not nuts."
"You sure?" Aster says, tossing his phone onto the table, "I mean, you did just say the unsub's trying to kill a concept."
Holding up his index finger, Jack points out, "No, I think he is. Look at the victims - murdered in pairs, right? So, just for a moment, pretend they're couples. That's two heterosexual and one lesbian couple," he says, tapping each pair of pictures with his hand, "all found with matching halves of a love heart carved onto their chest. That's why I think this guy's trying to kill love."
Aster rises with a creak from his chair, and there's a slight prickle of personal space invasion as he stands beside him. "Who said it's a guy? Could be a chick."
"What makes you say that?"
"Look at the distribution of attacks," Aster pauses to point at each photograph the M.E. took of the bodies, each one alabaster white and empty, "the males are stabbed something like nine times, but the females get one clean strike to the heart. Overkill on the men, but quick and surgical on the women. No-one other than a woman's gonna have that much rage against a bloke, especially if we're following this crusade-against-love thing."
Shaking his head, Jack says, "Doesn't fit the murder weapon. Women kill differently to men. They're quiet, stealthy, statistically more likely to use poisons or overdoses. This unsub uses a knife, which is a symbol of penetration. It's messy, painful, sadistic. Women don't fuck about - if they want you dead, you're dead. None of this stabby-stabby-carvey-carvey bullshit."
Jack, subconsciously wanting his personal space back and consciously wanting to really understand the unsub, stands closer to the boards, folds one arm across his chest and rests his chin in the other hand - classic vibe pose, apparently. "For this guy, it's all about the statement. By stripping the victims, stealing their IDs and leaving them in dumpsters, he's trying to say love kills you. It makes you vulnerable, takes away your sense of identity and leaves you as nothing but trash." he says - but there's an almost passionate edge to his voice that, a few seconds after the last word escapes his lips, he realises all too late is a dead giveaway.
The prickle of a pseudo-proximity alert courses through his chest, and he glances to the right to find Aster has once again pulled up beside him, regarding him suspiciously-slash-concernedly. "...you sound like you're talking from experience, mate."
There's a pang of pain in his chest, wrapped up in self-loathing and tied up in a neat little bow of hurt anger. Maybe he is. Maybe he's understanding this guy better than he thinks. Therefore, a change of subject - and scenery - is needed, as the less Aster can figure out, the better. "C'mon," Jack says, quickly moving to the table to take a sip of his coffee before placing it back down, "we can look at pictures all day, but it's all academic. I need to see Hiccup."
what is love? baby don't hurt me...also, guess what's coming in three days?
special thanks to: doomstone, lunasnoir, stefalove, hornedgoddess, jpbake, vrupd.1992, invisible me, trapid (yay! Haven't seen you in ages!) and oninoko for the reviews!