Just some insight on the killer.
No spoilers.
Disclaimer: Don't own Psych, or any of the characters, yada yada yada. You know what I mean.
"So, Mr. Jones, is there any particular reason why you want to work at this hospital as an oncologist?" asked the Dean of the Hospital as he looked at the sitting across from him. "There are many other hospitals, far more qualified than we are that would be happy to accept you, with your credentials."
"I just felt like this was the right hospital." replied the man, smoothing a slight wrinkle on his shirt. "Also, if you don't mind, I would like to take a look around this place. I like to get a feel for a potential workplace."
"Of course, Mr. Jones, as soon as we are done with the interview, I will have a security guard give you a tour. I'm sorry that it can't be one of our own hospital staff. Sunday nights are the most hectic at the hospital. Frankly, I'm surprised that you came in for the interview today. My secretary didn't think that this would be the only day you could have an interview. Do you have any family, a partner, anyone?"
"No, miss, it's just me and my work. I take pride in being the best I can be." said Mr. Jones.
"Well, you certainly succeeded. I am quite impressed with your achievements. Top student in your graduating class at Harvard? That really is something. Those sort of people tend to end up working at the hospitals in the big cities. The respect you would get there would be great, and the money isn't too bad either."
"Well, miss, I know that, but seeing as Santa Barbara's where I grew up, I really would like to work here. And, this hospital is as good as any. Money isn't important to me, all I want is to help those patients who have cancer. My mother would have wanted me to. She passed away last month from a malignant tumor on her liver that the doctors couldn't remove. It was right after I graduated from school and I couldn't do anything to save her or even make her last days a little easier. You see, we couldn't afford the medical care in any of the larger hospitals so we had to settle for smaller, less competent hospitals with fewer doctors. She never really got the treatments she needed. And now I want to help those people who can't afford the good treatment by being the best I can be, but also affordable."
The dead looked a little shocked by his confession. She wasn't expecting the reason for him choosing that particular hospital was so intense. She adjusted her glasses as she once more looked down at his papers. "Well, Mr. Jones, I'm not supposed to say this to any of the applicants, but I do think you will get the job. Just e-mail the rest of your papers to me next week, and you can start by the end of the month. Now about that tour. I'll call Steve, our security guard on duty, and he'll explain to you how we work her." She picked up the phone and dialed a number. After a minute of talking, she put the phone back onto the receiver and looked at Mr. Jones. "He'll be here in a few minutes."
"Thank you, miss." replied Mr. Jones. He stood up, brushed off his suit and extended his hand. "Thank you for everything."
As the dean graciously accepted his handshake, she looked him in the eyes and said "No, it is I who should be saying thank you. You're giving this hospital a great advantage by coming to work here. And, I am truly sorry for you're loss." They held each other's gazes for a few seconds, but the dean quickly looked away. As soon as she had mentioned his loss, a look had come into his eyes, outrage, which quickly passed. It was almost as though he had been wearing a mask the whole interview and then, suddenly he had let it slip, for a fraction of a second.
A knock on the door signified the arrival of the security guard, Steve. The dean let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief. She had begun to feel uncomfortable being in the presence of this man. He had been fixing her with a stare, one that was boring into her very soul.
A man with sandy hair stuck his head into the room. "Excuse me, miss, I'm here to show a Mr. Jones around."
"Oh, good, you're here, Steven. This is Mr. Jones." She gestured to the immaculetely dressed man. "Please, show him around and answer any questions he has."
"Of course, miss," replied the security guard. He opened the door and motioned to Mr. Jones. "This way sir."
Mr. Jones nodded and followed Steve out of the office. As the door shut behind him, the dean sighed, and turned back to her desk, where a mound of papers awaited her. As she shuffled through the various papers that required her signature, she thought about the man, Mr. Jones. She dismissed what she had seen earlier in his eyes. Just her imagination, was what she tried to convince herself to believe. Something that I thought was there but wasn't. Giving no further thought to the matter, except that she would have to add him to the payroll within the month, the Dean continued with her duties.
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Steven was uncomfortable. Only a few minutes in the man's presence was causing chills to run down his spine. It wasn't just that he didn't talk AT ALL, that was a little unnerving however, but the way Steven constantly found him staring at Steven. He had led Mr. Jones through the first level of the hospital, showing him where the drugs were prescribed, where the patients waited to be seen. The entire time, Mr. Jones didn't say anything, he just looked at Steven. Then, Steven took him up to the second floor, the oncology level, and that was where things started to get weird.
It was like Mr. Jones had finally gotten the cat to metaphorically release his tongue. He was full of all sorts of questions, about the patients, the staff, the security hours. When Steven asked why he needed to know the secutiry hours, the man merely smiled and said he wanted to make sure that these patients were well protected. Steven smiled proudly and told Mr. Jones how they changed the security detail every week so that someone couldn't begin to predict them.
"Ahh," came Mr. Jones soft voice. "So, pray tell, what is this week's security detail."
Steven replied, "Well, this week, sir, the security guards switch 3 times a day. Once at 3 am, once at 11 am and the once at 7 pm. I've got the shift till 7 pm."
To this Mr. Jones smiled. "I do believe I have seen quite enough. Thank you for informing me of this hospital. I do hope that I will work here some day." With those words, the mysterious Mr. Jones walked out of the room, his plan already unfolding in his mind.
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Several days passed, and the dean of the hospital never got those papers from Mr. Jones. She thought nothing of the fact that he bailed out. Even after really good interviews, sometimes they would back out, for no reason. It wasn't something that was too uncommon, so she paid no attention to it. Besides, she had a lot more to worry about since one of her patients, a Mr. Jacob Smith, had disappeared from the hospital without a trace, the same as all of the other victims.
DUN DUN DUN. Lassie is missing. *GASP*. Oh, well you should have seen that coming. It wouldn't be too interesting if nothing happened to any of the main characters. WARNING: There will be Lassie bashing coming up so if you don't want that, stop reading NOW.
So it turned out to be a lot longer than I expected. Turns out that describing the motives and means for a killer is actually a lot more time-consuming than I thought. Plus, I'm not a PSYCHOPATH, so it takes me some time to think these things up.