by Hadena James
“We need a zoologist,” I told him. “Or someone that can identify the animal that crushed our victim’s skull. I figure the University is a good place to look for one of those.”
“And you need my help finding one?” He asked.
“That would be awesome. If you know one, that would streamline the process, otherwise, Gabriel will find one.” I sat down in one of the chairs. “But that is not why I’m here.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I do not know,” I answered. “It just seemed like the right place for me to be at the moment. How long have you been the chief medical examiner?”
“Seventeen years,” he answered.
“Oh,” I answered. “Did you work here when the jaguar attack came in twenty-five years ago?”
“No, I was still in school twenty-five years ago.”
“Ever see a jaguar crush a skull?”
“No,” the doctor gave me a queer look.
“In the time you’ve worked here, have you ever seen someone come in with a crushed skull?”
“Car crashes, boating accidents, skaters losing battles with pavement, being beaten to death, I’ve seen my fair share of them.”
“I believe Dr. Reece has as well, but I feel like we could use a second opinion.” It wasn’t like me to question Xavier’s judgment or my own. The ghost of my father could be felt.
“If you wanted a second opinion, you could have just asked,” Dr. Burnett told me.
“I’m sure I could have, but I did not know that was what I wanted until about five seconds ago.”
Thirteen
“I have seen injuries similar to this,” Dr. Burnett was looking at the skull through another pair of the goggles. “Let me get the files.”
He left the room. Xavier was leaning against a counter. He’d been silent the entire time that Dr. Burnett had been in the room.
“It’s not like you to question me,” Xavier said.
“I’m not questioning you,” I admitted. “I’m questioning me. This case seems to be stirring up a few ghosts.”
“Why?”
“Because it was my dad’s case? Because I’m connected to it in ways that I can’t remember yet? Because I want it to be a jaguar so that I can close the case on one of my hometown’s open serial cases?”
“It’s not like you to not remember things that are important,” Xavier pursed his lips together. “Why are you blocking this particular set of memories?”
“Age is the biggest part, I was young.”
Dr. Burnett came back into the room with a stack of files. He sat them on the counter next to Xavier. Xavier became interested in the doctor’s movements.
“This wound pattern is similar to a set of attacks we had about ten years ago.” Dr. Burnett pointed to the files. “There were seven total, all seven died. Cause of death was a mastiff, the animal crushed their skulls with its powerful jaws. However, there was something not right about the case. The kids all came from the same neighborhood, disappeared for a day and then their bodies were found. We could never find a human element to the attacks though. It seemed the animal hunted alone, grabbed the children and skulked off with them. Eventually, someone found the animal and it was put down, after that, the attacks stopped.”
“Why did you think a human was involved?” Xavier asked.
“Because a mastiff wouldn’t have grabbed the kids by the skulls and carried them off, it would have gone for the throat. None of the throats were ripped out. I believe a person kidnapped the children and gave them to the mastiff.” Dr. Burnett opened a file and handed it to Xavier.
“And you were positive it was a mastiff?”
“Yes and no,” Dr. Burnett frowned. “A mastiff can do it and they’ve been known to do it, but it isn’t their preferred method of killing. Also, while we found the bodies, they had been chewed up pretty bad, but the bones were mostly intact. It didn’t seem very doggish to me, but the forensic expert was pretty sure it was the only thing in the area that could do that kind of damage.”
“But,” I mimicked Dr. Burnett’s frown. “Other large, exotic predators could have probably done it. Who found and put down the dog?”
“A hunter, said he was attacked by it. When they did the necropsy, they found some human flesh still in the stomach, however, it had been three days since the last kill. Why did the dog still have that particular food in its stomach?”
“The hunter?” Xavier asked.
“A local fireman named Ben Forge. They cleared him of all wrong doing. An upshot detective handled the case, moved on to bigger and better things afterwards.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Took a job in Detroit as a detective, returned here a year later, paralyzed from a bullet in the back. A year after that, he ended up on a slab here after a home invasion.” Dr. Burnett said. “I wasn’t a fan of his work. He was a shoddy detective, just looking to move up the ranks. I guess I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Too late,” I chirped. “Ok, so is it possible it wasn’t a mastiff?”
“It was my suspicion that even if the mastiff was responsible, it was only partly responsible. The animal didn’t just attack them, eat, and run off. These children all came from the same neighborhood and they were found over two miles from the site of their disappearance. A dog might kill and drag the body away to eat at its leisure, but there was no evidence that the dog had attacked the children where they disappeared. I felt they were lured away, by a human, then given to the animal responsible.”
“Much like now,” Xavier looked at me. “And before.”
“True, but the bodies were being found within twenty-four hours of going missing. It was a quick succession of victims. That was the other thing, they were being found very quickly, the deaths were happening very close together in time as well as area, and all the bodies were found in a creek. Dogs don’t drag their victims to creeks.”
“Did the creek have water in it?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Burnett looked at the skull. “It had rained a lot that year. The creek was actually at flood stage.”
Twenty-five years ago, a handful of little girls went missing. One was found to have been mauled and eaten by a jaguar. Ten years ago, another handful of little girls go missing, this time mauled and eaten by a mastiff. Now, the feet of teenaged boys were being found on utility wires. One had predator teeth marks on it. All of them associated with water.
There were two fundamental questions behind my thoughts. Why did the victimology change? And what did the killer do during his periods of inactivity? I was convinced it was the same killer, I just wasn’t sure I could answer either of those questions, yet.
“Any other serial killers in the interim?” Xavier asked.
“We’ve had three in the last twenty years,” Dr. Burnett told him. If he’d gone back a few more years, the total would have been higher. “All caught, none of them with this sort of behavior. We’ve had a rapist who liked to strangle his victims with a wire coat hanger, a woman who liked to poison her family and friends with strychnine, and a guy who liked to mutilate his female victims by removing their female organs.”
“A regular Jack the Ripper,” Xavier quipped. “Any other animal related deaths?”
“Sure,” Dr. Burnett said. “Dog attacks are pretty infrequent, but they happen. We’ve had a mountain lion that killed a child near Eagle Bluffs. Then there was a boa constrictor that got loose in an apartment building and ate an infant. And there was a strange case that involved a raccoon.”
“I heard about that one,” I looked up at him. “A large raccoon got into a house and killed a little girl. The raccoon turned out to be rabid and definitely closer to the end of his life than the beginning.”
“Rabid raccoons?” Xavier raised an eyebrow.
“Much like plague, rabies happens,” I answered.
“Plague?” Dr. Burnett looked at me. “We’ve had a case of bubonic plague in the last five years. A woman came back from vacat
ion and got sick. By the time they figured it out, she was in decline and the antibiotics didn’t work.”
“When was that?” I asked.
“You are not to get distracted by plague,” Xavier told me.
“I’m just curious,” I snipped at him.
“Three years ago. Strange thing really. The autopsy didn’t reveal any bites from animals or insects and the form of bubonic plague was very antibiotic resistant. The CDC came out and investigated it. Then last fall, they asked for any additional information we had on the case. There wasn’t any, but they asked three times in as many weeks. I kept wondering if it was related to the California cases, but I didn’t get an answer. She was about your age, Columbia native.” Dr. Burnett told me. “Her name was Sue Brooks.”
“I had class with a girl named Sue Brooks,” I frowned. No need to mention the girl tormented me endlessly about being smart and then about killing someone. I was called “freak” by a lot of kids my own age when I was young. It was one of the nicer names.
“Stop,” Xavier held up his hand. “We have a predator eating people. We do not have time to investigate three year old plague cases.”
“I’m not suggesting we investigate,” I told him.
“Not a good friend, was she?” Xavier gave the inappropriate high-pitched giggle. Dr. Burnett turned and gave him a horrified look.
“You get used to it,” I answered. Xavier tried to recover. This made him giggle harder. “He has some issues.”
“Brain damage by the sounds of it,” Dr. Burnett began to examine Xavier from afar. “Damage to the emotional center of the brain, trauma of some sort.”
Xavier nodded and continued to giggle. The fit would pass in a few minutes as long as I didn’t do or say anything to make it worse. Xavier didn’t like to talk about taking a bullet to the head, but some very good doctors could figure it out.
I tuned it out. My mind was now being overwhelmed with information again. Had the Sue Brooks who’d died of plague been the same girl that had teased me? Was this somehow related to the dead prairie dog I’d gotten on my birthday? Was it related to the cases of plague in California? Was it related to my newest stalker? And what the hell was my mind failing to remember about the cases from before? There was still a fragment of something in there, something I couldn’t grasp, but seemed important.
None of the animal related deaths aside from the streak ten years earlier seemed related to the case. I filed them away for use later, if need be. For now, I tried to concentrate on the girls that had died ten years ago.
“It strikes me as strange that a dog would only take female victims,” I announced.
“Me too,” Dr. Burnett confirmed. “Especially since there was a day when a six year old girl was taken but her four year old brother wasn’t. However, they were both in the yard at the time.”
“Was the boy questioned?” I asked.
“He said a demon took the little girl.” Dr. Burnett answered.
“And he knew what a demon was?” I frowned.
“Apparently, his father was a preacher and his son was very familiar with the concept of demons,” the disapproval in Dr. Burnett’s voice was evident. Xavier’s giggle fit was subsiding. Dr. Burnett turned his attention back to him. “How long ago was the injury?”
“A while,” Xavier averted his eyes, refusing to meet the other man’s interested gaze.
“Is it getting worse?”
“Not really,” Xavier said. “I have a neurologist for it.”
“Does it affect your work?”
“Not in the least, just my mood.”
“Doctor, none of us are exactly even keeled,” I defended Xavier by deflecting the doctor’s attention away. “Most of us are damaged either emotionally or physically.”
“So, I’ve noticed,” Dr. Burnett motioned towards my hands. There were still burn scars on them, but they were fading. “I’m guessing you have full-blown psychopathy or you have congenital analgesia. One doesn’t get those sorts of scars by feeling pain.”
“I’m a sociopath,” I corrected.
“By choice,” Xavier added. “She’s a sociopath by choice. She has the physical characteristics of antisocial personality disorder with psychopathic tendencies. She does feel pain, but not like you or me.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped. I was a sociopath that much I knew. However, I’d seen Malachi demonstrate his pain tolerance. Mine was just as high. I felt pain, I could just ignore it. Malachi had once told me he lived only because he could feel pain. At the time, I had thought he was being a masochist, but as I lived closer to the edge of all things pain-related, I realized that wasn’t his meaning at all. He was alive because he could feel pain and ignore it. It was an indicator of his life force, so to speak. Being in pain reminded me that I was still alive and could fight for my life if need be. It could be ignored as necessary to keep my lungs working, my heart pumping, and my body moving.
“I’ve never met a sociopath who is actually a psychopath,” Dr. Burnett thought about this a moment longer. “It is probably the rarest condition on earth.”
“I believe she is the only one,” Xavier answered. I said nothing.
Fourteen
Knowing I was a sociopath by choice, wasn’t really life altering. Some part of me had always known it. I had all the physical benefits of a psychopath, but the mental benefits of a sociopath. Something in the nurturing aspect of my childhood had overridden the genetic component, something that I imagined had a lot to do with Nyleena, my mother, and my time in the hands of a pedophiliac serial killer. Besides, Lucas and Xavier had both been hinting at it for over a year now.
We’d been back to the hotel to shower and get dressed for dinner. Dressing for dinner didn’t mean we were going anywhere fancy, it meant that Xavier and I smelled and couldn’t go into even a fast food restaurant without washing and changing our clothing. I was in my usual jeans and T-Shirt. My T-Shirt said “It’s Hard To Think When The Voices In Your Head Won’t Shut Up.” I was wearing it because Xavier had bought it for me as a Christmas gift. The shirts I bought tended to have funny science or history things on them or they were band T-Shirts. I would never have bought this one for myself.
The highway had been open for a day or so now, but we weren’t leaving anytime soon. We’d just hit the long haul, so to speak. We had lots of speculation and nothing solid, except a skull and some feet. Neither were willing to reveal the identity of their killer or the manner of death.
The little dive bar was busy. We’d eaten Shakespeare’s and Sub Shop, the two Columbia staples, and were moving onto different local fare. Tonight, we sat in a crowded Booches’. Technically, this was a Columbia staple, especially if you loved burgers. However, it wasn’t one of my favorite places. This was not because I didn’t love burgers, I did, but because there was some strange sordid history. I didn’t know the story, just that my father had detested the place. Somehow, that had rubbed off on me.
Sitting it in nearly ten years after my first experience, not much had changed. It was still a billiard hall and bar with slider style burgers and wax paper for plates. I had ordered one burger and a bag of chips. Booches doesn’t serve fries.
Conversation at the table was limited. Everyone was weary and worn-out. John had spent the day making lists of missing teenaged boys within seven counties of Columbia as well as St. Louis, Kansas City, and Springfield. Gabriel had spent the day trying to rush the DNA lab.
Neither seemed to have enjoyed much success. There were lots of missing teenaged boys in Missouri. Worse, John was pretty sure he’d found a serial killer in St. Louis. He’d passed the information along to the VCU. With conversation at the table wanting, my attention was easily attracted to other places.
We had sat at a table near the middle of the room. All of us were paranoid, but we couldn’t all sit with our backs to the wall. Our compromise was to sit at a square table in the middle of the room. This allowed us to watch the entire room, each responsible for the sp
ace behind the person across them. Xavier sat across from me, Gabriel had specifically positioned him there because I still wasn’t sure I trusted John. This was not because of anything John had done or not done, he seemed good at his job. This was because I rarely trusted anyone.
My senses were in overdrive, the result of a strange day. The table to our right held three girls, all of them roughly in their early twenties. The table to our left, was a couple of students well on their way to having a hangover in the morning from draft beer and cheap burgers.
The girls caught my attention first. One was discussing her evening. She’d been in a fight with another girl at a club. The gabby girl had been grabbed by another girl. An argument had ensued. The argument had been about a guy. The girl telling the story was sleeping with the other girl’s boyfriend. A fist fight had followed. The speaker proclaimed to be the winner, despite the black eye she was sporting.
I found it confusing. It seemed like a lot of energy had been wasted fighting over this guy. I sat at a table with three of them, one was technically married, but separated, while the other two were single. Obviously, the old adage of there being lots of fish in the sea was, in fact, true. Not only that, but why fight for a guy who is cheating. The girl speaking wouldn’t want to date him, she was proof that he was cheating. The girl that he was cheating on shouldn’t want to be with him, he was sleeping with someone else. The entire thing was a cycle. One of the many aspects of human nature that I didn’t understand.
Next, my attention was drawn to the table of college guys. Here were some fish for the girls next to me. However, it was their loud, drunken boasting that won them my consideration. One of them was talking loudly about a girl he’d met the other night at a club. Maybe some fish were slimier than others.
His shirt was black with a white skull, a red rose clenched between the bony jaws. Beneath the skull, it said “Love Kills.” The boy had said his sister had been taken by a demon. Not a person, not a guy, not a dog, a demon and he was supposedly well versed with demon ideology.
