by V. F. Mason
“Ella? Something happened?”
Biting my lip, I contemplate my thoughts before speaking up. “I need a favor.” If it’s possible, his brows rise even higher.
“From me?”
“Yes.”
He frowns. “Why me?”
“You are the only computer wizard I know.”
He grins at that and puts his hands behind his head. “That’s true. What do you need?”
Okay, here comes the hardest part. Technically, I shouldn’t go around digging for information, but it might help the case, so here goes nothing.
“I’ve been thinking about our Hudson River unsub lately. The violence and stuff. If he kills his father all over again, what if he was his first victim?”
Preston blinks a few times. “That’s a possibility, but it’s vague.”
Grabbing the chair nearby, I place the file in front of him. “I narrowed it down. He should be in his thirties now. We can search any crimes that involved father and son. Maybe they are still searching for him.”
“I don’t have unlimited access to various databases, just saying.” His sarcasm is not welcomed much.
“It won’t be secret information, just the police report.”
“In what state?”
“Southern states, because both Greece and Troy are located in the south.” Even though it sounds insane, he shrugs and types that in.
“What else?”
“Suburbs, no big cities. Most probably an only child.” He runs his fingers through his hair and gives me the look. “It sounds vague again, but listen further. Highly intelligent kid. Maybe weird bruises. Along those lines.”
“Hundreds of cases will come up, just so you know.”
There is one more thing that I think will help narrow it down as much as possible without any key factors. “His mother either committed suicide or died at home, before he became a teenager.” Something must have triggered his tendencies.
“Fine, once I have more info, I’ll let you know.”
Preston is the freaking sweetest!
I hug him closer and give him a light peck on the check while he groans, not liking the contact much.
Well, I have the name. But to learn the rest, I need to find out about him.
Good thing I have an entire weekend for that.
Psychopath
It ends tonight.
Ella
Placing the book on the table, I get up and a groan slips through my lips as I stretch my back. It’s stiff from constantly bending my head over the book, searching for any trace that can help me catch the unsub.
Why did Homer have to use such a hard language? Half the stuff I had to google to figure out.
Turning on the coffee pot, I rest my back on the counter and think back over all the information I’ve found so far.
The Trojan War lasted for ten years and the Greeks won. Logically speaking, the unsub is a narcissist who would associate himself with a winning side.
Using this train of thought, I gather all the information possible on Achilles, as he seems to be the only logical person on the winning side, but nothing in his life or book or wars connect to anything with this case.
Pulling my hair in frustration, I’m about to pour coffee in my cup when three swift knocks at my door grab my attention.
“Open up, Ella. I know you’re home.” Chuckling, I do just that, only to see Chloe in all her glory holding wine and chocolate in her hands, along with a copy of The Iliad. “Since you are so busy with work, I decided to help you out.” My brow rises and she rolls her eyes. “No need to be so surprised. It was one of my favorite books in high school.”
“Right,” I mutter as she enters, removing her shoes and placing her gifts on the table. She plops on the couch, kicking her feet over an armrest. “You forgot we went to high school together. And who helped you pass English literature?”
She laughs, and I pick up two glasses while sitting down on the carpet opposite her.
“True, but then again, I had a crush on Billy Jenkins.”
I choke on my drink, and she giggles again. “What? The nerd from second period?” Not that I judged or anything, but the guy always said some weird shit and considered everyone stupid because they didn’t know the periodic table of elements by memory. It’s hard to like a guy like that, hence why he never had friends. So in time, his parents transferred him to another school.
“Hey, he had beautiful eyes. But that’s beside the point. He was obsessed with the whole Troy war and I wanted to impress him, so I read those two books.”
My brows furrow. “Two?”
She nods eagerly. “Yep. The Iliad and The Odyssey. You know what happens with Odysseus after the war.”
Right, the king of Ithaca, who loved his wife Penelope a lot. For twenty years, she kept her vow to him and never married, despite other men approaching her. It took him another ten years to get back home, but the two lovers reunited at last.
“What do you have so far?” Chloe asks, popping a chocolate in her mouth, and I exhale heavily, scrambling through my notes scattered all over the place.
“Not much. There must be some connection, since he sent me the book. But it escapes my notice, you know?”
“Maybe it’s not about the character.” She grabs the maps of the wars mentioned in the book. “Maybe it’s about a victory that someone accomplished? He is a psychopath, right? This can be his driving force.” After her father was outed all those years ago, she learned as much as she could about them. It brought her peace, as she explained it. So whenever I had exams at the university, she’d study with me just to learn more. Maybe I shouldn’t have shared my case with her, but I’m drowning in this stuff.
I need to find answers soon, and my best friend is trained enough to help me, at least in the researching process.
“Like something he would admire?”
“Yep.” Nibbling on the pen in my hand, I rack my brain, scanning all the information I’ve found so far, but come up blank. “The only event mentioned in The Iliad, and I have to concentrate on this book because he sent it, is the Trojan War.” Pointing at three thick piles of books on the floor next to her, I say, “And trust me, my mind knows everything on the subject at this point.”
Chloe goes “Hmm” and then clicks her fingers. “Then themes.” One of the reasons I love Chloe so much is that, due to her artistic brain, she has the ability to look at every situation from different angles and never gives up.
“Themes?” I repeat, and she puts a blank ledger-size piece of paper in front of us while removing everything else from the table.
“Yes. You didn’t go into details of the case, since it’s work and shit, but let’s break down the story into themes and see which one could be the most applicable to him. It might hold the hint you are desperately seeking.”
I deposit a few different markers next to us, and say, “Great idea. So red is the theme, blue is an explanation, and green is the likelihood of it happening.”
“You and your notes obsession,” she mutters, but writes love, family, friendship, war, victory, and deception. “Let’s do illumination, shall we?”
And although I’m tired as hell and know that this probably won’t bring many results, I can’t resist sitting next to her and hugging her close. “Thanks, babe. Great to have you on my side.” She winks at me and squeezes me too. Although I love Simone to pieces, Chloe and I always shared a special bond that nothing, even our history, could break.
“Anytime. Then you can tell me about the new relationship developing between Kierian and you,” she adds mischievously, and my laughter is a nice break to the silence I had before she came along.
Psychopath
Placing the blanket on the mattress, I step back to admire the carefully created place for Ella for the last time before I end our game once and for all.
After putting on a hoodie and gloves, making sure not to leave any traces, I leave my secret house. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with much-ne
eded air.
I’ve given her all the fucking time in the world, but she still hasn’t figured it out. And although playing with her mind has become one of my favorite hobbies, it’s not enough anymore.
This needs to end tonight so we can finally start the final chapter in this challenge we’ve thrust upon each other.
All my devices are clean and ready for her beautiful skin. I’ll break her spirit piece by piece until she gives up.
Her giving up will be her ultimate downfall.
Unfortunately for her, it’s inevitable, as none of them stuck for long.
And although the unfamiliar emotions in my chest nag my mind, reminding me she is innocent and doesn’t deserve what I’m about to do, it doesn’t stop me.
I lost my soul a long fucking time ago.
Ella
Shifting on the bed one more time, I give up on sleep altogether, and with a loud huff, I move the blankets to the side and get up. My toes curl in the fluffy white carpet, welcoming the warmth it gives me.
I turn off the AC as a shiver runs through me and pad softly to the kitchen. Grabbing the carafe, I place it on the coffee machine and turn it on.
I resist the urge to message Kierian and distract him from his family reunion. Considering I practically pushed him to go, calling him now would be a stupid move. The last thing I need is for him to worry about my safety.
When the machine dings at its completion, I pour myself a coffee while my mind instantly wanders back to the conversation I had with Chloe about the book. We drank all the wine and ordered Chinese, but it didn’t help us in searching for the truth.
We discussed the themes and book to hell and back, but nothing suited the unsub. We even studied the moments leading up to the war and after, but came up blank. She left only a few hours ago, when David came to pick her up.
Something is not adding up for me. The connection between the unsub and the book is clear, because he sent it to me. But how can it hold a hint to his identity?
He uses surrogates for his father, but the Trojan War is not about a family relation. It’s a love story gone wrong. Why is he so fascinated with it?
Then Chloe’s words echo in my ears.
I mean, the Trojan War was no joke, but I truly feel bad for Odysseus. He came up with this plan for the horse, but it took him the longest to get back home to his wife. Kind of ironic if you ask me.
The cup pauses midway to my mouth as all the memories assault me at once and realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
This is a great book.
We all read it.
We all have this tattoo.
I did my research for Achilles and Hector, the two most important warriors in this story. They were strong characters, loved by people, and arrogant in their nature. Psychopath admires only people who he can associate himself with, no one else.
Among all this mess, I’ve never considered Odysseus, the one man who came up with the Trojan horse that won the war.
A deceit, something that looked like a god’s gift when in fact it was a weapon to kill.
The cup falls on the marble floor, shattering into tiny little pieces as the wet pool circles around my feet.
The man we try so desperately to catch is one of us, the greatest deception of all.
Oh my God.
I turn around quickly to get to my phone, but I halt my movements when I see the man sitting on my chair, playing with a silver blade that glitters in the light of the full moon shining through the large window in my living room. The only other light in the apartment comes from the kitchen.
“I knew you’d figure it out eventually,” he says, his voice void of any emotion as he plays with the blade, shifting it through his fingers. “That’s why I chose you.”
I swallow. Taking a step back, I wonder how long it will take me to get to my gun located under the table a few feet away from me. I open the drawer next to me and take out a knife; at least I won’t meet my enemy empty-handed.
“You fooled all of us.” Oddly enough, I stay calm, not letting my fear get the better of me. The woman in me weeps at the cruelty of the situation, at the monster I haven't seen even though he has always been so close.
Maybe that’s my destiny, to be forever fooled by them. God, all those people who claimed criminal psychology was not for me clearly were right.
“One trait of a serial killer is high intelligence, and another is manipulation. But then again, you know that.” He rubs his chin as something flashes through his eyes. “But the game is over, the time has come.” Knowing full well I won’t get another chance, I dart to my room to activate the alarm and grab my gun, but he is next to me like lightning, knocking me to the floor where I land painfully.
I cry out in pain, but kick him hard in the stomach, crawling from under him to scoot forward, but his strong hands holding my hips prisoner don’t let me. I try to stab his arm with the knife, and he grunts but pushes me onto my back as we both breathe heavily. His hand rises, and I shut my eyes, expecting a harsh blow, but instead his fingers gently trace my cheek and our gazes clash.
And that’s all I remember before he plunges a needle in my neck that slowly drains my energy and everything goes blank.
Chapter Thirteen
Evil Is Not Born. Evil Is Made.
Psychopath, 7 years old
Snapping my eyes open, I hear something crashing on the floor downstairs as loud screams echo through the house. Digging my fingers into the blanket, I cover myself from head to toe, hoping the darkness will swallow me whole and I won’t have to be part of it anymore.
The rain is pouring outside, the tress swaying from side to side, and the wind slips inside the room through the cracks in the windows inside the old house, which scares me so deeply.
I count to ten, hoping it will keep the monster away from me. My teeth chatter in fear as I hear heavy footsteps rush up the stairs, closer and closer to my room. Tears form, but I quickly wipe them away.
It will only anger him more.
The door bursts open and the harsh light blinds me for a moment as he removes the blanket and harshly grabs me by my hand. “Come on, boy.” Ignoring my cry of pain, he drags me downstairs where my mother sits on the carpet, holding her busted lip. He throws me at her feet, where I land painfully on my stomach. I bite my lips so he won’t see it.
“Now your bastard is here,” Father hisses, the smell of alcohol strong in the air as he gulps from the bottle. “You think I didn’t notice how you smiled at that new neighbor? Did you fuck him too?” he asks, and even though I’m small, I know what it means.
Father always asks Mother this whenever we go out, which rarely happens, because he doesn't trust her to “stay put,” as he calls it.
“I didn’t even raise my eyes,” she replies softly, glancing down at her hands while I scoot closer to her, hoping to feel her warmth, but she shifts back as if my touch pains her. Even though she does it because of him, it still hurts me.
“You think I’m stupid?” And with that, I hear the whoosh of the belt as he removes it from his pants. He plays with the leather, the smell penetrating my nostrils and sending fear through me, because I know what will come next. “Decide, you or the boy? I don’t care who.” He smirks, leaning in to her and tracing the belt over her cheek.
She swallows and then turns to me, palming my face. “Hide, darling,” she whispers, and then points at her bruised face. “No matter how much I scream, do not come out of the closet,” she begs, hugging me closer and rocking me from side to side. I close my eyes and count to ten, imagining my favorite song playing in the background.
Our embrace doesn't last long. He snatches me from her and pushes me harshly in the direction of the small closet near the TV, which is blasting a loud football game.
“Know your place, bastard.” I’ve tried to find this word in the dictionary, but I can never do it, and asking people is out of the question. He is all perfect and smiley with them, which I never understand, because he transforms
into a monster at home.
Everyone on the outside loves him; he is always there to help his friends and family, teaching kids to ride bikes and having the best barbecue in town.
But when the night comes and drinks are out, he is the only father I have.
Closing the door behind me, I sit on the floor and watch through the small holes, as he orders Mommy, “Get up, you whore. Let this be a lesson to you and your bastard.”
Mom listens, and the minute she is up, he strikes her with the belt on the side. She doubles over and he hits her back, one, two more times, and then she falls to her knees. He kicks her in the stomach and she coughs, then spits blood from her mouth. Probably because she bites her lips rather than scream a lot, so no one will come to the rescue.
“Fucking whore, you were always one. Should have never married you. You will know not to smile at all those men.” Hit, hit, hit.
My hands clench, and I want to rush outside to help her somehow, but then I catch her gaze as she looks straight at me—I don’t ever know how she guesses where my gaze is—and she shakes her head.
She doesn't want me to be part of this.
Then I hear the most hateful sound in the entire universe, the zipper being lowered, as Father spits out, “Since you were so eager to open your legs for him, do it for me now.”
“Please, not in front of him,” she begs, edging away, even though she can barely stand from his blows. His laughter fills the space as he sips his whiskey again.
“Let it be a lesson to the boy that women are nothing but whores who’ll turn their back on you the minute someone else wanders around.” I spin around and put on headphones attached to a small music device. I press the On button, and the classical music fills my ears, overshadowing what is going on in the living room.
I’ve promised Mommy to be a good boy and do it in case Father does this again.
She always told me to count to a thousand, and I do.
At some point, she opens the door and fiercely hugs me close to her while sobs rack her body, and I do everything I can to soothe her.
