by Hadena James
The male skeleton we’d found was approximately six feet. With skin, muscle, and organs Xavier estimated he was two hundred pounds. Dead, I’d be able to drag him at least a hundred yards. Even living with the injury to the tendon, I could have dragged him about that.
This meant that either our female didn’t have ASPD, or she was smaller than I was in both height and weight. Given the lack of violence in the kills, it didn’t feel like she was being fueled by rage or hate. My mouth kept saying mercy kills, but that didn’t feel right either. Mercy kills were merciful and meant to preserve dignity. Nathan Jones was in a bad situation. The others might have been too, but the bodies were just dumped. There was no mercy or dignity in that.
Of course, every kill has an element of narcissism. Killing was as close to playing God as a person could get. However, narcissism still didn’t explain the way she chose to kill. It was as if we were missing a piece of the puzzle, a big piece, and that was throwing everything off. Her skills and knowledge said experience, but the victims seemed impulsive, victims of chance and circumstance. Males were more interested in victims of opportunity than females.
There were also exceptions to every rule. Maybe we did have a female psychopath preying on high risk teenagers. She could be a med student at the University of Texas, but why would she hunt here? Or dispose of the bodies here? Was she a local commuting between San Marcos and Austin?
It seemed disposing of bodies in Austin would be more logical. San Antonio was just south of here. It was a straight shot from Austin to San Antonio on a major interstate. Disposing of bodies in San Marcos didn’t make sense.
I called Xavier’s cell phone and could hear it ringing on the other side of the wall. It rang twice before he answered. His voice said he was annoyed.
“Did you figure out anything useful with the bodies today?” I asked, ignoring his irritation.
“The youngest was a fourteen year old female, and the oldest was a seventeen year old male. However, judging by the order they were in the hole, the fourteen year old went in first, followed by another female of the same approximate age, then the seventeen year old male, then Nathan Jones, and then an unidentified female that I’m guessing is younger than the two males. Why?”
“Just wondering.” I hung up.
A terrible thought was forming. The age disparity wasn’t huge, but it was interesting. Young teen girls looked up to older teen girls. Teen boys liked teen girls roughly their age, give or take a year. Seventeen-year-old boys weren’t likely to sneak off with fourteen-year-old girls. They were likely to sneak off with eighteen-year-old girls and sixteen-year-old girls. A short teen male would be a target for bullies, but a petite teen girl would be popular.
Thinking it was terrifying, but saying it out loud would be worse. My niece was a cute, petite, teen girl, and from what I had been told, she was popular. It was hard to imagine her killing a classmate, but she had the genes to do it. Cassie wouldn’t know how to insert a knife between ribs and damage the heart, though. That was more adult than she could muster.
My mind was pretty sure that Cassie wasn’t sixteen or seventeen and I knew she wasn’t eighteen. Was she a good basis for comparison as a result? I didn’t know. The clock said it was about three in the morning. I called Elle anyway.
“How old is Cassie?” I asked as she answered her phone, instantly awake. In our family, three a.m. phone calls were a bad thing.
“What?” She asked.
“How old is Cassie? I can’t remember.”
“This is not important enough for a wee hours of the morning call.”
“It might be,” I said.
“No, Aislinn, it isn’t. She turned sixteen her last birthday. You will be twenty-nine on your birthday. Anything else?”
“Nope, that’s what I needed to know.”
“Do I want to ask why?”
“It’s a case, we found three teen girls, and it was bothering me because of Cassie and her age. Is she popular? Does she do sports? Is she in any clubs?”
“Yes, she plays soccer and cheerleading. She’s on the student council and the yearbook.”
“Ok, thanks, go back to bed.” I hung up.
That answered that. My niece was sixteen and popular. She played sports and participated in school activities. She and I were very different. I’d been a nerd, not a joiner or participator. Malachi had been popular. This left me conflicted. Her popularity should have made her low risk for being like me, but Malachi was proof that this was not the case. He was popular because he was damaged and hid it well. Without having to deal with real emotions, he could fake whatever was correct for the situation, and it made him popular.
Tearing myself away from thoughts of Cassie, which were getting me nowhere and making me feel as if I needed to have Xavier give her a personality test; I tried to go back to the case. A teen girl would explain everything except the experience.
I could have done it at sixteen. I could have slipped a knife between the correct ribs to puncture the heart or lungs. I could have done it at twelve. I might have even had the steady hands and forethought to put on gloves, cover my hair, and keep from contaminating the crime scene with hair and other person specific forensics. I might have even been able to have the foresight to cover my tracks with lye and other caustic materials.
Oh yeah, at sixteen I could have been a serial killer, but could I tell that to Gabriel? I wasn’t as convinced about that.
The Party
Monday held two finals for Jess. Her history final was worth one-fifth of her grade. That meant failing it would drop her to a B in the class. Jess had never had a B, but history wasn’t her best subject. The other was English, and included a five-page paper that was to be done beforehand, and to give examples of literature themes from a specific book they had read during the year. She was about half done with the paper and was running out of things to write about.
She knew there had been several themes and motifs within Ethan Frome, but she had only thought of one of each. As such, she had discussed the oppression of winter and the symbolism behind red for nearly a page each. Her notes didn’t seem to make sense anymore. They mentioned sledding, society v. desire, illnesses as a reflection of turmoil, and suicide. She wasn’t sure which were themes and which were motifs. Getting it wrong would damage her grade. Her desire to reread Ethan Frome was zero.
None of it mattered, not tonight. Tonight there was Simon. Simon Westbrook was the guy in Jess’s mind. He was smart, attractive, and active in the community. He would be the perfect addition to her life and a trophy on her arm for senior year.
In her fantasies, Simon and Jess walked the halls of school holding hands. Their fellow classmates would gape at them in awe and envy. They’d arrive together in the morning and leave together in the afternoon. He’d carry her books. She’d wear his letterman’s jacket. After high school, they’d both go away to college and maintain a long distance relationship. Pictures of them together would plaster their dorm room walls.
They’d end up at the same place for grad school. Both would work part time to pay the bills for the apartment they would share. Simon would get a degree in something respectable; engineering or law. She’d follow in her mother’s footsteps and go to Med School to become a doctor. Not a pediatrician, but an ER doctor or something. Maybe Simon would prove an aptitude for medicine and become a doctor too.
Then they’d come back here or maybe Austin or San Antonio. They’d get jobs in their respected fields. They’d have perfect lives as they built their family and their dream home. They’d both volunteer in the community. Their kids would be active in sports and hold high grades. They’d once again be looked upon with awe and envy.
The problem was getting Simon to realize it. Her advances had always been rebuffed in the past. For some unfathomable reason, he didn’t seem to want her. Jess had searched for all possible answers for his lack of interest and always came to the same conclusion, he was playing hard to get. There was no logical reason for
him not to want her. She was attractive, smart, athletic, and active in the community. She had few, if any, faults. Younger girls looked up to her. Girls her own age wanted to be her. Even older girls wanted to be her.
Shawn Steiger tapped her shoulder, breaking her from her reverie. It irritated her, but she tried not to show it. Shawn was holding two Solo cups filled with a red fluid, lighter in color than the cups that held them.
“Want a drink?” He offered her one of the glasses.
“Thanks.” She took it and managed a sip of the red fluid. The taste of vodka was strong under the fruit punch. As the alcohol passed into her stomach, it flopped and gurgled, making her feel queasy. She managed a smile. Shawn was a good guy, not her type, but a good guy nonetheless. There was no reason to be rude to him. Besides, he was good friends with Simon. If she worked it right, she might be able to figure out what Simon’s problem was.
“I haven’t seen Becky. Is she here?” Shawn asked. Jess turned to look at the guy. He wasn’t real tall and he was a bit of a dork. Becky would be grossed out knowing Shawn had the hots for her.
“Yeah, she’s around. I think she was going to find Matt, but I don’t know where she disappeared to.” Jess gave a quick glance at Simon. He still hadn’t acknowledged that she existed. He was drinking with a few guys, laughing and talking. She liked his laugh. She liked the way his lips moved when he talked. “So, what’s the deal with Simon?”
“Simon?” Shawn looked at her for a moment. “Oh, you mean why hasn’t he agreed to go on a date with you?”
“Essentially,” Jess said.
“He thinks you’re too absorbed by your books to be much fun, and you kinda are. I mean you have fun, but not a lot of it. I was really surprised when you said you were coming tonight, what with finals and all next week. I figured you’d be busy studying.”
“Oh,” Jess frowned, “did you tell Simon any of this?”
“Sort of,” Shawn blushed. “He asked, and since I have known you for more than a decade, I answered. What do you want Simon for anyway? He keeps a whole lot of girls on the side. He’s never been faithful to a girlfriend. All he ever talks about is who he’s having sex with this week.”
“Maybe he just hasn’t found the right girl.”
“Ha, yeah, right, Simon will never find the right girl. He’ll grow up, get married, and have mistresses that drive his poor wife nuts. He’s like that. You could do better. Any girl could,” Shawn answered.
“Hey, let’s go for a ride,” Jess suggested. “I found a great little spot recently where the light pollution isn’t as bad. Just for old times. Remember how we used to climb up on the roof of your house and look at the stars with your telescope?”
“Well, since Becky is still hung up on Matt, sure, why not, but no talking about Simon. You shouldn’t debase yourself that way. You’re better than him.”
They left together, in the middle of someone doing a keg stand. Jess was pretty sure it was Matt doing it, since Becky was in the crowd, paying her no attention. That was fine with Jess, the fewer people that noticed them leave, the better.
The darkened spring night was lovely. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. They drove with the windows down. The moon was full and hung low in the sky, helping to illuminate the road they were on.
Poor Shawn, Jess thought. He was always going to be the other guy. The guy that was friends with guys, but also the butt of their jokes. The guy who was too sensitive to be really masculine. The guy every girl liked to be friends with, but didn’t want to date. He’d lust after girls like Becky all his life and never obtain one. They’d lived across the street from one another since she was four years old. Honestly, she was doing him a favor. She was saving him from the harsh realities of the world.
They arrived at an old ranger’s station. It had been abandoned when they built a new one a half dozen years ago. It was too far from the beaten path to be helpful to most people, hence its replacement. If she strained her eyes, she could just make out the lights from the replacement station through the woods.
“Turn around, I have a surprise for you and I need to get ready,” Jess said. Shawn smiled and did as she asked. He’d always trusted her. Jess undressed to her bra and panties. She put her clothes as far away from them as possible and covered them with a discarded magazine.
She did take the knife out of her jeans pocket. She walked over to Shawn, placed one arm over his shoulder and whispered for him to turn around.
He did. His eyes widened as he took in the fact that she was nearly nude in the moonlight. She leaned against him. She tousled his hair, feeling him become erect against her. He leaned in to kiss her and she plunged the blade into his throat. Warm blood spilled over her hand. It fell against the floor like heavy raindrops during a storm.
The surprise on his face was replaced by anger and fear. His brain had yet to realize he was going to die. His wound was too great for any other outcome. A choking, strangled noise slipped from his lips, the last bit of air escaping from his throat. Jess knew the blade had cut into his windpipe. The wound sucked at the metal with a wet sound. Jess waited.
Shawn fell forward, his body spasming one final time. She reached down and rolled him over. His arms flopped because of the movement. His eyes stared at the ceiling, not seeing the spider webs and other insects taking residence in the abandoned station.
Jess pulled the knife out. She had to twist and jerk at the same time. It should have hurt her hand, but she didn’t feel the pain. She cleaned up with water from the trunk of her car. She kept gallon jugs of it in there for emergencies. Never knew when you would get stranded on a hot day in the middle of nowhere.
After cleaning herself, she took another container out of the trunk. This one was a white plastic jug. It was heavy, even to her. There was a skull and crossbones on the label along with the bare essentials in text. The skull and crossbones were because it contained high amounts of sulfuric acid. It was amazing how many corrosive chemicals were in drain cleaner and it was available over the counter.
Ten
It would be safe to say that the men in my life are very chatty. Their constant use of small talk was astounding. This morning was no different. Two of them were swapping nonsense about something that I didn’t understand, because I did not have the gift of making small talk.
We were waiting for Fiona and Xavier. They were still doing something with computers, facial structures and missing persons’ files, but promised to join us soon. I was thinking about the Capitol Hill Thug who stalked Denver, Colorado from 1900-1901. He did manage to kill a few women, but mostly, he just seemed to enjoy stalking them and bashing them over the head with a pipe. Death was therefore unintentional, but occasionally, inevitable. Any time you bash someone on the head with a pipe, death could be a side effect.
The Thug had highlighted the ineptitude of the Denver Police Department. The case had intruded upon me as I dressed this morning to come into the San Marcos Police Department. Not because the police were inept, but because of the lack of rage.
Lucas would argue that hitting someone on the head with a metal or wooden object was an act of rage. I would disagree. A single blow is not an act of rage, but an act of sadism. The Thug could have continued bashing in the skulls of his female victims until their brains spilled out upon the ground. He didn’t. However, a single blow to the head was also not merciful, which was why my brain latched onto it.
There were similarities between a man giving a good blow to a woman and then fleeing, and our killer with her single stab wound to the heart. Both acts lacked rage, neither was merciful. That kind of kill still required a person to get up close and personal. There was pleasure in the act, not the side effects. The Thug killed three women, but attacked about ten. Our killer had definitely killed five people, but that was because they were the only ones we had found.
Concentrating on motiveless unsolved historical crimes was better than focusing on the small talk around me. I was sure The Thug had a motive for his cri
mes, but it was never revealed. He didn’t rob or rape his victims. Aggression wasn’t part of the attack. The wound, while lethal, wasn’t aggressive. She wasn’t repeatedly stabbing her victims after they died. She wasn’t plunging the knife into their eyeballs or cutting off their noses. Those would have been extremely aggressive actions.
It ruled out rage, hatred, anger, jealousy, envy, and obsession. Those emotions fueled aggression. The kills were emotionless. This did ease my mind ever so slightly. Teens were filled with conflicting, hormone driven emotions that flood every part of their lives. That’s why high school is like a badly written soap opera. The chances of my niece sneaking up on her classmates and stabbing them through the heart before slipping away into the gathering crowd were slim to none. She was more likely to go bat shit crazy and stab them so many times, light would be able to shine through the many holes.
Mentally, I realized that my niece was not physically in San Marcos stabbing her unknown classmates. I was still having a small problem with transference. I didn’t think it was because of the tumor. Some part of me had grown and I was acutely aware of it. Having friends, family, and some understanding of myself had allowed me to realize I did not and could not exist in a vacuum. No matter how much I enjoyed quiet and solitude, I needed people to keep me human and no one was better qualified than those that accepted both parts of me. Unfortunately, this meant they were indispensable in my life, and I now walked the line that Patterson had once walked.
I pushed aside thoughts of Patterson, Cassie, my mother, and the expensive hybrid puppy that I now co-owned. Xavier and Fiona had finally arrived. So had our cadaver dogs and their handlers.
“We’ve identified all the victims and they were all locals,” Xavier told us. “If Aislinn is right and this group of bodies isn’t our killer’s first, then it seems logical that other victims will also be local.”