Cause to Kill

Instinct told her she’d already made the correct assessment: he was unstable and lonely, a teenager on the verge of a breakdown before the girl of his dreams was suddenly murdered, and then he snapped. But a meticulous murderer that drained bodies and put them in angelic, lifelike positions? She had trouble believing it. There was just no solid proof.

“Do you like movies?” she asked.

He frowned, uncertain about her line of questioning.

“Can you tell me what’s currently playing at the Omni Theatre?” she added. “The cinema across from Lederman Park?”

A blank expression greeted her.

“There are three movies playing there,” she answered. “Two of them are 3D summer action flicks. I don’t really care about those,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “The third is called L’Amour Mes Amis, a little French film about three women who fall in love with each other. Have you ever seen that movie?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Do you like foreign films?”

“Talk to my lawyer.”

“All right, all right,” she said. “How about this? One more question. You give me an honest answer and I’ll leave here and get you a lawyer. OK?”

He said nothing.

“No strings attached,” she added. “I’m serious.”

Avery took a moment to formulate her thoughts.

“You could be my killer,” she said. “You really could. We have a lot of avenues to still explore but some of the pieces add up. Why else would you attack a cop? Why is your room so clean? Makes me think you have another place somewhere. Do you?”

An unreadable stare greeted her.

“Here’s my problem,” Avery said. “You could also just be a stupid kid that was destroyed over the death of a crush. Maybe you were furious and miserable, and obviously a little unstable because you attacked a cop. But,” she emphasized and pointed to the two-way glass, “my supervising officer and my captain both think you’re guilty of first-degree murder. They want to see you burn. I’m going to give you a choice. Answer one question for me and I’ll rethink my position and give you what you want. OK?”

She leaned forward and peered deep into his eyes.

“Why did you attack my partner?”

A complex set of emotions passed through George Fine. He frowned and mulled over his words, and then he looked away and back at Avery.

A part of him seemed to be calculating a response, and figuring out what that response would mean in a court of law. Finally, he settled on something. He moved in closer, and although he tried to act tough, his eyes were glassy.

“You all think you’re so big, so important. Well, I’m important too,” he said. “My feelings matter. You can’t just say we’re friends and then ignore me. That’s confusing. I’m important too. And when you kiss me, that means you’re mine. Do you understand?”

His face cocked and tears rolled down his cheeks and he screamed:

“That’s means you’re mine!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

He checked his watch. It was close to six o’clock.

The sun was still out and people were everywhere on the massive lawn.

He sat against a tree along Killian Court on the MIT campus. Easily seen among the shade of the high foliage, he wore a cap and glasses.

His destination had been reached only a few minutes before. Problems at the office had facilitated a last-minute spreadsheet for his boss. Often, he asked the All Spirit why his boss couldn’t be killed, as well as anyone else he deemed a nuisance. Without a word – only through strange sounds and disturbing images – the All Spirit had let him know that his thoughts and feelings were meaningless: all that mattered were the girls.

Young. Vibrant. Full of life.

Girls that could release the All Spirit from his prison.

A temple of girls, college girls ready to take on the world, a spring well of thriving, potential energy easily given over to the All Spirit, enough power to break through his interdimensional realm and reach the Earth as a physical presence. No more need for apostles and minions. Freedom. At last. And all those who helped him? Those who were patient and strong, who had built the temple of these young college morsels out of love and care? What about them? Well, they would be assured a place in Heaven, of course, as gods in their own right.

It was Tuesday, and on Tuesday night, Tabitha Mitchell always went to the great dome library to study with friends after class.

At six fifteen, he spotted her. Tabitha was half Chinese and half Caucasian. Pretty and popular, she was laughing with friends. She flipped her dark hair and shook her head at something that was said. The group walked across the lawn.

There was no need to follow. Her destination was already known – back to the dorms to change, and then out to the Muddy Charles Pub for the Tuesday Special: Ladies Night. All girls drink for free. Tuesday was her favorite night to party.

He took a sip of a smoothie, closed his eyes, and mentally prepared.

* * *

The build-up was his favorite part, the waiting, the yearning, and the near explosion of his desire. Love was an emotion easy to feel with these girls. Every one of them had vivacity of spirit and energy and an incredible purpose they all shared, bigger than anything they could have ever achieved on their own. They were princesses in his mind, queens, worthy of his adoration and perpetual worship.

The rebirth was hard for him.

After they’d been changed, they were no longer his own. They had moved on to become sacrifices for the All Spirit, building-blocks in the temple of his eventual return, so all he had to remember them by were pictures, and the memories he had of a budding love cut too short, as always cut too short.

He stood along the Charles River and stared out at the rolling waves of water. Night had come and he was always the most introspective at night, before the induction. Behind him, across Memorial Drive, Tabitha Mitchell walked with her friends to the Muddy Charles Pub. They would stay there for at least two hours, he knew, before they all split apart and Tabitha headed back to her dorm, alone.

Stars were barely visible in the dark sky. He spotted one, then two, and he wondered if the All Spirit lived in those stars, or if he was the sky itself, the universe. As if in answer, he saw the image of the All Spirit: a darker shadow among the sky that seemed to encompass the entire sky. There was a patient, expectant look on the All Spirit’s face. No words were spoken. All was understood in that moment.

At around nine, the killer headed back toward the pub and waited on a narrow passage between the bar, which was in the large, white-columned building of Morss Hall, and the Fairchild Building. The area wasn’t well lit. A number of people ambled about.

At nine thirty-five, she appeared.

Tabitha said her good-byes in front of the hall. At the bottom of the steps, they all went their separate ways. Her two friends turned toward their apartment on Amherst Street, and she turned right. As was her habit, she moved into the passway.

Regardless of the many people nearby and on the street, the spirit of an actor embodied the killer. He took the persona of a drunkard and ambled over to Tabitha. In the palm of his hand, attached to his fingers by silver rings, he cupped a handmade plunger-needle.

Quickly passing behind her, he simultaneously stung the back of her neck, gripped her neck so she wouldn’t move, and pulled her in close.

“Hey, Tabitha!” he said in a very familiar, loud, phony British accent, and then, to lower her guard, he added, “Shelly and Bob told me you’d be here. Let’s make up? OK? I don’t want to fight anymore. We belong together. Let’s sit down and talk.”

Initially, Tabitha jerked and attempted to dislodge herself from the assailant, but the quick-acting drugs made her throat numb. In the seconds that followed, the names of her friends confused her. Combined with the dwindling speed of her mind and body, she hopefully thought that her sorority sisters were playing some kind of joke.

He was meticulous about how he held her. One hand wrapped around her back to catch her from a fall. The other hand, which held the anesthetic, placed the needle into his right cargo pants pocket, and then he cupped her cheek. In this way he held her up with his strong arms and continued to talk as if they were truly an arguing couple on the verge of a possible mend.

“Are you drunk again?” he declared. “Why are you always drinking when I’m gone? Come here. Let’s sit down and talk.”