Chapter Twelve

Priest

"As you can see, the only evidence this fucker leaves behind is the brand on the kids' bodies and it's never in the same place. I've scoured the databases, but nothing comes close to that mark."

"No DNA?" I asked, picking up a photo that detailed the mark as best it could. From what I could see, it looked to be a trident, but not any trident I'd ever seen. It was unique. Almost created specifically for the owner.

"No," Robin groaned, sitting across from me. "And the sex, age and race vary. Whoever is doing this isn't picky."

"What about how he kills them?"

"The same. One was strangled, another had his neck broken. Another was starved to death. This killer is all over the map, Shaw. The only signature linking the killer to all the murders is the trident. But we also know that all the kids were sexually abused, right before their deaths. Whoever did this made damn sure these kids suffered in the most unimaginable way."

"It's a man, for sure, and he's hunting."

"How do you know that?"

"Look," I said, placing a photo of a child before her. "Look at the bruises. The way the child is displayed. A woman would be careful. Remorseful. But this. This is pure hatred. Whoever is doing this is angry. Very angry. That tells me whoever is doing this is lashing out."

"So, the fucker is throwing a temper tantrum?"

I smirked at that. "Basically, yes. And because of the violent nature of the kills and the random ages, he's looking for something specific. And the longer it takes him to find what he's looking for, the more volatile he will become. While you shouldn't discount a female perp, my money is still on a man. This is pure rage. Whoever this is will only get more wrathful over time."

"But couldn't a mother be just as vengeful?"

"Yes." I nodded. "There have been some cases where a mother is the killer, but in all those cases, the victims were never staged. The bodies were found covered, almost as if she'd immediately regretted what she'd done. There is no regret in these pictures. These kids have been discarded, almost as if he was throwing out the trash. I'd bet whoever is doing this was abused himself as a child, more than likely by the mother."

"What makes you say that?"

"Not all, but with most male serial killers, you will find their mothers to be domineering, and, in some cases, very religious or promiscuous. She would keep her son away from the sinful influences of the outside world. She would be staunchly restrained andregard all women as prostitutes. Although the son may care for her deeply, the mother would typically never show him any affection, something which he'd crave deeply. In some cases, the mother would bestow upon him a belief that he was superior to everyone else. She would remain the dominant influence in his life and keep him away from unsavory influences, such as girls, music, films, alcohol, and drugs; he would look to her for guidance and affection. Some mothers would belittle, humiliate, and abuse their sons daily. Sometimes the mother would often lock their son in the basement overnight for simply disobeying her orders. She would ridicule him and deny him any affection for fear that a cuddle would turn him gay."

"Jesus, Shaw." Robin groaned, rubbing her hands down her face. "What kind of mother would do all that to her child?"

"A sick one," I muttered. "Robin, this killer won't be easy to catch. He's all over the map with these killings. Unless he makes a mistake, I'm afraid this is going to continue for a long time."

"Well, that won't work for me. I don't care who this sick fuck is. I want him found and incarcerated, fast. This city is already scared, and you know damn well it takes a lot to scare a New Yorker. But this shit has everyone looking over their shoulders. I need help, Shaw. I'm so out of my depth on this."

"Maybe you should call the Bureau. They are trained for this shit."

"I know." Robin groaned, throwing her head back on the sofa. "My gut is telling me I'm close. I'm just missing a piece. I can't explain it."

"Try me," I asked, looking at her intently.

Robin Calloway was good. A damn good detective. Graduated at the top of her class at NYU, then sailed through the police academy with flying colors. She had one of the highest closing rates in the city. I knew if anyone could find this bastard, she would be the one to do it.

"It's the trident," she said, looking at me. "Shaw, I swear I've seen it before."

Frowning, I picked up the nearest photo displaying the mark, to take a better look at it. She was right. The trident was unique, and something not easily forgotten.

Sighing, I placed the photo back on the table and stated, "Well, I can give you the basics. You're looking for a man around sixty to seventy. Strong, highly intelligent, and with the ability to blend. This man would be good looking, well-groomed and he'll look like he belongs. This isn't the first time this person has killed. So, I would look back over the years. Expand your search past New York. My bet is he isn't even from the city. Like I said, he's hunting. He is looking for something—or someone—and the longer he takes to find whatever he's looking for, the angrier he's going to get and the more bodies you will find."

"Wonderful," Robin deadpanned, getting to her feet. "I need to get going. If you can just look at everything and give me your analysis, I'd appreciate that. Maybe something you see will help me catch this bastard."

"I'm going to need a few days," I said, looking at all the pictures before me.

"No problem."

Rising to my feet, I walked Robin to the door when she stopped and looked at me. "I want you to know I didn't want to call you, Shaw. After everything, I know how hard this is for you, and I appreciate that you still came for me. I owe you one."

"No problem, Robin. I'll have Phoebe call when the report is ready."

"Thanks," she whispered, then said, "You know, I'm really happy that you and Phoebe are still together. Most people wouldn't be."

I refused to respond to that.

If she only knew the truth, she wouldn't have said anything. While Phoebe was with me in the city, we weren't together.

Hadn't been in years.

My past broke us, and I wasn't sure there was anything I could do to fix us.

Walking around the campus, I didn't know what had made me come here. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment. God knew I had been punished enough already, but the need to see where it all started overwhelmed me.

After spending a few hours with the files and pictures, I needed to clear my head. I wasn't in the mood to work out and there was no way I was going to enter that studio. It had been years since I'd danced, and while it used to center me, the last time I was in a studio was with her.

It just didn't feel right.

So, I went for a walk.

And now I was right back where it all began; where the most significant and painful days in my life happened. Sitting on one of the many benches, I closed my eyes and tilted my head back while the wind blew all around me. I tried to drown out all the sounds, smells, and locations, trying to remember the good times.

Scribe told me that if I could focus only on those, then I could center myself, allowing my mind to rest. Only, I'd never been able to in all the years since. I'd tried to tell him that my memories all bled into each other. That nothing I did could wipe the stain of my failure away. The fact was that I was drowning. I'd trusted someone I shouldn't have. Instead of listening to my gut, I'd let outside forces pull the rug out from under me. Because I'd let my guard down, she'd paid the ultimate price.

We both had.

And for that alone, I would never forgive myself.

I was trapped, using my pain to propel me forward.

I'd grown accustomed to the darkness that surrounded me.

Welcomed it, even embraced it.

I wanted so much to be the person I'd been before. To be the man she needed, the man she loved. I thought when she showed up at the clubhouse during King's wedding reception that I would find a way, willing to do anything to reconnect with what I'd destroyed.

But nothing worked.

I couldn't get past my own insecurities.

I knew nothing I did would ever measure up to the man I was once. I was just the sum of my own failures, reminding me of who I truly was.

I was my father's son.

And because of that, I refused to ever let myself get attached again. She was the one thing in this world I refused to risk ever again.

Leaning forward, I rested my arms on my knees, hanging my head, knowing what I needed to do. If she wouldn't do it, then I would. I may not have been able to save her before, but I could save her now.

Reaching for my phone, I made a call.

"Priest?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"What's up, brother?"

"It's time, Scribe."

"What do you mean? Time for what?"

"I need you to file those papers."

Silence followed; I knew it would. For years, her brother had tried religiously to help me get my head right. And while I would forever be grateful for his help, the time had come. I wanted her to find happiness, and I knew that wouldn't be with me.

"Shaw, are you sure? ‘Cause once I do this, there's no going back."

"I'm sure."

"Fuck," Scribe cursed softly. "What's going on, brother? Talk to me. Why now? What happened?"

"It's just time, Scribe. Maybe it's being back in this city, I don't know, but she deserves to be happy. She's wasted so much time, and for what? It doesn't matter how much I love her. It will never be enough. She deserves a man who can give her what she wants, what she needs, and that's not me."

"That's where you are wrong, Shaw. You are exactly what my sister needs. You are the only one who doesn't see that. Please think about this. If there were ever two people who truly belonged together, it's you two."

"That may have been true once before, but it's not anymore. I should have done this a long time ago."

Praying as I never prayed before, I waited for someone to come tell me what I already knew. God help me. When I arrived on the scene, my boss told me to prepare myself. That it was bad. I'd seen what this sick fucker could do, but I never imagined.

Never thought.

But when I saw what he'd done to her, I fell to my knees and screamed out as if someone had ripped my soul from my chest.

He'd destroyed her.

How she was still alive, I didn't know.

"Baby, I'm here," I cried, crawling over to her, needing to touch her. I wanted her to know I was here. If this was the last time I was ever going to see her, I needed her to know that I was with her.

That she wasn't alone.

"Shaw," she croaked, tears running down her face as she slowly turned her head toward me. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh God, baby. No." I adamantly shook my head. "You did nothing wrong. Never you, baby. It's going to be okay. The doctors are going to fix everything, and when you are better, we are going to leave this place and never come back. Just you and me. I promise, baby."

It was a promise I knew I would never keep.

Because when I stood watching the ambulance speed off, something inside me unfurled, releasing a darkness I never imagined. Nothing, not even God himself, could make me leave this city without that motherfucker's blood on my hands. If it was the last thing I did, I was going to kill that son of a bitch.

"Agent Dalton," my boss, Special Agent Sinclair, said, getting my attention. "We will get you to the hospital as fast as we can, but I need to know your head is still in the game because I'm not letting that fucker get away with this."

I nodded.

"Good. Now tell me what you see."

Turning away from him, I walked back over to the scene, taking my time to look at everything before I spoke, "He ambushed her. Footprints from that tree tell me he was waiting for her. He knew she would walk by this spot. He waited for her."

"Go on, son," Sinclair whispered.

"The path is poorly lit, allowing him to stay hidden. When she walked past, she didn't see him. They struggled. She fought back, but he overpowered her."

"What else do you see?"

I stayed until Agent Sinclair was satisfied with everything before he personally drove me to the hospital. By the time we arrived, half the Bureau was there, along with friends, waiting for any news. And when Dr. Lansing came out and told me what I already knew, I knew nothing between us would ever be the same again.

Sitting beside her bed, I never left her side, waiting for her to wake up, and when she did, I broke when she simply said, "He's gone. Isn't he?"

Crying, I nodded. "I'm so sorry, baby."

"He didn't just take our son, did he?"

"No, Phoebe," I sobbed, laying my head down on the bed, while we quietly grieved the son we would never see and the children we would never have.

"Shaw?"

"Just file the papers for me, okay?"

"Yeah," Scribe whispered.

"Thanks, man," I replied, before disconnecting the call.