16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Iris

I lean back in my leather chair, observing Detective Reeves as he flips through the case files spread across my mahogany desk. The late morning sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the room and glinting off the detective's badge. It’s the only thing that shines about the man sitting across from me, his suit is cheap and ill fitting, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

"I must say, Dr. Blackwood," Reeves comments, glancing up from the papers, "your home is quite impressive. The architecture, the decor... it's all very elegant."

A small smile plays at my lips. "Thank you, Detective. My husband and I do have a fondness for the finer things in life." My fingers absently trace the edge of a crystal paperweight, its facets catching the light. "But I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss interior design."

Reeves nods, his expression growing serious. "You're right, of course. I was hoping you might have some insights into these disappearances now that you have read the files. Six women gone without a trace... it's baffling."

There is that word again. I have to school my face to not show the humor I find in that word alone.

I hum thoughtfully, leaning forward to examine the photos of the missing women. "You haven't exactly given me much to work with, Detective," I muse. "No physical evidence, no commonalities between the victims, random locations... it's as if they simply vanished into thin air."

"That's what's so frustrating," Reeves sighs, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He’s an older man, looking weathered from too many years on the job, or too many frustrating cases. "We've been over every inch of the last known locations, interviewed friends, family, coworkers... nothing."

I stand, moving to the window. The manicured grounds of our home are large and beautiful and I make a mental note to check on the flower gardens to make sure the most recent body we buried there isn’t killing them off. "I can tell you that the person responsible for these abductions is likely highly intelligent and methodical," I begin, choosing my words carefully.

Turning back to face Reeves, I continue, "The lack of physical evidence suggests someone with forensic knowledge, possibly law enforcement background or medical training. They're careful and patient."

Reeves leans forward, his interest piqued. "Go on," he urges.

"The randomness of the victims and locations is interesting," I muse, pacing slowly across the space. "It could indicate opportunistic kidnappings, but given the lack of evidence, I'm inclined to believe it's intentional. A way to confuse law enforcement, to make the abductions seem unconnected."

I pause, letting my gaze drift over the photos of the missing women. Young, old, different races and backgrounds... no obvious pattern. "As for motive," I continue, "there are several possibilities. Human trafficking is always a concern with missing persons cases, especially women. But the diversity of the victims makes me question that."

Reeves nods, jotting notes in his worn leather-bound notebook. "What other motives do you think we should consider?"

A sinister smile flickers across my face, gone so quickly that my face is once again smooth neutrality before I turn back to Detective Reeves. "There are darker possibilities we should consider," I say, my voice low and measured. "Given the lack of ransom demands or any attempts at communication, we may be dealing with someone who views these women as objects rather than people. A collector of sorts."

Reeves' brow furrows. "A collector? You mean like... trophies?"

I nod, moving back to my desk, sitting once again and picking up one of the victim photos. "Exactly. Someone who derives pleasure not just from the act of taking these women, but from possessing them. Keeping them. It's not about money or even sexual gratification in the traditional sense. It's about power and control."

I set the photo down, my fingers lingering on its edge. "This person likely has a highly organized mind. The ability to plan and execute these abductions without leaving a trace speaks to an almost obsessive level of detail-orientation. They're methodical, and extremely intelligent."

Reeves leans forward, his interest clearly piqued. "So we're looking for someone with resources? Money, property?"

"Most likely," I agree. "They'd need a secure location to keep the women, somewhere isolated perhaps. And the means to maintain such a place without arousing suspicion."

I pause, letting my gaze drift back to the window. The sprawling grounds of our home stretches out before me, lush and secluded. A perfect hiding place, really. The irony isn't lost on me.

"There's something else to consider," I continue, turning back to Reeves. "The randomness of the victims might not be as random as it appears."

Reeves' eyebrows shoot up. "What do you mean?"

I pick up another photo, studying it intently. "On the surface, these women have nothing in common. Different ages, races, backgrounds. But what if the connection is something less obvious? Something only the abductor can see?"

I spread the photos out on the desk. "Maybe it's a physical feature. The curve of a neck, the shape of their hands. Or perhaps it's something more intangible. A certain look in their eyes, the way they carry themselves. Whatever it is, it speaks to our perpetrator on a deep, possibly subconscious level."

Reeves nods slowly, his pen scratching across his notepad. "So you think this person is selecting these women based on some criteria we can't see?"

"It's a possibility," I say with a shrug. "Humans are complex creatures, Detective. Our desires, our obsessions... they don't always make sense to others. But to the person experiencing them, they're everything."

I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers under my chin. "This person, whoever they are, they're living in a world of their own making. A world where these women belong to them, where taking them is not just acceptable, but necessary."

As I watch Detective Reeves scribble furiously in his notebook, another thought begins to form in my mind.

"Detective," I say slowly, my voice taking on a contemplative tone, "what if we're looking at this all wrong? What if these abductions aren't just about the act of taking, but part of something... larger?"

Reeves looks up, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Dr. Blackwood?"

"Consider this," I begin. "We've been assuming that these women are being taken for some immediate gratification—whether that's sexual, financial, or simply the thrill of the act itself. But what if the abductor has a grander vision in mind?"

I lean forward, tapping the photos of the missing women. "Look at them, Detective. Really look. What do you see?"

Reeves leans forward, studying the images intently. "I see six women, different ages, races, backgrounds..."

"Exactly," I interrupt, a hint of excitement creeping into my voice. "They're all different. But what if that's the point? What if our perpetrator isn't just collecting random women, but specific types?"

I start arranging the photos in a circle on the desk. "What if each of these women represents something? A specific archetype or symbol?"

Reeves' eyes widen as he begins to catch on. "You think this could be... what? Some kind of ritual?"

A slow smile spreads across my face. "Perhaps. Or maybe it's art. A grand, twisted masterpiece that only the creator can truly appreciate."

I lean back again, gesturing at the circle of photos. "Six women. Six points on a hexagram. In many occult traditions, the number six is associated with harmony, balance, love. But it's also linked to sin, temptation, the imperfections of man."

Reeves is hanging on my every word now, his pen forgotten in his hand. "So you think this person is, what? Trying to create some kind of human mandala?"

I tilt my head, warming to the theory. "It's possible. Or perhaps they see themselves as a collector of human experiences. Each woman represents a different aspect of the human condition—joy, sorrow, innocence, wisdom, passion, restraint."

I pause, letting the idea sink in. "But here's where it gets truly interesting, Detective. There are six women missing now. But what if that's not the end? What if six is just the beginning?"

Reeves' face pales as the implications sink in. "You think there could be more victims?"

I nod slowly, feeling a shiver of excitement that might be mistaken for professional enthusiasm. "Consider the symbolism, Detective. In many mystical traditions, seven is considered a number of completion, of perfection. The seven days of creation, the seven heavens, the seven deadly sins..."

Reeves leans forward, completely engrossed. "So you think the next victim..."

"Could be the end, or be the keystone," I finish for him. "The final piece that brings the whole twisted masterpiece together. But who would represent such a concept? A politician? A CEO? Or perhaps someone with a different kind of influence... a religious leader, maybe? Or even..."

I trail off, letting the tension build. Enjoying the thrill of it. Reeves is on the edge of his seat now, hanging on my every word. "Or even what, Dr. Blackwood?"

A slow, predatory smile spreads across my face. "Or even someone in law enforcement. Someone who holds the power of justice in their hands. A judge, perhaps. Or a district attorney."

The irony of suggesting Elijah as a potential victim while he's bound and gagged just a floor above us is almost too delicious. I have to fight to keep the amusement from showing on my face.

Reeves' eyes widen. "You think our perpetrator might target someone in the justice system next?"

I shrug, affecting an air of professional detachment. "It's just a theory, of course.” I stand, moving to the bookshelf that lines one wall of my office. My fingers trail along the spines of leather-bound tomes, eventually pulling out a hefty volume on occult symbolism. "And then there's the number twelve," I continue, flipping through the pages. "Twelve months in a year, twelve signs of the zodiac, twelve apostles..."

I turn back to Reeves, the open book cradled in my hands. "What if our perpetrator is working towards some grand design? A living, breathing work of art composed of human lives?"

Reeves leans forward, his face a mask of horrified fascination. "But... why? What could possibly drive someone to do something like this?"

A small smile plays at the corners of my mouth. "The human mind is a complex thing, Detective. Some seek meaning in religion, others in science or art. But there are those who find their purpose in darker pursuits. They see beauty in the forbidden, in pushing the boundaries of what society deems acceptable."

I set the book down on my desk, open to a page depicting various occult symbols. "Imagine someone who views the world as a canvas, and human lives as their paint. Each abduction, each life taken, is a brushstroke in a masterpiece only they can truly appreciate."

Reeves shakes his head, looking slightly nauseated. "It's... it's monstrous."

"Is it?" I ask, my voice soft and contemplative. "Or is it simply a perspective we can't understand? To the artist, their work is everything. The suffering of their subjects is irrelevant in the face of the greater vision."

I pause, letting my gaze drift back to the window for a moment. "Of course," I continue, turning back to Reeves, "this is all purely theoretical.”

Reeves huffs in frustration, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Yes, and it could be something far simpler," he says, echoing my words. "Maybe we're overthinking this. What if it's just some sicko getting his kicks by taunting us?"

I shrug, leaning back in my chair. "It's certainly possible," I concede. "We haven't given much thought to that angle, have we? Sometimes the simplest explanation is the correct one."

Reeves nods, his brow furrowed in thought. "Yeah, maybe... maybe this is just some asshole playing games. Showing off how clever he is, how he can snatch these women right under our noses."

"'Catch me if you can,'" I muse, tapping my fingers against the polished wood of my desk. I can certainly appreciate that mindset on many levels. "It's a tale as old as time, isn't it? The criminal who views his crimes as a game, law enforcement as worthy adversaries to be outsmarted."

Reeves sighs heavily, slumping back in his chair. "God, I hope that's not it. Those types are the worst. They never know when to quit, always pushing for bigger scores, more attention."

I hum thoughtfully, my gaze drifting back to the photos spread across my desk. "It would explain the apparent randomness of the victims," I point out. "If the goal is simply to prove he can take anyone, anywhere, without leaving a trace... well, that's certainly been accomplished, hasn't it?"

Reeves grimaces, nodding reluctantly. "Yeah, it has. Six women are gone without a trace."

"And think about the media coverage," I add, gesturing towards the window as if the outside world and all its chaos were visible beyond the manicured grounds of my home. "Every new disappearance ratchets up the tension, doesn't it? The public's fear, the pressure on law enforcement... it's all fuel to the fire for someone who gets off on this kind of attention."

Reeves leans forward, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "Christ," he mutters. "If that's what we're dealing with, this could go on for a long time. These types, they don't stop until they're caught. And even then..."

I nod solemnly, though inside I'm fighting back a smile. "Even then, the notoriety might be exactly what they're after," I finish for him. "A chance to bask in the spotlight, to have their 'genius' recognized."

Reeves looks up at me, his eyes tired and frustrated. "So what do we do? How do we catch someone like that?"

I spread my hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm afraid I can't give you an easy answer, Detective. These cases are notoriously difficult to solve. The perpetrator clearly has a level of intelligence and foresight that makes traditional investigative methods challenging."

Reeves sighs wearily, and I can see the exhaustion weighing down on him. "I was afraid you'd say that. But any insights you can provide would be helpful, Dr. Blackwood. Your expertise is invaluable in cases like these."

I nod, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth. "Of course, Detective. I'm always happy to assist law enforcement in any way I can. I'd like to review the files in more depth, see if anything new jumps out at me."

"That would be great," Reeves says, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "Thank you, Dr. Blackwood. Your help is truly appreciated."

I stand, smoothing down my pencil skirt. "It's my pleasure, Detective."

Reeves nods, gathering up his notes and the case files. "I'll have my office send over any new information we gather."

"Excellent," I say, moving towards the door of my study. "Let me walk you out."

"Your home really is remarkable, Dr. Blackwood," Reeves comments as we enter the foyer. "It's so peaceful here. Must be nice to have a quiet place to work and think."

I smile, the expression one of polite gratitude on the surface, but underneath, it's a grin of pure, wicked satisfaction. "Thank you, Detective. My husband and I do value our privacy. It allows us to... fully immerse ourselves in our work."

"Thank you again for your time, Dr. Blackwood," Reeves says, shaking my hand.

"It's my pleasure, Detective," I reply, my voice warm and professional. "I look forward to looking into this further. And please, don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything else."

As I watch Detective Reeves' car disappear down our winding driveway, a slow smile spreads across my face. The thrill of deception, of playing a dangerous game right under the nose of law enforcement, sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

I make my way back to my study, my heels clicking against the marble floors. The room still holds the lingering scent of Reeves' cheap aftershave, a stark contrast to the refined elegance of our home. I wrinkle my nose slightly as I settle back into my leather chair.

The perpetrator fascinates me, I must admit. Their meticulous planning, their ability to snatch these women without leaving a trace... it speaks to a level of intelligence and foresight that I can appreciate.

And part of me wonders if they're like Mason and me in some ways. Do they feel that same dark thrill when they take their victims? That rush of power, of control?

The mind truly is a fascinating thing.