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Fiona eventually gave up any thought of the doctor’s involvement. In the end, she felt she was overreaching. There was no clear connection between the doctor and the homeless girl that had perished. She unlocked her door and entered her apartment, the frustration reaching deep in her soul. She saw the file she’d left unattended on her coffee table and took a closer look at the pictures. There was no doubt the victim was brutally attacked, at least physically. Strangely, there was no sexual abuse present, only the grotesque makeup that had been applied on the victim’s face. The red lipstick didn’t follow the outline of the lips; it resembled strokes of modern art on canvas. The green eye shadow covered the eyelids, reaching right up to the brows, and the black eyeliner was thick and inconsistent. She was going back to talk to the doctor, she decided. She would inquire about “the Device” and why speaking of it was supposedly making him uncomfortable. Perhaps, she could also talk about his son and his noble profession. The doctor seemed highly sensitive about his son.
The rest of the day, she laid back on her red sofa watching all sort of criminals on the Investigation Discovery channel ... as if her own cases were not enough to occupy her mind. At six o’clock, she forced herself off the sofa and got ready. There was plenty of time to put herself together and then pick up Sophie, yet she felt like she was forgetting something important. After a few minutes of searching her memory and trying to pin down the elusive thought, she gave up. She glanced at the clock again and urgently entered her bedroom. Her mother was not fond of people arriving late.
But Fiona never made it to her mother’s for dinner that night. Her course was interrupted en route to Sophie’s house at seven fifteen when a new homicide was uncovered, presumably committed by their serial killer. She followed the sign to the next exit. It was impossible to make a U-turn on Grand Central Parkway. She wanted to make the illegal turn, but of course, the middle wall that kept the traffic flowing in its respective directions was an enormous obstacle. She was trapped. She observed the traffic with resentment while the urgency to reach the scene was building. The first forty-eight hours were crucial in the collection of evidence for both the CSI team and the detectives, who had to search for witnesses. Fiona’s vexation was intensifying, and she almost drove directly into the wall. She cursed a few times when a slowdown occurred near the exit. The killer was approaching an apotheosis now, playing God. The killer could give and take life at her or his discretion, she thought and cursed some more. Finally, she was able to head in an eastbound direction toward the address Sophie had provided.
She reached the new location within fifteen minutes, and the familiar scene unfolded in front of her. People, curious about the police presence, crowded the street. The activity was evident: cruisers were parked in front of the crime scene, the CSI truck was present, and the detectives were going in and out. As soon as Fiona faced the victim, the sick feeling sitting in her middle section moved upwards. Bile reached up her throat, and she swallowed hard a few times.
“Fuck!” her outburst couldn’t be contained any longer. “Time of death?”
“Between nine and twelve last night, if I had to guess. The M.E. would undoubtedly be more specific,” Sam replied as he scanned the scene for evidence.
Fiona gazed directly at the victim while her peripheral vision registered Sam’s activities. He was a good forensic investigator, there was no doubt. She scrutinized the bed and realized how extraordinary everything was. There were two candles on each side of the bed, each burned halfway and then snuffed out. It was a sacrifice; she was certain now. The fourth victim was an elderly woman, lean where her ribs were visible, and she was cut precisely in the middle. Her arms stretched out and her legs were placed one on top of the other. She looked ... She looked ... Could it possibly be? She looked like Christ after he was crucified. She checked for the markings of the nails on the palms and on the dorsal section of the feet, but they were missing. The killer was getting progressively worse—not that the previous scenes were any easier to swallow, particularly the demise of the little girl—but now a clarity was forming. She turned around, scanning for Sophie. Sophie was talking to Phil, who was working on his laptop and occasionally making eye contact with her. Fiona moved toward them.
“There are two more victims out there, or there will be soon ... most likely blonds.” Was Fiona overreacting, trying to make connections? “This is a sacrifice,” she continued, pointing toward the bedroom. “The killer is moving slowly until the scene is complete. New items will be added. The victims are the personification of Christ. I saw this before, many years ago, while in school. The killer is a copycat. I’ll have to do a bit of research. I will go back and study that case.”
Sophie and Phil stared at her. They were trying to digest what was being said and follow her argument’s logic.
“I wouldn’t disclose a conclusion prematurely, if I wasn’t certain.” She tried desperately to make them see it.
“Why do you think there are two more victims? We don’t have enough information to discern a pattern. The killings stopped suddenly for almost six months, and the new victim is a blond, not a redhead,” Phil asserted.
“Don’t you see? It’s all based on the bible. The killer will collect a variety of victims. It’s all a fantasy, a distorted fantasy that becomes a reality. The number three is symbolic as well. Christ was risen on the third day and so on and so on.”
“Okay, let’s say that I get it. However, there is nothing we can do to locate the other two potential victims, if your theory is true.” Sophie broke her silence, looking intently at Fiona.
“Well, not necessarily. Are you familiar with Horton’s Spatial Positioning?” Phil asked, not expecting a reply. “Horton, an FBI agent, developed a program that interconnects the crime scenes in a spatial sequence. Also, it retrieves data that is known about each victim and makes new connections.”
“Why didn’t you use it sooner?” Fiona’s voice was a pitch higher. Why was she irritated with him?
“I just received the program recently. Besides, it takes a day before the results are furnished. The program will search billions of threats, analyze them, make the connections, and then provide the results. Keep in mind that this is a new program and glitches are expected. I’ll input the data and let you know.”
“Do it. Whatever we can retrieve will be helpful. Right now, we have nothing.” Fiona placed her hands in her pants’ pockets before she threw something at the wall. “Let’s go. There is nothing we can do here. CSI needs to collect the evidence.” She guided Sophie and Phil toward the entrance door.
They had been outside discussing a new approach for less than ten minutes when Gregory arrived. He was briefed and willingly accepted the assignment of investigating leads by going door to door. Phil appeared busy with the Horton’s Spatial Positioning program and excused himself. He was going back to the precinct to analyze the results and organize possible connections. Fiona and Sophie observed the outside structure of the house, and both seemed lost in the labyrinth of their own thoughts. Fiona’s ecclesiastical notion emerged again, and the whys, wheres, and whens danced around in no consistent pattern, creating more bewilderment than she really needed. She gazed at Sophie, and the inconsistent patterns in her mind formed a steady stream of thoughts and plans. Suddenly, she knew what she wanted.
“Follow me.”
Fiona didn’t disclose their destination to Sophie, who was too tired to argue with her. Fiona checked her mirrors to confirm she was following the route, and then, she dialed the number of her parking garage to reserve a spot. They reached the 59th Street bridge within twenty-five minutes. The road was wrapped around in a half of circle before the stretch of straight road took over and heaven opened its doors. Midtown Manhattan appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The sight was breathtaking. The 59th Street bridge, now named Ed Koch Bridge in honor of his mayorship, provided the best view of midtown. As soon as the turn came to an end, thousands of dazzling lights emerged. Their artificiality did not dim the astonishment that overtook the viewer. Fiona was witnessing humanity’s arrogance, superciliousness, and cockiness, but the result was grand. The east river below was hosting the event of lights as it did every night when darkness whispered from above. Viscerally, she slowed down to inhale the sight before the image disappeared behind her and the magic was gone.
They made it to Fiona’s fortieth-floor apartment, using silliness and joking to mask a nervousness that grew within. A synthesis of colors and sounds rushed into Fiona’s mind as she was stroked by a specific desire. She pulled Sophie into her arms and began kissing her in the elevator, knowing the cameras were probing both inside the elevator and outside her apartment. She couldn’t remember if she was ever soft and tender with her, and now, she was pressing her lips into Sophie’s with velocity and passion. She pushed harder and harder until she took full possession of Sophie’s mouth; it was hers to claim. Fiona’s fingers were working hard attempting to unzip Sophie’s pants.
“Let’s take a break.” Sophie breathed heavily in her ear.
“What for?” Fiona whispered, her lips caressing Sophie’s smooth neck. “I want you. I’ve wanted you from the first time we met. You are on my mind all the time, and you make me smile. I don’t think I can wait any longer.” Fiona took Sophie’s hand and guided her to the bedroom. They both realized there would be no going back. Their desire was greater than the trivialities of life and death, or was their coping mechanism simply kicking in at full force to protect them from what they had witnessed? Whatever it was, they both accepted it and frantically unraveled themselves. Their interaction was different on all levels as their emotions overtook their whole existence. They both engaged in the most spectacular lovemaking, slowing everything down and savoring the passing seconds. Their goal wasn’t to simply reach one great moment, it was to cherish the nanoseconds they experienced on the journey in Fiona’s bedroom. They kissed each other’s bodies with lips that were red hot, and when their souls were ready, they broke into pieces and became particles in the open air. They saw themselves rise and fall, colliding with each other, drinking each other’s essence, and then collapsing next to each other. Their perfect fit was revealed, but they were too afraid to acknowledge it.