FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU REWRITTEN

Chapter Four

A murder of crows screeched and pecked at the impaled body of Cassie Boyle, whose hair was hanging down and tickling the dirt. The antlers pierced her chest, her stomach, her thighs. Dried blood stained the delicate velvet. Her mouth hung open as she stared into the sky, and her cheeks were singed red from being exposed to the sun all morning.

Jack was right: this was brutal. Cruel. She had been mounted onto these antlers and left to suffer. It reminded Will of his dream from the other night, in which he'd sat on a throne of antlers as a disembodied voice offered him the world.

He hadn't had another one of those dreams since.

"Stag head was reported stolen last night, about a mile from here," Jack said. It snapped Will out of his thinking, and he took a step closer to the body.

"Just the head?"

"Minneapolis Homicide's already made a statement. They're calling him the Minnesota Shrike."

"Like the bird?"

"Shrike's a perching bird," Price called out from his position near the body. "Impales mice and lizards on thorny branches and barbed wire. Rips their organs right out of their bodies, puts them in a little birdie pantry, and eats them later."

Will shuddered. He wondered what organs would be missing from his girl.

Jack's voice was flat, his eyes hard. "Can't tell if it's sloppy or shrewd."

"He wanted her found this way," Will said. "It's...it's petulant. I almost feel like he's mocking her. Or he's mocking us."

There was something about this display that was marginally different from the rest. There was no respect here. There was nothing that screamed out an apology. This was a desecration, a waste of valuable material. From what they knew already about this killer, that wasn't his tactic.

Jack leaned forward, studying the display. "Where did all his love go?"

"Whoever tucked Elise Nichols into bed didn't paint this picture." Will shook his head.

"He took her lungs," Zeller remarked. "I'm pretty sure she was alive when he cut 'em out."

Will nodded, recognition dawning on him. "Our cannibal loves women. He doesn't want to destroy them; he wants to consume them. Keep some part of them inside. This girl's killer thought that she was a pig." He began to pace away from the body, his thoughts racing. 

Jack turned his head to call after him, irritated. "You think this was a copycat?"

"The cannibal who killed Elise Nichols had a place to do it and no interest in," he gestured toward the scene in disgust, "in field kabuki. So, he has a house, or two, or a cabin. Or something with an antler room." It was the only type of place that made sense. The girls were being mounted on hooks, on antlers, and they were being taken somewhere specific to do it. If this girl in the field was a victim of the Shrike, then she wouldn't be laying out here in the sun, roasting under its heat like a discarded fetal pig. 

The Shrike cared about his victims. They reminded him of someone important. 

"He has a daughter. The same age as the other girls. Same-- same hair color, same eye color, same height, same weight. She's an only child. She's leaving home. He can't stand the thought of losing her. She's his golden ticket."

He turned. He had to leave, to get all of this in writing. Otherwise, it would all leave his brain in a much more jumbled mess than it already was. 

"What about the copycat?"

Will wanted to scream at Jack. He had to remind himself that no one else could read his thoughts -- at least, not that he knew of. "You know, an intelligent psychopath, particularly a sadist, is very hard to catch. There's no traceable motive, there'll be no patterns. He may never kill this way again." Sour spite began to rise in his throat. "Have Doctor Lecter draw up a psychological profile. You seem very impressed with his opinion."