Consumed by him

The devil's deceit

"How have you been since our last session Cleo?" I asked, curious for her answer.
She fidgeted, pulling the strands that covered her face.

"I've been okay, I feel much better. But there's something I need to tell you," she said, her fingers tugging at the stitchings of her jeans.

"Anything said in this room will remain in this room Cleo, that I can guarantee you."

I had no wish to report any incriminating information my patients divulged. Unless they were Ill-mannered, in that case, I didn't care for the consequences.

"Okay here goes, do you remember the dream I spoke about in the last session? I had the same one last night. I'm walking on that pathway, it's desolate, he's there again. I know he's still imprisoned, but I still see him so vividly.

"I don't think he was talking, or I just couldn't hear him. He drew near me rapidly, I acted on instinct. I wrung his neck until his face held a tinge of blue. His eyes were void and glassy, I had the urge to poke them. But then a thought struck me,
'I can feel the pinch.'"

Pride streamed through me as I processed her lengthy confession. Weeks before, I'd discovered what she most desired, she had a lust for murder. And so I satiated her hunger.

Seeing Cleo out, I checked my voicemail, Jack needed me urgently for a psych evaluation.

Entering the bureau I took in the bustling of people, so very desperate to find the answer to one question.
Who?

I made my way towards Jack's office, spying two people already in there. Jack, noticing me, made a come hither motion.

To the left sat Anastasia, she seemed different. On guard. I basked in the ardency of her beauty. The gentleman positioned next to her had a slight sneer to his expression, one I didn't appreciate in the company of Anastasia.

In my line of work, you have to depict who a person is very quickly.  I'd become accustomed to the likes of Bundy and Manson in my practice, I'd developed an ability to detect evil when near it. Currently, my body hummed with the indication, that I had that same company here with me.

I took a seat next to the presence I increasingly disliked.
"Hannibal, this is my superior, Adrian Peterson. You'll be seeing much more of him as he's keen to get involved with the case. Right, Enough with the pleasantries, the psych eval I need is on the person accountable for these WC crimes. I need to know what drives and motivates them. I need you for the nitty gritty Hannibal, I need you for the why," Jack spoke, determined.

"Of course Jack, any material you have will be beneficial to my evaluation. The crimes will speak for themselves," I spoke assuredly.

I turned toward Adrian offering my hand. I couldn't disregard the temperature his palm beheld. Far lower than sufficient, in different circumstances I'd suggest he seek medical attention immediately. I knew better than to do so.

I knew what this was, who he was. The phrase "cold-blooded killer", wasn't mythical.

"Adrian, Pleasure to meet you, you couldn't be in better hands. Jack is one of the best, possibly the best agent I've had the fortune of working with in my career," I said, commending Jack, I truly did mean it. Jack had become a dear friend, a term I rarely employed in my vocabulary.