The Memory Therapist - ONC 2020

Chapter Nine

I walk into an abandoned building, ducking under yellow police tape. I've already been questioned several times approaching the crime scene, but as soon as I mention my name and that I am here to see Charles, they instantly let me through. 

A girl could get used to this kind of treatment. 

"Charles," I greet, handing him a steaming cup of coffee. He takes it in a rush and almost downs the entire thing before he smiles and thanks me for the brew. 

He looks awful, not at all like the put together cop that showed up to my office just days ago. His face is darkened with five o'clock shadow, he has black bags hanging under his eyes and his hair hangs limp. Not at all the man that showed up to my office the other day. 

"Have mine, too," I offer with a laugh, handing him the coffee that I got for myself. Of course I would rather have my coffee myself, but I need to appear friendly. When he tries to deny it, I insist. After all, I slept like the dead last night. 

He sips this one as he motions for me to follow him further into the crime scene. It's a weird experience. I'm used to committing the crime and creating the scene, not inspecting it afterwards. 

"I know that you have seen some things... but this is nothing like what I have ever seen. Are you sure you want to continue?" His own face seems haunted as he remembers what lays further in the abandoned warehouse. 

"Charles, you're scaring me." I laugh awkwardly. 

"Just preparing you." I already am prepared. I know exactly what to expect when I walk through that door. Or rather, who to expect. 

Jacob Connors. 

I killed him several nights ago, before I knew that there was an investigation into another one of my victims. I'm certain there's nothing to link me to either of them, let alone evidence to suggest this is the same killer. But there's a reason that Charles asked me to join him at this crime scene. I need to wait until he opens up to me about it.  

"I'm not sure," I pretend to sound hesitant. It wouldn't help me if I seemed eager to examine a mutilated body. "But you needed me here for a reason, so I will. Perhaps my experience will identify something helpful that you may have missed." Or point you away from any theories that are too close to the truth.  

He nods in acknowledgement and leads me into another room. Before I even cross the threshold the smell of blood and death assaults my nostrils. It's completely different than smelling it fresh. I gag slightly, and that wasn't even for show. 

I hold up my sleeve to try and filter the air before I breathe it in, which does nothing to help. I find it very hard to believe that killers are defined as the sick ones. We aren't the ones that spend this much time around the dead. That definitely can't be healthy. Coroners are the real psychopaths. 

Before Charles even says anything I see him. He's exactly how I left him, only more decomposed even though it's only been a few days. I am surprised that the scavengers haven't discovered the corpse yet.

"Jacob Connors. Nineteen years old." 

I look at Charles in horror. "So young." Charles doesn't say anything. I know that this is so he doesn't influence my perception of the crime scene. Little does he know that I have the most bias of all. 

"Fuck," I mumble as I almost throw up. 

"If you are going to be sick, please leave the crime scene." I want to flip him off and call him an ass, but I know that that's not going to help. Our relationship is vital going forward. I simply nod and compose myself before continuing examining the room.