Anathema

The Collection

We found the naked body face down in the park exactly where the college students said it would be.

Pieces of bone stuck out the sides of the mouth like mandibles. The arms were twisted and broken to resemble antennae. Other body parts from a second body, sewn on haphazardly but also with the craftsmanship of a surgeon were sticking out from the abdomen and waist, bent up to mimic the legs of a stick insect. The bottom half was just as grotesque. Legs bent backwards with bones protruding the kneecaps and thighs,bits of teeth designed to replicate a hardened shell upon the man's back.

Perhaps the worst part was that he had no skin. He had been stripped down to the muscle like a piece of meat and then it was used as sort of a leathery Exoskeleton for the torso and to cover the facial features.

My partner excused himself to vomit the moment that he saw the nightmarish abomination. But all that concerned me was the latest clue. Written in the victim's blood was the Latin name of this 'newest' species to enter the Collection.

*Andulae Reverendis*

Likely telling me that the deceased was a priest of some kind.

This would make 5 in under 2 months that we had attempted to tackle. None of them solved. All of them relating to the mysterious serial killer who left only these tags as a moniker. It was clear that his M.O. resonated with the most sickening deformations of the human body, and also a love for insects in general; thus why the media had assigned him such a casual name.

But each time I came to one of these crime scenes, it felt more like a taunt. I'm a damn good detective. But this was the work of a true mad man.

So far only two of the victims marched with missing persons in the tri-State county. Which meant he was careful and meticulous. Our county profiler said that it was likely he studied his prey for months before choosing to attack. Because there was never a shred of blood that linked back to anyone outside of the crime scene. Not a piece of skin. Not even a hair follicle. This sicko was a ghost and he knew it. Now with bodies stitched together and put on display he was getting bolder.

That actually made me a little excited. Because a criminal that takes more and more risks is also prone to making mistakes.

The M.E. showed up about fifteen minutes later and confirmed this with a quick swab around the bones that were sticking from the victims jaws.

"These aren't human," he said.

"What are they then?" I asked.

"Afraid I'm not quite sure. Seem to be from some large dog. Possibly a mastiff?" he suggested.

"Dogs like that are rare around here, there's a chance that it belonged to someone. And if so, it likely would have had a tracker installed," I said excitedly. It was the first lead we'd had.

I tried to keep my spirits from soaring. I didn't want to jinx this into being a red herring.

But sure enough, the next day the report came back and confirmed it. A man by the name of Julian West had owned the animal.

"Looks like this fellow is a bit of a recluse," Joseph, my partner; commented after doing a quick internet search. According to the limited data he had dug up, Julian was a businessman from outside of New Orleans that had retired a few years back after an unfortunate accident. Now he rarely ever came out in public, and he lived in a more remote portion of the Louisiana bayou. We attempted to make contact several times that day with no result. Our only option was to drive out to speak with Mister West and see what information he could provide.

"We should go tonight while this is still fresh," Joseph suggested.

My date had already canceled for the night so I obliged him and we made the road trip in a little under an hour.