Shadows (Bayou Magic 1)

“Gotcha. That makes sense.”

She leans against me, pressed to me from shoulder to knee.

Once I’ve weeded through the remaining results, I’m left with forty-two.

“Forty-two?” she asks, reading the tally at the top of the screen.

“Yeah, that’s what we’re left with. That doesn’t mean he’s killed all of these girls, though. They’re just the ones that fit the general description. Some of the bodies were found, but the cases were never solved.”

She swallows hard, then points to a photo in the middle. “She’s the first one I saw.”

I jot down the name and keep paging through, but it’s not until we get to the more recent listings that Brielle points again. “There’s Tammy.”

“Do you see the most recent girl?”

She frowns, examining each of the women again, and then she points to the last girl on the list. “This one. That’s her.”

“You’re sure?”

She nods and bites her lip. “Yeah. They don’t look much like those photos now given what was done to them, but that’s them.”

“What do they look like, Brielle?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I’ve worked on some horrendous cases. There’s not much that can surprise me.”

“It’s not just that they’ve been beaten. One definitely was because her whole face is swollen and bruised. But it’s more. They’ve been…tortured. Tormented.” She stands to pace again. She seems to think better when she’s moving. “One of the girls, the one who was beaten, was also eviscerated. Slit from throat to pubic bone. Her torso looked empty of organs.”

“Christ.”

“Yeah, I don’t see them as they were when they were alive and happy. I see the horror. Every detail.”

“I’m so damn sorry, Brielle.”

“Me, too. It was way better when they were just shadows and they’d tell me what happened to them. I didn’t have to see it.” She plucks at her lip, thinking. “One of the other girls had a slit throat. And the third one was burned.”

I swallow hard, hating that she’s had to see all of that.

“So, here’s what we know,” I begin, all business-like, my voice full of authority. “He’s consistent. He likes one type of girl and doesn’t deviate from that type. Dark hair, blue eyes, average height. Maybe he has a mommy complex, and he’s killing his mother over and over again. Or, he’s a jilted lover. There’s something about these women that makes him comfortable and turns him on.”

“Turns him on?” she asks incredulously.

“Oh, for sure. He most likely gets an enormous amount of sexual gratification from killing these women. From the actual act of torturing and killing them. He’s definitely a sexual sadist.”

“Sick son of a bitch.”

“Absolutely. He probably has a mental illness of some kind. He’s likely a psychopath, at the very least a sociopath, and absolutely a narcissist. He doesn’t see what he does as wrong. He’s proud of it, but he understands right from wrong, and laws, and he’s very good at covering his tracks so he doesn’t get caught.”

“He’s a serial killer,” she says, surprise lighting up her face.

“Of course, he is. This isn’t new for him. He’s been killing for many years, most likely longer than the six we know about. These are just the people with a missing person report. He probably started at a young age, brutalizing animals, then progressed to experimenting with the homeless and other people that he thought wouldn’t be missed. He may not have killed right away, but it likely didn’t take him long to progress to that.”

“How do you live with all of that in your head?” she asks.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

She shakes her head, glances outside, and then sits next to me again, leaning her head on my shoulder. “They’re still out there.”

“I suspect they’re not going anywhere for a while.”

She nods. “Sleep with me tonight. I don’t want to be alone. Please don’t leave me alone.”

“I’m right here. I’ll stay with you.”

“Thank you.”“No dreams last night.” She smiles up at me as we walk through the French Quarter. She’s leading me to her friend’s store, where she claims the owner will be able to direct us to the correct police officer to talk to.

I’d rather just call my brother and ask for a contact.

But I’m not the one seeing dead people. So, for now, I’ll do things her way.

“I’m glad.” I squeeze her fingers. “You hardly moved.”

She was pressed to me all night, and I wanted to make love to her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

But it’s not the time for that yet.

We’ll get there.

“It’s just around the corner.” Brielle guides me down the sidewalk, and we stop in front of a store called Bayou Botanicals. “I absolutely love Mallory’s shop. It smells good and feels amazing. Let’s go.”

I open the door and follow Brielle into a lovely store full of oils and soaps and other things I can’t identify.