“This is insane,” Agent Jordan screams in my face, but I don't budge under his harsh voice. He looks in the direction of Agent Bates, gesturing with his hand to do something with me.

The agent turns to me, and we hold each other’s stare for a short while. He must read my stubbornness, because with a heavy sigh he nods.

“She needs it,” he says as if he knows what I’m going through, but I doubt it.

To understand my nightmare, you have to live it.

Agent Jordan presses the button on the door, and we step into the prison hall where each move echoes through the space filled with dangerous energy. Goose bumps break out on my skin as the prison officer greets us and motions to the long hall studded with gated doors.

He takes us deeper inside, where we pass several rooms with inmates.

Agent Jordan’s hand on my arm tightens as he pushes me forward, not letting me sink into despair, fear, and doom.

After a few more steps, we reach the guarded interrogation room, and with the press of another button, the door slides open while two more officers meet us there.

“He’s already inside,” one of them says, turning on the screen. My breath hitches as I see Ben for the first time since my graduation.

The room has only one metal table along with two chairs with a two-way glass mirror. He wears an orange jumpsuit. His normally long hair is buzz-cut almost bald. Anticipation is written all over his features. His fingers drum impatiently while he jiggles his legs, clearly barely containing his excitement.

“He is handcuffed to the table, so there is no way he can get to you. However, we will be here the entire time, and if he even attempts to stand or try to hurt you, we’ll be by your side,” Agent Bates promises while pressing one more button so the doors next to him slide open.

His reassurance does little to soothe me, but I have no one else but myself to blame for this situation.

With fear, though, comes determination. Chloe’s father is to be executed in a few days, and I can’t let him go without getting an answer to my question.

Just one fucking question, and he can go rot in hell.

Taking a deep breath, I stop there while Ben’s attention immediately focuses on me and his mouth spreads in a wide grin.

He tries to stand, but the chains won’t let him, clanging against the metal as he angrily pulls on them.

Then he calms down, and says with wonder and joy lacing his voice, “Ella.”

Sitting down opposite him, I hold his stare while different thoughts run through my mind.

I’ve been preparing for this meeting for the last two months, playing it over in my mind hundreds of times, imagining spitting in his face and demanding answers. I cut off everyone from my life, even Chloe, who suffers her own pain. This man destroyed my life and then pretended to be a good guy, when in fact he was the evil one.

But as I sit here, I can’t muster an ounce of emotion except deep regret. And before I can stop myself, I ask the one question that doesn't let me sleep at night and wrecks my soul every day. “Why?”

He frowns. “Why did I kill your parents?” he asks so easily, so carelessly, barely curious. Like we are discussing the weather or the latest gossip. A little grin kicks up the corner of his mouth, reminding me of Chloe when something brings her joy. How can I ever stay friends with her? She shares the same face with him. I used to be jealous of the connection she had with her father, their camping trips and soccer games. My father hadn't let me play or do anything dangerous while he constantly preached to me about the future.

How I wish I could hear his nagging voice one more time; I’d give anything for it.

“It brought me pleasure,” Ben says, and it snaps me back. I try to understand what he’s talking about. “My victims. How their pulse stops once I slice their throats, the fear in their eyes, and the power high it brought me. I wasn't just a dad or a loser husband there. I was the fucking king and their life belonged to me.”

Bile rises in my throat from his description, but he doesn't stop. His gaze is faraway, while he almost zones out of everything but his sensations.

Then it hits me.

He is reliving them all over again. “But the little girls… the little girls and their cries while I showed them how much I loved them were the best. Those were the moments worth living for.”

My fists clench, barely containing myself from throwing myself at him and beating the shit out of this sick fucker.

Serial killer and pedophile, I fucking hate him. So many destroyed lives because he was chasing some high none of us could understand.

“You were the most beautiful one of them all.” What? “When your parents moved into our neighborhood, you were so pretty. Running around in your yellow dress with your dark pigtails, a careless six-year-old.” He licks his lips and almost whimpers, while I turn away as if protecting myself from his words. “I couldn't wait to sink my hands into you and strip you of your childlike innocence. But your father always stuck around, and they became great friends with my wife, so I had to back down and find other people.” The minute the meaning of his words registers, I gasp in shock as he chuckles. “Getting all those other families? They satisfied my desire to kill. Conquering the dragons who kept me away from the princesses, I won them fair and square.” This man is sick; what else can explain his fucked-up way of thinking? “But Sarah… she was too beautiful to resist. I couldn’t help myself.” He tugs his chains and screams in frustration when they don't budge. “She begged me not to do it. Nothing compares to the little cries and whimpers of a small girl. Nothing.” He digs his fingers onto the table, his eyes sparkling.

My poor baby sister, how could we have never seen this insanity right under our noses?

Death is too easy a sentence for him. He deserves to rot in prison for life. But even then, I don't think he’d ever regret his actions or feel remorse.

How is it possible to live without remorse? And how good a manipulator do you have to be to live in constant deception, a wolf in sheep’s clothes? Although calling this piece of shit a wolf, such a beautiful animal, was an insult to the wild creature itself.

“Why?” I repeat my question, and add, “Why didn't you kill me too?” He blinks in surprise while I await his reply, because that’s the only question that interests me.

He is so arrogant and narcissistic he thought I’d come to talk about him or the killings. But as much as it might be futile for police and agents or other families, it’s not for me.

I only need to know why he left me to live in this world all alone while he took my loved ones away. He wasn't this cruel to other families, but I had to be the only living victim of all his crimes.

He stays silent, and I can’t take it anymore. I rise and slam my fist on the table, ignoring the shot of pain that travels from my knuckles to my shoulder. “Fucking why?” I scream in his face while he just rubs his chin.

“I was in the house when you came back from driving with Chloe. I heard you in the shower. It would have been so easy to come and slide the knife over your artery. Your pale skin is made for blood.” A droplet of sweat appears on his forehead, so I bang my hand down again, not allowing him to go into some kind of nirvana only he understands. “But there is something about you, Ella… it brings more pleasure to watch you suffer than to kill you.”

“You bastard!” I shout, throwing the chair to the wall and dashing toward him, but strong arms grab me from behind.

Agent Jordan locks me in his embrace while he barks an order. “Take him out of here.”

Sobs escape my mouth, as I weep for the life I’ve lost because of one sick, twisted mind who thought it would be interesting to watch me suffer.

My knees wobble and I sit back down, covering my face with my hands while my shoulders shake from crying and the desperation running through me.

Although I got my answer, it hadn't brought me peace or relief.

If anything, it made my suffering even greater.

He leaves, but not before turning back to me with his final blow. “Maybe if you understood the likes of me, you could relate.” After that, he leaves, but his words echo in my brain.

No one can understand monsters.

No one can explain this evil.

No one can ever justify them.

But there are people who can catch them.

Psychopath

“Please let me go,” the man begs, and I barely restrain myself from rolling my eyes, because all their pleadings consist of the same things. None of them takes it like a real man or tries to.

But then again, cowards don’t show bravery.

“I have a family—” The tightly placed tape over his mouth shuts him up before I can snap and kill him in a rage, losing all my control.

He pushes at the restraints that chain him tight to the metal chair located right in the middle of my basement. Sweat drips from his forehead down his nose and to his chin; his shirt is soaking wet. He shakes his head, silently pleading again.

Lately, torture isn’t bringing me a high, and I do minimal stuff to make them suffer and then kill. But Ella and her interest… it’s brought something back.

Something I thought died with all the years of experience.

A desire to make an art of the process.

Her mind works in a different way; she needs more challenge and interest. More hints and clues without answers, so she can dig deeper.

Understand me better so she can finally find me, and in turn, fall right into my trap.

Trailing my fingers through the various blades and ropes displayed on my shelves, an idea forms in my head as a sinister smile spreads on my mouth.

Perfect.

Putting on brass knuckles, I walk to him slowly, building his anticipation. Nothing drives the mind more than uncertainty.

He shifts to the side, not that it helps his position one bit. Grazing it over his shoulder, I pause. “How does it start?” I ask the fucker, and he freezes, tentatively listening to me, probably thinking it will bring him an escape. “A fist here and there. Tripping. Then comes the belt, right?” His eyes widen, as he mumbles something through the tape, but I don’t care to hear it.

I know the answers anyway. Oddly enough, all those assholes have the same signature signs, as if they all formed a fucking club where they exchange their experience.

So I punch him hard in the back, causing him to groan in pain, but I don’t give him time to catch his breath and deliver another blow to his stomach. All the places where the shirt will cover everything.

So no one will know.

No one will notice.

No one will care.

Unlocking the chains behind him, I give him a little room to move, and he dashes forward, only to fall on his knees with a loud scream when I kick him hard. “Get up.” He does, and I repeat my action, while giving him more blows here and there.

The blood is dripping on the floor, his raspy breath echoing through the space as he starts crying, muffled by tape. “Stop, please stop.” I walk across to him, wrapping the end of the leather belt tight around my hand as the buckle clicks against my shoes.

“Would you?” He meets my question with a whimper and frantically rips the tape from his mouth, gulping as much air as possible, and I let him, because he’ll sure amuse me with his explanation.

“That’s not—” I whip the belt at him, hitting him across the back, and he falls back down, barely staying on his knees. “Sometimes—” He continues to justify his actions.

Hitting his other sides with the belt, I continue to kick him in the stomach.

Groans and pants erupt from him as he crawls back to the chair, holding his hands up. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just please let me go. I won’t do it again.”

Right, and the sky is pink.

They always promise and never keep their word, and no matter how many chances a person gives them, they will continue to do whatever the fuck they please.

Memories of the past assault me, my head bursting in agonizing pain as I do my best to block all the screams and blows, but I fail.

Once again, it reminds me why I’ve stopped the art and focused only on teaching them a lesson.

Throwing the belt to the side, I pick him up and slam him on the table with a loud thud as he thrashes on it, but my punch to his nose stops him real quick. I inject the serum in his system and strap him down to the table.

With gloves on and blade in my hand, I proceed to do what I always do, but this time my mind doesn’t have the clarity it usually has during those moments.

Instead, Ella appears, and I dwell on her reaction once she sees his dead body.

My ‘welcome to the team’ gift.

Ella

An annoying sound penetrates through the haze of my sleep, and I dig deeper into the pillow, hoping to escape it.

I’ve barely gotten any sleep, still conflicted about my new job and Kierian’s kiss. I paced the room from one side to the other, practicing a speech to give him so he’ll finally stop being an idiot and insisting on something that is never going to be.

And chopped bodies brought back nightmares, reminding me of those pictures I’d seen by accident. I had to take a pill to get some shut-eye; otherwise, I’d have looked like a walking zombie at work. I need a clear head for the case, or I won’t be able to help much, and that’s out of the question.

Maybe people are right—be afraid of what you wish for.

The sound doesn’t stop, and with an annoyed huff, I throw aside the blanket, sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp.

Only then does my hazy mind finally register the phone, vibrations and ringtone loud on the bedside table. Who the hell calls in the middle of the night?

I quickly pick it up, and Kierian’s voice greets me on the other end of the line. “Ella?”

“Yep, I’m here.” I clear my throat, shivering slightly under the AC blasting on my bare skin.

“We have a new victim, and we are needed on location. I’ll be at your place in ten minutes. Be ready.” Before I can reply, he hangs up on me, and I glance at the clock.

It’s three in the morning. I had no clue when they hired me that they could call me any time. But then again, serials killers don’t wait either, striking when people least expect them. I rush to the bathroom and curse when my reflection shows an exhausted woman with her hair all over the place, but I only have time to wash my face, brush my teeth, then put on my jeans and black sweater.

Grabbing my keys, phone, badge, and gun from the cupboard, I head outside and downstairs in time to see Kierian’s car pulling up to the curb.

“Thanks for such advanced notice,” I mutter, hopping into the car as he drives straight to the highway, moving slightly faster than his usual speed.

“Hi, Ella.” A voice from behind me speaks, and I look back.

Preston is resting his head on the window, a thick book on his lap.

“Hey to you too. So I’m not the only one he picks up at night?” Kierian chuckles, and my cheeks heat up, realizing how ridiculous it sounds. “I mean… Shut up.” I nudge Kierian lightly in the side when he stops at the red light.

Preston whispers, “Oh.” And I see his eyes zero their attention on my elbow as he cocks his head.

Does he find me touching Kierian offending? Before I can ask though, he resumes his reading, so I guess my question isn’t important enough to answer.

“That’s his way. Don’t pay attention to the kid,” Kierian murmurs, his voice low.

“I figured as much. Same place?” Work, our interactions should all stay work related for the sake of my sanity.

“Yeah, the fact that we discovered his special place doesn’t seem to deter him from there.” Focusing on the road ahead of me, I bite my lip, thinking about this information.

Showing this much confidence with the cops and FBI investigating speaks of his arrogance, and that he doesn’t have much regard for our intelligence.

“Psychopath,” I conclude, because nothing else fits him. Only they crave power, and in this case, he shows us his power by proclaiming himself immune from our investigation.

Preston pitches in to the conversation. “I’ve searched through the system for any prisoners who got out lately, but nothing comes up. Either they have an alibi or they have tracking monitors for three miles only. Their parole officers would have known if they left their houses.” This is bad, because if he is not in our databases, it means we need to search the entire country to catch even a hint of who he is.

Serial killers are consistent, but it’s hard to understand his consistency if we don’t know the profile.

And to create the profile, we need to figure out what connects them all. Huffing in frustration, I flip through the file, hoping to find something.

He can’t just randomly choose his victims if he shows this much restraint. Something must trigger his reflex or memory to act out. And if he hasn’t done it before, then a traumatic event must have caused him to snap, creating the desire to kill.

At this point, we have only questions and not a single answer, and it pisses me off.

“But another kill. He is evolving fast. It was almost a year between the previous two. Why another one?”

“To show us his power,” Kierian answers. “That he is not afraid, even though we’ve found the bodies.”

“And that he’s never going to stop,” Preston adds.

“Until we catch him.”

“If, Ella. It’s always if, remember that.” Steel laces Kierian’s voice. “Never promise the family, or anyone else for that matter, that you can catch every fucker out there. Sometimes we can’t, no matter how much we try. Do not get attached to the case,” he warns while I blink in surprise, but I don’t have the chance to reply as he stops the car abruptly.

Getting out, I hope we’ll find something useful, because his words don’t sit well with me. We are supposed to be efficient and do good, not give up at the smallest of problems.

The cops already have the place secured; dogs bark loudly searching for clues while Jacob talks with a witness and Noah is in discussion with a detective.

Kierian gives me a pair of gloves as we slowly walk to the crime scene.

Criminal experts nod at us while pointing at various body parts. “We’re done. All yours.”

Ducking under the yellow tape, I kneel in front of the body, investigating the usual torture spots, and sure enough, there is a scalpel wound on the liver, chopped fingernails, and his other tells.

But there’s more.

“Do you see this?” I trail a finger over the red marks around his neck. “The unsub choked him.” Kierian leans closer. “And punched him in several places. The bruises are still fresh.” He traces the belt buckle wounds, while looking under the head. “He didn’t touch the head or face though.”

“He probably wanted the victim to be conscious for the torture,” I conclude. When Preston joins us, he shoots a few pictures from different places and angles while I walk around investigating the soil, but it has no footprints.

How the hell is this possible? Is he some kind of ghost who leaves no trace?

Logically thinking, it’s quite odd he decided to commit another crime so soon and to drop it in the same place. And rigor mortis hasn’t set in yet, so the body has been here only a couple hours, yet animals have still managed to damage it.

“Do we know who the victim is?” I ask no one in particular, but it’s Noah who answers me from behind.

“Coach Tanner Davidson. He was leading a winning high school football team. Perfect husband and father. No records. Preston?”

“I ran a search on him. Nothing dirty or illegal comes up. He is not connected with the other victims.”

“Perfect family,” I whisper, blink, and then address Noah. “Can that be our link? All of them were happily married men with kids.”

“Thomas’s wife was pregnant.”

“Well, on the way then. He didn’t let him enjoy being a father.” Kierian rubs his chin while picking up something on the grass. He flips it over, and reads out loud, “Davidson’s Christmas. The family picture is torn.” Indeed, it’s cut in two, right in the middle, separating the father from his kids and wife.

“Maybe the father left the family and now the unsub has a vengeance toward those who have something he didn’t?” Andrea and Jacob join us as we dwell on that theory. While he clearly has a problem with family men, I’m not sure it was as easy as a divorce. Unless the mother made his life a living hell after that, but then shouldn’t his violence be directed at women?

“Andrea, Jacob, you two go to the morgue, wait for the pathologist, and check the other victims again. Preston, dig for clues. I’ll speak with the detective. He needs to give me access to their archived records. Something must drive him to this place.” Noah then shifts his focus to us. “Kierian and Ella, work a little more on that theory, but also check all the records from the school on the coach. We can’t exclude anyone.” Once he is done issuing orders, he walks away as we separate to do our assignments.

“You’re not convinced about the divorce?” Kierian asks, and I shake my head. “Me neither. This guy wants something, but that’s not it.”

That’s true. I just wish we could find out what before he kills someone else.

“Let’s think about his strategy,” Kierian says, stepping back from me and circling the place with a leaf in his hand. “He kills them, then brings them here in the middle of the night and dumps the bodies. No bags, no traces, nothing.”

“And animals help him out with the rest. It’s as if he knows their location, but aren’t those restricted areas? There shouldn’t be any wolves.” At least not the ones that will go unnoticed.

“Unless it’s not a wolf.” Furrowing my brows, I shake my head, silently waiting for him to elaborate. “What breed of dog is similar to a wolf in nature?”

Um, what? “I’m not a pet person.”

He chuckles at that. “Right. Tamaskan dog. It’s created by crossing several breeds and reminds me of the wolves. Easy to train, loyal.”

“You think he lets his own dog do that?” This twisted man corrupts pets?

“Yes, I’m positive. He can’t predict wolves, but with his dog? He knows exactly when the crime is done.” He slides his phone open and quickly writes a message. “Preston will check it out later. I just e-mailed him the name.”

“If the breed is rare, then we can check through the breeders for owners.” He nods and I sigh in relief, this information is at least something.

“I’m starving. Let’s have breakfast.” He surprises me with his statement, and I open my mouth to protest while he chuckles. “A breakfast won’t kill you, Ella.” My stomach chooses this moment to growl loudly, humiliating me on the spot. “I think we have a deal.”

He moves toward the car, while I shout, “It better be good!”

He just waves without turning back, when Preston next to me murmurs, “Trust me. That place is the best.”

Did we become the three musketeers without me knowing? “Why is Noah dragging you around? Wouldn’t it be better for you to sit in the office and provide us information?” At least based on my research, that’s what hackers usually do. What good does it do to have him with us in the field if we can’t call him to check important stuff for us?

“I have a low tolerance for dead bodies and blood.” Blinking a few times at this, because it has nothing to do with my question, I wait for him to elaborate. “So Noah thinks it’s good for me to come to crime scenes and see it. This way I don’t have to puke all the time.”

“Why, then, have they assigned you to BAU?” Surely the FBI could have found another use for his abilities.

“I have a degree in psychology. Plus, it’s the only interesting department for me. Anyway, let’s go.” With that, he leaves me while I wonder about Noah.

The man sure enjoyed giving tough love.

Noah, Preston, Kierian.

There is something about them that unsettles me, each in a different way.

Psychopath

My little prey is not as easily convinced as the others. I can practically see the thoughts swirling in her head as she searches desperately for any clues.

I gave her a hint with the family photo; she just needs to move in the right direction.

Ella Gadot is an interesting woman.

Although interesting isn’t a word I’d use.

She is a thing of beauty, even in blue jeans and boots along with that black sweater, which only emphasizes her femininity. I’ve never touched a female body as my true self.

Is it different inflicting pain on them? Different when the woman knows exactly who touches her as sexual desire combines with fear?

Not that I want to bring her agonizing pain like I do to most of my victims, no.

With her, it’s about breaking the spirit in that seductive body.

The only valuable thing Ella has left after life dealt her a shitty hand is her unbreakable spirit that can withstand anything.

And I want to see what it takes to strip her bare of it.

Maybe then, I’ll understand why it’s so easy to break other people.

The game has officially begun.

Ella

Digging into the eggs with my fork, I munch on the toast and moan with pleasure as the taste spreads inside my mouth.

Kierian chuckles next to me, winking. “No regrets about coming here, I assume.” Swallowing the delicious bite, I shake my head.

The family establishment located on the outskirts of the city reminds me of the wooden houses from fairytales.

Everything is made out of wood, from the chairs to the tables, except the old jukebox, which blasts rock and roll at its finest. Black-and-white pictures are scattered on the walls with an attractive couple in different stages of their lives with their restaurant in the background.

It’s full and homey, and I can’t believe I’ve missed this place after living here for the last decade!

“None at all!” Then I address Preston, who flips his book, concentration written all over his features. “Are you hungry?” He glances down at his pancakes and then shrugs, resuming his reading.

Seriously, this guy has to be seen to be believed. An interesting person for sure, but I wonder how he keeps friends and relationships with this approach. Or does he just say bon voyage to whoever decides to leave his ass?

“Pres, food.”

Preston gives Kierian a confused look but then nods and puts his book away. He tentatively tries the pancake and then continues to eat it quickly, taking big bites as fast as he can.

“Don’t choke on it,” I mutter, but I don’t have much time to dwell on it as Andrea and Jacob join us, sitting in the nearby seats. Kierian called them on our way here, and since no one had a proper breakfast, they agreed immediately. I’ve yet to discover the dynamics of the group, but they seem to share a tight need for friendship. Although, based on what Preston said on the way here in the car, they rarely hang out together outside work.

I imagine they want to spend it with normal people who don’t remind them of their job that requires always delving into sick minds. Everyone needs to rest, even FBI agents.

“Hey, guys,” I say, and Andrea grins at me while Jacob just grunts. How long does it take this guy to accept a new coworker exactly? I don’t need new friends, but his attitude annoys me.

“You want the usual?” Jacob asks her, and when she nods, he gets up to order and she shifts her attention to us.

“Okay, this is definitely our unsub.” As if there was a doubt. “Although he beat him up, everything else matches like Ella said.” She pauses, and then says, “Something must have gotten him angry with the man.” Taking the folder out of my purse, I open it to study the pictures of the previous murders and the new one.

“Or he just felt like he needed to punish him more.”

Andrea frowns. “But serial killers don’t change their signatures.” That’s true, but it’s not adding up to me. Why would he risk so much?

“Unless something triggered him,” Jacob pitches in as he sits next to me and points at the last victim, who has belt bruises on his back. “This is provoked violence. These are not controlled.”

“A memory.” Taking out a pen, I place a blank paper in front of us and then draw several circles. “Here is our unsub and all his victims—well, those we know of. He is consistent with these wounds.” I point to the lines on the liver, neck, stomach, and back. “But these are new.” Now I point at the knuckles, shoulders, and large bruises that weren’t present on the other victims. “What usually inspires this kind of rage in psychopaths who plan everything?”

“The victim may have said something that triggered him,” Preston suggests.

“Correct. Something in the coach’s life must have reminded him of his own childhood. People usually beg in those situations. What did he say that provoked the violence?” I think a moment, and then add, “We need to speak with his family. I think they can give us better insight on the situation at home.”

Jacob nods. “Noah already called them in.”

I just hope it will give us some results. Something attracts him to those perfect families, but what?