#11 Meet Me in the Emerald Forest

Lukas

I straightened my clothes and tucked the files under my arm as I walked up the sidewalk to my mate’s house. I knocked on her door twice and waited a minute before it opened. Clementine’s scent hit me first, the light floral aroma sending goosebumps up and down my spine and causing Bastian to howl in my head. Then came my beautiful mate. She was wearing a pair of dark colored capri leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, and her hair was pulled high on top of her head in a messy bun.

“Lukas?” Her eyes pinched together in surprise.

“I brought the files.” I said, waving them in front of her.

“You didn’t have to come so early.” She chuckled, glancing down at herself nervously.

I wondered if she was self-conscious about her outfit. She shouldn’t have been because she looked positively mouthwatering.

“I wanted to see you.” I shrugged casually causing her to blush.

Her eyes narrowed on me and I cursed at myself, thinking that I was moving too quickly for human standards.

“Come in.” She sighed, opening the door widely for me to enter her home.

“Thanks.” I said, walking as closely to her as I possibly could and inhaling deeply.

Once we were both inside and the door was closed behind us, she led me towards the office in the back of the house. There were several boxes on the ground, the large desk was covered with papers, and there was a large glass board on wheels sitting off to the side.

“Excuse the mess. I’m just getting set up.” She said, brushing all the papers and folders on her desk into a pile and motioning for me to sit my files down there.

“What is all this?” I asked, looking around. I figured it was her files from Quantico but I couldn’t let on that I already knew that.

“My files from my office at Quantico about my parents’ case and some other cases that needed consultations.” She replied, standing in the center of the room with her hands crossed protectively across her chest like she was shielding herself from something.

“What exactly does that mean?” I asked, leaning against the edge of her desk. It was just tall enough for me to perch on the corner.

“Consultations?” Her face pinched up in question and I nodded in response,

“Oh, well there are only so many profilers available and so many hours in the day for us to fly to cities who need our help. So, local police departments send us their cases and we consult on them. We look over the case and write up a preliminary profile. We also determine which of the cases sent to us need our immediate attention and that’s how we decide which cases to tend to in person. There’s a never ending pile of cases to consult on so that’s what I’ll be doing on my time off.” Clementine explained.

I was watching her carefully and I couldn’t help but notice how her face lit up when she talked about her work.

“A profile?” Now I was actually curious. I’ll admit to not knowing much about how the human law enforcement offices operated.

“That’s what I do, I’m a profiler. The Behavioral Analysis Unit is a team of profilers.”

“What exactly is a profile?” I wondered.

“It’s an assumption on who the unknown subject is, why they’re committing the crime, and what their end game is.” I couldn’t help but think she was dumbing the whole thing down for me.

“Like you can predict their gender and age and stuff?” She chuckled at my oversimplification.

“Among other things, yes.”

“How do you do that?” I was honestly curious about how it all worked but I was even more interested in continuing the conversation with my mate.

“When the BAU first got started it began with interviewing convicted felons, serial killers, murderers, rapists, satanists, family annihilators, cult leaders, child molesters, etc. They then compiled all of these interviews into files and studied them. Once they learned what made the unsubs tick, their upbringing, childhoods, teenage years, personal relationships, and everything else that happened to them leading up to the crime, they were able to start predicting backgrounds based on the crimes.”

I’m sure I looked dumbfounded as I blinked at my mate, completely baffled by what she was telling me. She laughed and dropped her arms to her side.

“You think I’m crazy.”

“No, not at all. It’s just unbelievable.” I spoke quickly.

I stiffened up on instinct as she began to walk towards me. In reality, she was walking towards the desk and I just happened to be in the same general direction.

She leaned across the desk, her arm brushing against mine and igniting a shower of sparks. She froze for a second and glanced up at me as I resisted the urge to growl. Her nose crinkled as she focused on me for a second and I assumed she was watching my eyes as they switched from black to green.

She shook her head and went back to her original task, grabbing a file from the stack of papers. She stepped away from me and I heard her release an audible breath of air before flipping open the file.

“This here is a case sent over by a local PD in Massachusetts. In the last two weeks they’ve had two murders. On Friday of each week, a woman is reported missing and, on Tuesday, her body is found staged in a public place. Woman A was found in a public park and Woman B was found on a bench outside of a public library. Both bodies were found between 7:00 and 9:00 AM by people who are regularly in these locations,

“Each woman has short blonde hair, blue eyes, is caucasian with similar bodies and build. They were each taken in the afternoon from a location along their usual routes and routines. Their bodies were clean, hair brushed, and they were dressed in clean clothes that did not belong to them. Their cause of death was strangulation with some sort of silk rope and the time of death was only a few hours earlier.” She read from the file and spoke so expertly that I couldn’t help but listen,

“So, what do we know?” She asked me and I suddenly felt like I was back in school, under the watchful glare of a teacher.

“The women look the same.” I pointed out and she nodded,

“Exactly, which tells me about victimology. The unsub isn’t abducting them at random. He has a certain need and women who fit our victims’ descriptions fit whatever his need is. He looks for them ahead of time, he doesn’t just take them off the street spontaneously. He searches for a woman who matches his fantasy and then stalks her.” She explains, “What else?”

“They are taken and left on the same days.”

“So, he holds them from Friday to Tuesday for some sort of purpose. Again, fulfilling a fantasy. Based on the medical examinors records, we know that there’s signs of sexual trauma, rape, dehydration, malnutrition, and abuse. The victims have marks on their wrists and ankles that we typically see with restraints. We also know that whatever fantasy he gets from these women sustains him from Tuesday to Friday along with stalking his next victim.”

“What about the fact that he combs their hair and dresses them?” I asked, getting into the mystery of it all.

“He cares about these women in his own way which suggests that they are surggotes for someone the unsub knows personally, whether that be someone who is alive but unattainable or someone who is already dead. This could be a wife, girlfriend, love interest, sister, or even a mother. The clothes he puts them in are also significant. They don’t belong to the victim and they aren’t something the victim would typically wear, according to their loved ones. Therefore, the clothes belonged to or represent what the woman who is the true object of his desires would wear.”

“How do you know he’s a he?”

“There’s evidence of sexual assault and rape, and sperm was found on the victoms’ skin.” She replied and I immediately regretted asking.

“Right.” I muttered and she laughed at me again.

“The appearance of the victims also tells us that he feels remorse for killing them. The fact that each woman was placed in a public place where she could easily be found and positioned nicely also says remorse.”

“Remorse?” I cocked an eyebrow, feeling a little disgusted with the idea of a serial killer having remorse.

“It’s hard to understand,” Clementine said, studying me carefully, “But, these unsubs do have emotions, even if they are twisted. He likely cares for whoever these women are surrogates for, so he feels bad for hurting her. He may have already killed or was responsible for the death of the person he cares about and killing these women brings up those emotions.” She explained gently.

“It can’t be easy trying to see these monsters as humans with human emotions.” I frowned, hating the idea of my mate dealing with creeps like this guy.

“They aren’t monsters. They are humans and they do have emotions. That’s the point that the BAU tries to make other people see. Being a monster implies that they are untouchable villains but they aren’t. They are just seriously disturbed individuals who feel and think differently than we do.” She said,

Clementine walked over to the desk again and leaned against the edge, looking at me from over her shoulder.

“The M.E. report tells us that the time of death was likely between 2:00 and 4:00 AM, and the bodies were found between 7:00 and 9:00 AM. So, at a minimum, he had to dump the bodies between 4:00 and 7:00 AM. Three hours isn’t a lot of time, so we would start by making a geographical profile. Using the map, we would create a radius to determine where he could’ve traveled from in three hours. This will help us narrow down where he holds his victims,

“It also means that the dump sights mean something to him. He doesn’t have a lot of time, but he still makes an effort to drive out to these specific public locations and pose the body. It’s not a busy time of day but it’s still a risk and much riskier than just tossing them in an alleyway. From this, we can assume he has a large vehicle that he can use to conceal himself as he positions the body.”

“You got all that from him putting the bodies on a park bench and under a park tree?” I asked in astonishment. She laughed again and her eyes sparkled.

“I can also tell you that he’s likely 25 to 35 years old and well built. He would have to be in shape to move the women by himself and he’s likely close in age to the victims, who were 27 and 32 years old. He’s also caucasian as these types of unsubs usually don’t travel outside of their own race,

“He’s outgoing and charismatic, someone who can easily strike up a conversation with strangers and make them feel comfortable. He’s not your shady hermit neighbor who everyone suspects is a closet killer. He attends neighborhood BBQs and PTA meetings, he’s funny and personable. When his friends, family, co-workers, and neighbors find out he’s a serial killer, they’ll be surprised, which means we aren’t likely to find him through canvassing or sharing the profile with the public, although it can’t hurt, either.”

“What’s his hair color?” I asked mockingly.

“Brown.” She answered without hesitation. My eyes went wide and then she threw her head back laughing hysterically.