Chapter Seventeen Yule Shoot Your Eye Out #2
“Exactly,” Kenny said. “So, what does that tell us about how the killer is choosing their victims?”
A voice from the back: “Picking people who won’t be missed?”
“Possibly,” Kenny allowed. “That’s one theory. But let’s dig deeper. What else could be driving the selection?”
He scanned the room until another hand went up.
“They’re people who don’t have anyone. Failed by people.”
“People, yes. And…?”
“Institutions?” Another kid piped up from the back.
Kenny pointed, nodding. “Yes. Likely. Good.”
He turned back to the board and wrote, in bold strokes:
Targeted. Symbolic. Deliberate.
“These victims aren’t just vulnerable,” he said.
“They represent something to the killer. They’re not random.
They’re curated. And without evidence of a sexual motive, we have to assume they’ve been chosen for what they symbolise.
” He faced the class again. “When a killer chooses their victims this specifically, we move away from the disorganised offender, one acting on impulse or chaos, and into what we call the organised subtype.” He underlined the phrase on the board.
“That means planning. Control. Structure. And, more often than not, ritual.”
He was in the rhythm now, grounded in theory. Teaching through structure. It felt almost safe.
“These types of killers often see themselves as ‘correcting’ something. They’ll sometimes create patterns at the scene. Arranging the body, leaving objects, even choosing a particular location for symbolic value. The goal isn’t chaos. It’s message.”
He turned to write one more word: Staging.
As he did, the door at the back of the classroom clicked open.
He didn’t turn. It was probably a latecomer or another staff member doing rounds. The presence lingered in his periphery. Watching.
“Now, from a forensic psychology perspective, staging gives us insight into motive. The more emotionally intimate the scene, the more personal the connection between killer and victim. That tells us they’re not killing to eliminate.
They’re killing to transform. Make something out of the body that aligns with their own beliefs. ”
He underlined the word. Transformation.
“In the recent case, some staging suggests the killer sees themselves not as a monster, but as a redeemer. The bodies weren’t mutilated or degraded or sexually assaulted.
So this leads us to believe they are someone who believes they’re saving their victims from something worse.
Not destroying the victim but correcting them.
Transforming them into something they were meant to be. ”
The class stayed silent.
“And that,” Kenny said, glancing at the back of the room and meeting with the watchful eyes of Principal Harrow.
He gave her a small, professional nod, then returned to the students.
“That kind of thinking is incredibly dangerous. Because it removes moral boundaries. The killer starts to believe their crimes are acts of mercy. And when someone truly believes that they don’t stop because they’re afraid of consequences. They stop when they feel understood.”
He capped the marker.
A hand shot up from the front row. Kenny nodded to him.
“What’s the connection to Christmas? Why the Santa suit? Or the staging by the church nativity?”
“Good question.” Kenny stepped back from the whiteboard and glanced towards the classroom windows, where thin frost still lined the corners of the glass like old lace.
“Christmas isn’t only a holiday. It’s a season loaded with meaning.
Cultural. Religious. Emotional. For most people, it’s a time of family.
Tradition. Being seen, wanted, loved. But that also makes it a psychological pressure cooker for anyone who feels outside of that warmth. ”
He paused, scanning the room.
“For someone who’s been abandoned, shamed, or forced into conformity, Christmas can become a symbol of everything they were denied. It can take on a darker weight. Instead of joy, it becomes judgment. Instead of belonging, it becomes punishment.”
A few students nodded.
“Let’s talk about the Santa suit.” Kenny tapped his pen on his chin. “Santa Claus is one of the most recognisable moral figures in modern culture. Instantly iconic, emotionally loaded.”
A hand went up. “Does that make it easier to lure someone to their death?”
“Potentially, yes.” Kenny waggled the pen at the class. “But we’re not dealing with children here. These victims aren’t wide-eyed believers. They’re teenagers, young adults. Most of whom likely never had the luxury of believing in Father Christmas to begin with.”
He let that land for a moment, then continued.
“But that in itself is telling. The killer isn’t targeting innocence in the traditional sense. They’re targeting perceived moral failure. And Santa, when you strip away the sentimental branding and Coca-Cola trucks, is essentially a figure of surveillance and judgment.”
He turned to the board and wrote:
Santa = The Watcher. The Judge. The Decider.
“In the original myths, he doesn’t bring gifts.
He knows. He sees what you do, all year long.
He keeps lists. Naughty or nice. Good boys and girls, bad boys and girls.
Reward or punishment. And crucially, he does it all in secret.
That’s not fantasy. That’s doctrine. And if someone grew up believing punishment was how you showed love, this role becomes prophecy. ”
Kenny looked out across the room, the weight of it building.
“Imagine someone already fractured by guilt, shame, or unresolved trauma. Now give them a persona rooted in silent authority and moral power. That’s not a costume anymore. That’s a transformation.”
He turned and wrote on the board:
Santa = Surveillance + Morality + Myth.
“The killer isn’t dressing as Santa for theatrics. They’re inhabiting the role. They’re creating a delusion where they are the moral authority. One who gets to decide who is pure enough to be saved… and who isn’t.”
A few students shifted uneasily. Someone whispered, “That’s messed up.”
“It is,” Kenny agreed. “But from a forensic psychology lens, it makes sense. Delusional killers, especially those with messianic or saviour complexes, often fuse personal trauma with grand symbolic narratives. Christmas offers them a stage: lights, costumes, stories of salvation and judgment. It’s the perfect setting for someone who thinks they’re correcting the world. ”
He witnessed the weight of it land on the room.
“And staging a body by a nativity scene? That’s not coincidence.
That’s deliberate placement. Symbolic rebirth.
A warped re-enactment of innocence. Purity.
Sacrifice.” He looked around the class. Assessing each face.
“These victims weren’t chosen for who they were.
But for what they represent. To the killer… they were offerings.”
A hand went up. Kenny nodded.
“So who is it?”
Kenny clicked the pen shut.
“Offender profiling isn’t about naming someone.
It’s not guesswork or crystal ball reading.
It’s a structured process based on behavioural analysis.
We build psychological frameworks. Not accusations.
Our role is to help investigators ask better questions, focus their resources, and understand what kind of person could commit this kind of crime, under what psychological conditions. ”
He clicked the pen open again and returned to the board. With steady strokes, he wrote:
UNSUB PROFILE
Likely mid-to-late 30s.
High-functioning; appears socially competent. Although won’t have a large friendship group. If any. Could be considered odd. Strange.
Educated; may have access to academic, caregiving, or outreach settings.
Emotionally repressed; history of control over vulnerability.
Possibly single or socially isolated; few close relationships.
Local, or with longstanding emotional ties to this community.
Likely raised under strict moral, religious, or ideological conditions.
Evidence of ritualised thinking; symbolic logic; moral rigidity.
He underlined symbolic logic.
“We’re probably looking at someone who isn’t acting out of rage or thrill.
Their behaviour suggests structure, ritual, and delusion.
In their mind, this isn’t crime. It’s correction.
They believe they’re doing something necessary.
” He turned back to the class. “That’s what makes this type of killer dangerous.
They’re not trying to hide in darkness. They’re trying to justify it.
To themselves. Maybe even to someone else. ”
The bell rang.
Its shrill echo cut the tension but didn’t clear it.
Kenny cleared his throat, and the only thing he could think to say then was, “Merry Christmas.”
The irony hung heavy in the air.
Chairs scraped. Coats pulled on. The students murmured their goodbyes and shuffled out in groups.
Quiet, thoughtful, a few glancing over their shoulders at the whiteboard one last time.
At least they wouldn’t be taking sweets from any mall Santas this year.
If they dreamt of him, it would be in shadows, not sleigh bells. But they’d be alert. Aware. Safe.
He turned to pack up, shutting the whiteboard, sliding his laptop into its case.
“Dr Lyons?” Principal Harrow approached from the back of the room, arms folded, eyes downcast as if walking into church.
“Ms Harrow.” Kenny nodded. “Administrative observation, was it? Or interested in offender profiling?”
“Ah, yes. A little observation. I didn’t want to interrupt.” She smiled. “Very insightful. What you said.”
Kenny slung his bag over one shoulder. “I realise it veered a little off-curriculum. But let’s be honest, better than forcing them to analyse Frozen again. Although Elsa’s saviour complex is always tempting.”
She exhaled, almost a laugh, but not quite. “We’re lucky to have you, Dr Lyons. The students clearly adore you.” She glanced around. “And after our conversation the other day, I… did some reading.”
“Reading?”
“Your background. You were involved in the Howell investigation, weren’t you?”
His stomach dipped.
Of course, it was public knowledge. His papers.
The interviews. His profile in Ryston Quarterly had practically turned it into myth.
He’d written books on the subject. But when he’d taken this job, it hadn’t been about reputation.
It was supposed to be quieter. Simpler. They’d asked for a degree, a teaching qualification and a reference.
He’d given them. No fanfare. No history.
He’d hoped the Googling would come sooner, not now.
“That’s right.” Kenny kept his tone neutral.
Harrow’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She’s a manipulative woman, Roisin Howell. Difficult subject, I imagine.”
“She’s…” Kenny paused, weighing each word. “Her own brand of psychopath.”
Harrow gave a quiet, indulgent chuckle. “‘Psychopath,’” she repeated, drifting her fingers up to the silver cross at her throat, absently toying with the chain.
“Such a dramatic word, don’t you think? So full of judgment.
” Then she tilted her head, curious, almost amused.
“Is it true she tortured her victims using ritualistic methods? That she crucified some of them? Tried to cleanse them, purify them, after Frank was done with them?”
Kenny froze.
Those details had been reported, yes. But selectively. Carefully. Sanitised for the public. What Harrow described wasn’t common knowledge. Not unless someone had gone digging far beyond the headlines.
He stared at her, pulse ticking faster.
Some victims had died quickly. But others…
The basement scenes had haunted his forensic reports for years.
Harrow’s gaze didn’t waver.
“You’re very clever, Dr Lyons,” she said at last. “Profiling someone like Roisin must’ve cost you something.
To think like her. To map that kind of mind.
” She smiled again. Wider now. As if she knew something.
“And all your thoughts today, about Santa, about nativity symbolism, judgment, purity… it’s all so insightful.
Fascinating, really.” She held his gaze.
“Do you think the killer… understands themselves that well?”
“Not in those terms, maybe. But yes. They know exactly what these symbols mean. To them. This isn’t someone chaotic. They’re educated. Disciplined. They know how to hide in plain sight.”
Harrow tilted her head again, studying him like a puzzle piece. “Interesting.” She smiled then. Gentle. Warm. “And how will you be spending Christmas, Dr Lyons? With your partner?”
“Yes. The two of us. Including the dog.”
Harrow dropped in closer. “And has he been a good boy this year?”
“The dog?”
“No, Dr Lyons. The boy.”
Kenny’s stomach dropped. Hard. Cold.
“I was about to make a nice cup of peppermint tea.” Harrow tucked her hands into her small blazer pocket. “Care to join me? I have some questions about your thoughts on the killer.”