Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
VES
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I lean back in my chair and sigh.
The day I finally do retire from the FBI, I might celebrate by giving Butler his own send off. A twenty-one gun salute I deliver all on my own. While he’s standing in front of me, alive and kicking until every bullet is spent.
I’ve been working on this bullshit case study for a few days, waiting on Butler to send me the updated lecture tour list, and I swear to god he set this up because he knew what it was going to do to me.
There is no fucking way to make any of this vague or generic.
The Orphan has a very distinct style and signature.
His kills are both messy and neat, disorganized but thought out at the same time.
He clearly prepares and plans ahead. We can confirm he brings specific things to a scene to execute his kills, but the murders themselves almost seem sporadic?
Not who he murders, it feels like he puts a lot of thought into that despite the lack of victimology, but when he gets there, it’s almost as if he can’t decide how he wants to kill them.
Except, he apparently brings an array of weapons, so it’s like he knew he couldn’t decide.
None of it makes any fucking sense, but at the same time, it does? I don’t fucking know. The guy is a clear cut mess, of that I’m sure, and the fact that my brain keeps recognizing a pattern and forgetting immediately has me concerned.
A pattern beyond leaving a creepy porcelain doll’s head at every scene with a weird goodbye, mommy or goodbye, daddy—hence the name—shoved inside the neck hole.
That’s how we know the thirteen murders were committed by the same person. The only way.
The methods have all been different. Guns, sharp objects, blunt force.
One of the victims was forced to drink acid while another assisted in removing all of his own skin.
No two murders have been the same, just like the victims. Age, race, gender, none of it is consistent.
There’s no connection between them. Professions, religions, education, and social status have all varied.
Married, divorced, widowed, single for life.
Kids, no kids, never had, never an option.
The number of ways each murder differs from the one before or after is almost mind numbing.
But each scene has been spotless and completely void of evidence. To the point of wondering if The Orphan isn’t actually some celestial or paranormal being.
At this point, I wouldn’t be shocked if it’s the ghost of Elvis, and we can’t find him because he hitches a ride on the mothership with E.T.
Incorporating all of that into a report without anyone knowing it’s The Orphan is asking for a miracle.
Everyone has heard of him, you’d have to be living under a rock not to since every crime has made national news, and the second I describe anything similar to what’s been made public, it’ll be obvious.
I do understand getting the info out to the masses, though.
Knowledge is power, after all.
Hearing a vague, nonspecific lecture on a hypothetical serial killer that sounds a lot like the real life one currently on the loose could help connect dots and keep everyone on this side of the law somewhat on alert.
And Butler isn’t wrong in thinking that a seasoned FBI agent showing up at every police station and sheriff’s station across California would create widespread panic.
It comes across as a more impending doom, immediate threat scenario that way.
If that’s what he really was thinking by having me write this the way I’m struggling to.
Something is telling me that the douchebag cares very little about mass hysteria, and far too much about making me miserable.
With an annoyed huff, I go back to the files on my desk but just as I reach for my red pen, my phone rings.
“March,” I grunt as I answer.
“Uhm, Mr. March, this is Arlo.”
I sit up a little straighter, my pulse quickening for more than one reason as I realize it’s my new nanny. “Is Cali okay?”
“Yes. I mean, no, but yes,” he says as I reach for my keys and start to stand before he rushes out, “Cali is fine, but she rolled her ankle.”
This is what I get for hiring a nanny who doesn’t drive. Leaving work for ER trips, which I’d leave for anyway but that’s besides the point. “I can be there in twenty minutes, thirty tops, I just—”
“No,” Arlo snaps and I pause.
Did he just bark at me?
“I mean.” He clears his throat and I grin. “You don’t have to leave work, I’ve got it under control. I just wanted to inform you of what happened.”
“What exactly happened?” I slowly sit, listening intently as the very good looking, and extremely young, omega fights his nerves.
I like that I make him nervous.
Arlo has only been with us for three days and while I’m still skeptical, Cali adores him.
He’s done well so far, I have to admit it.
Very attentive. Follows all of my rules.
He’s gone above and beyond when it comes to keeping the apartment clean.
Most importantly, Arlo seems to genuinely care about Cali.
It’s hard not to become wrapped around her little finger, I know from experience, but seeing someone else succumb to the same fate so instantly and naturally has been interesting. It’s been great, if I’m being honest. Even if it’s caused a few unwelcome thoughts to run through my head.
Like why couldn’t her own mother care for her like that and I wonder what Arlo’s lips would look like wrapped around my cock.
My daughter is my weakness. My Achilles heel. My entire fucking world and seeing someone else clearly feel the same is very sexy.
It doesn’t help that Arlo is the first person I’ve found myself attracted to since Cali’s psychotic mother, either.
That made it easy to start wading through the gutter while I watched him interact with my child.
If he keeps getting snippy with me, biting back even in the most subtle ways when I get shitty, I’ll be swimming in that same gutter, most likely naked and fully erect the entire time.
I should probably fire him.
Considering my strict policy when it comes to banging the nanny, I should have gotten rid of Arlo the second I found his naivety and desperation intriguing instead of alarming.
Then again, reacting that way to the hired help is nothing compared to the way I’ve started to identify with an unknown serial killer, so I shouldn’t be surprised. Concerned and booking appointments with the department shrink, but not surprised.
“Mr. March, are you still there?”
I shake my head and blink a few times as that question is huffed down the line. So feisty. “I’m here. Sorry. Had a message come through I had to check. So, Cali is okay?”
Arlo sighs, long and loud like he’s clearly annoyed and it brings a smile to my face.
“Like I was saying, she’s fine. She tripped while we were on our walk, rolled her ankle, and we came home.
I gave her the amount of Motrin you said she could have for minor pain, her foot is elevated and she has ice on her ankle.
She can move it as well as her toes so I’m pretty confident in saying it’s just sprained, and Cali is currently watching some wildlife documentary while eating a banana split.
She’s fine, even though she’s not one hundred percent. ”
“You’re sure you don’t need me to come home?”
“Not before you’re supposed to.”
“Okay, then.” I smirk as I reach for the mouse pad on my laptop and switch to the live feed from the security cameras in my apartment. “I’ll be home around the normal time, and I’ll let you know if I get stuck late. Call if you need anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
I take a deep breath and ignore his words as I zoom in on Cali, doing exactly what Arlo said before panning over to him.
He’s pacing in the kitchen, still on the phone, but there is an incredibly irritated vibe coming from his posture and every stomp of his feet on my tile floor.
Something I enjoy watching even if his tone doesn’t match his body language.
“See you tonight, Mr. March. Have a safe drive home.”
“See you,” I grunt then hang up, watching the nanny shake off our conversation before a small, sweet smile plays across his lips.
It's brief, but it’s beautiful, and watching it grow as he walks toward my daughter and joins her on the couch is just more fuel for the need to fire him.
This isn’t how the nanny thing has gone before, and it’s not how it should be going now, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to listen to logic this time. No, I think I’ll tow the line of delusion a little longer before I make sure Cali isn’t the one who gets burned in the end.