"It was a pleasure to kill. I enjoyed it, and I will continue to do so for as long as I live." Those were his words—the words of the first man I ever killed. I could have taken him in, like I did a year ago, but then, fifteen more women would still be alive today if I had just killed him then. I killed him, and I also enjoyed it. So tell me, Selena, does that make me a killer as well?
I stared at Detective Thorn—or at least I wanted to. I could not meet his eyes; I had to look down. He was menacing, and trust me, I am being incredibly generous with that description. He and I had not gotten off to a great start. I arrived at his office an hour later than I should have. I was ready for him to tear into me, but he arrived even later than I did.
When he arrived, he asked how long he had kept me waiting. I, of course, seized the opportunity to tell him I had waited over an hour for him. He immediately told me that the next time I lied to him, I would regret being conceived. As I scoffed, he asked me to concisely explain to him how he caught me.
This time, I told the truth and said I had no idea. He pointed down at my shoes before breaking down how he caught me. It was the mud on my shoes. I had gotten mud from the construction site just outside on my shoes. If I had been in this air-conditioned facility for as long as I claimed, they would be dry. That was it. That was all it took.
I apologized, and his response was an instruction to be punctual and honest. He shook my hand and introduced himself as Detective Elias Thorn before humbly requesting my name. I introduced myself as Selena Cross, and he promptly shook my hand again before saying he hoped we would get along well.
The next thing he did was hold my left hand in his right before dragging me into his office. The first thing I noticed about his office was that it smelled like Nirvana. It smelled better than any place I had ever been in my life. That was far from the last thing I noticed, though.
Detective Thorn definitely had OCD. His appearance depicted it, but his office cemented that thought for me. His office was like a sanctuary. It was in meticulous order. You just knew this took time and effort. I wondered how he managed to pull that off, given his professional record.
Of the seventy-four cases he had taken, he had solved all seventy-four homicides. No case ever went cold, and he always solved the cases in the year they were filed. This was impressive for a detective anywhere.
There was a mahogany desk at the center of his office, perfectly aligned with the windows behind it, where sunlight streamed through blinds adjusted to an exact angle. His case files were stacked in ascending order of size, each folder labeled in immaculate handwriting. He somehow managed to do all of that without having a paperclip out of place.
Everything was in perfect order in his office. He was incredibly attractive in every way, but his unfriendly attitude dissuaded me completely. He stood about 6 foot 4 with broad shoulders that filled out his suit impeccably. His toned arms hinted at regular training rather than bulking like a brute. He had a wonderful posture, complementing his trim waist and lean, athletic build.
He was commanding and straight-backed, exuding an aura of confidence and control. Even the way he moved was graceful and fluid—every step deliberate and measured. He only held my hand, and that was all it took to get me wet.
His face was a beautiful contradiction of rugged masculinity and refined elegance. He had a strong, chiseled jawline with high cheekbones that gave his face structure. His gray-blue eyes were his most captivating feature—deep-set and piercing. His eyebrows were thick but neatly groomed, perfectly complementing his eyes. Beneath them was his symmetrical nose, and just under his nose were full lips that often pressed into a thoughtful line.
Above all of this was his short, dark hair, neatly combed with a subtle wave that softened his otherwise commanding appearance. He was a fine specimen of a man—not at all the monster he was said to be. I was to be his partner now, although I hoped I would be his partner in more ways than one.
Once we had entered his office, he hung his coat and dropped his umbrella before dragging out one of the chairs positioned by the mahogany table and asking me to sit. Once I took my seat, he asked which I would prefer—coffee or tea? My answer was neither. He asked if I was sure, and when I confirmed, he sat opposite me.
His first question was, "Why are you here?" I told him I was here to catch killers. He then asked if I would catch him too. I asked what he meant, and he said he was also a killer. "So, are you here to catch me too?" I asked him to explain, and his response was:
"It was a pleasure to kill. I enjoyed it, and I will continue to do so for as long as I live. Those were his words—the words of the first man I ever killed. I could have taken him in, like I did a year ago, but then, fifteen more women would still be alive today if I had just killed him then. I killed him, and I also enjoyed it. So tell me, Selena, does that make me a killer as well?"
I told him no, he was not a killer since he killed a bad man and made the world a better place. He immediately asked me if it was okay to kill people because they were bad. A lot of killers use that as their motivation. Would I spare them if they told me that was why they killed their victims? I told him no. He then sternly looked at me as I shied away from his gaze.
He told me I was here for one thing and one thing only: to catch criminals, bring justice to the wrongfully killed, and bring closure to affected families. I nodded. He pulled out a case file and carefully set it in front of me, telling me it was his first case—the case of the Riverstate Butcher.
When I opened the file, he began a rant:
"This was my very first case, but it was my most tasking and probably most gruesome so far. I lost my first partner to that case. It was traumatizing, to say the least. That man was a monster—the very first monster I ever encountered. The way in which he killed them was so gruesome, so cruel, so inhumane. It made me wonder: What kind of madness pushes someone to take another's life without any remorse? What kind of thoughts race through a murderer's mind? What kind of society raises such monsters among us? I wondered…"
He stopped the moment I dropped the case file and started hyperventilating. The report in the file was easy to stomach, but the crime scene images were not. They were disheartening. They were kids—little kids. He murdered them, butchered them, cruelly and gruesomely. That wasn't all. He assaulted them. They were just kids.
He got up, took me by the hands, and put my head on his shoulder as I subtly sobbed. He rubbed my head and told me it was okay, that he understood how I felt. He had gone through the same thing. Once I calmed down, I apologized and asked for his forgiveness. He told me it was okay and that my reaction was perfectly fine.
I closed the file and returned it to him, but he pushed it back to me. He told me I had to learn to stomach things like this-it came with the job. He prayed I would see easier things, but I would likely see worse, so I had to prepare myself.
He put his hand on my shoulder, looked into my eyes, and asked if that was okay. Our moment was interrupted by his radio. There had been a murder. The nature of it and the victim had caused the state to request his expertise.
He walked to his cabinet before saying,
"Hey beautiful, your very first case is going to be really ugly. So get ready." ! nodded and smiled at him.
God, I love HIM........