Elysium Dreams

answered.

  “Well that just sucks,” I moved away from the body.

  Lucas went next, he easily hoisted up the dummy even though the rope was double wrapped around the branch. He let it down and hoisted it again. To him, it was like lifting a feather. I watched him do it several times before he started showing any signs of fatigue.

  “She’d be fighting,” I said.

  “What?” Gabriel answered.

  “This test isn’t accurate, she’d be fighting, wriggling around, like a worm on a hook,” I explained.

  “Well, you vetoed using you as a hoist dummy,” Gabriel said.

  “I think it is disturbing that you used that analogy,” Arons said.

  “She’s not like most women or men for that matter, in her mind, it is the best analogy,” Lucas said.

  “Don’t make excuses for me,” I said to him and turned the full weight of my attention on Arons. “You may find some of what I have said and will say offensive. I’m fine with that. It happens. However, I know what I’m doing and I’m very good at it. So, suck it up buttercup, if you can’t handle the way I approach the world, you are welcome to walk your ass out an exit.”

  “And you just pissed her off,” Gabriel said to him. “I’ve been in your shoes, take it from me, and just let it go.”

  “At least she didn’t ‘f-bomb’ you,” Lucas said.

  “Or cut off your ear, she has a thing about Van Gogh,” Xavier added.

  “I don’t have a thing about Van Gogh, I don’t understand his work,” I defended myself.

  “Hence why I thought you might emulate him. You understand things better when you practice it yourself, even if you use a stand-in for the painful bits,” Xavier said.

  “Whatever. As I was saying, if someone is pulling you off the ground after skinning your feet, not only are you going to be in a lot of pain, you are going to be pretty convinced that what comes next is worse. If she isn’t passed out, she is going to be jerking and twisting. Lucas might be able to do it easily, even with that, but the rest of you, probably not,” I said.

  Xavier went next, pulling on the dummy. He got her fully off the ground. Her feet were over his head. His eyes were level with her knees. He stood and stared, holding the rope. You could see the wheels in his head turning.

  “Damn, she’s right. I can get her up, but now I’m going to have to secure her and it’s going to take me a minute to recover to keep from shaking when I go to remove the epidermis,” Xavier dropped the dummy. “And if she were jerking and twisting, that would add momentum and extra force and pressure to what I’m doing.”

  They all turned to look at me. I looked at the dummy.

  “This just seems so...” I shrugged, unsure what to say.

  “Because hoisting her up and down is a pain in the ass. He either has help or he isn’t doing it this way,” Xavier answered. “Because this way is exhausting.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “What are your thoughts, Ace?”

  “I don’t know, I just can’t imagine a world where this is the best solution for our serial. Unless this is absolutely part of the ritual, I don’t foresee him doing it this way. I foresee him doing something to make it easier on himself so that when the time comes to skin the victim, he has his wits about it.”

  “A winch,” Lucas answered.

  “That would be good, but we aren’t finding a winch or evidence of a winch,” Gabriel said.

  “Then he’s removing the evidence,” Lucas looked at him. “Winches aren’t cheap, not good portable winches, of course he doesn’t leave it. That’s what the rope and the stake and the hammer are for.”

  “You think he is using a winch, then using a rope to secure her after the work has been done?” Gabriel asked.

  “It’s better than this,” Xavier answered.

  “Do you have any idea how many people own winches in this city?” Arons asked.

  “I’m sure it is just about everyone. The further north you go, the stranger the state becomes,” I answered. “Eventually you get to a point where villages leave cars running all winter.”

  “How’d you know that?” Arons looked at me.

  “I went to Siberia once, it was very cold,” I told him. Cold was an understatement. I had been in Siberia in a “summer” month and had still froze my ass off. They told me about the danger of letting your car die in the winter.

  “Why did you go to Siberia?” Arons asked, his eyes had narrowed.

  “Why does anyone go to Siberia?” I shrugged and walked over to the dummy. “If he’s using a winch, we should find evidence of it.”

  “Not necessarily,” Gabriel walked over to me. “If he’s using coated cable and then rope, the rope burns on the tree would be more evident than the cable burns.”

  “Where does that leave us?” I asked.

  “Getting lunch,” Gabriel said.

  Eight

  We had less than twelve hours of daylight. By 7 o’clock that evening, the sun had set. I had taken a bath in very hot water, then a shower, because I’m like that. The second bag had contained men’s pajamas, one size too big for me, and crafted from the finest silk. The pajamas were also impractical; silk is not the warmest material on the planet. In his defense, he had purchased ladies’ style long johns to go with them, but they were two sizes too small and wouldn’t come up past my thighs. To fix this, Lucas had gone out a second time and purchased more practical pajamas. They were still men’s pajamas, but they were dark red with black and grey striping and made out of heavy flannel with an insulated lining and had a matching robe that tied at my waist. I also had new snow boots that were made for Alaska and came up past my knees. I found them uncomfortable, but at least my toes wouldn’t freeze off.

  “Tell me about the first three,” I said as we finished up dinner. We were assembled in the Marshals’ conference room. Arons had been very quiet since I had gone off on him earlier. Gabriel and I had made a trip back to the motel; me to get warm, him to check in on Michael or at least that was the excuse. The real reason was so that I could quietly and casually be reprimanded for going off on the Special Agent who was trying to be helpful.

  I hadn’t argued or pleaded my case. I had sat and let Gabriel tell me all the reasons I was in the wrong without saying a word. I considered it amazing personal growth because I really wanted to tell him where to shove Special Agent Arons. He rubbed me the wrong way, but that was probably just because I didn’t know him or trust him or want to be around him in any way, shape or form. I was like that with new people.

  Now, we were back at the Marshals’ building. My badge was clipped to the pilfered cord and hung from my neck. Which was good since my pajamas didn’t have a lot of pockets. They got me some interesting looks when we returned. I guessed suit and tie was standard dress for US Marshals in Alaska. I thought they should consider themselves lucky that I had bothered to put on a bra.

  “Because they don’t have the expertise and precision of the last thirty-eight victims, I have doubts it’s the same killer,” Xavier stood up and walked to the board. “See, with victim one, there are hesitation marks. The killer does not maintain equal pressure on the blade, making some of the patches too deep and others too shallow. He comes out early in a few places and has to start again. The legs are definitely not as cleanly skinned and he seems to have issues with the kneecaps, which isn’t present on any of the victims after his break.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the break,” Lucas jumped in. “This kind of training would take years, not weeks. I don’t know what he was doing during that time, but you aren’t going to gain that much proficiency skinning deer or moose in that time frame. I’m not sure you’d gain it skinning humans in succession.”

  “Why kill three, then stop only to be replaced by another killer?” Arons asked.

  “Partners,” Lucas answered. “If they were partners, one of them might have killed the other and taken over. T
he one that takes over has greater skill in this department, but without his partner, he has to find a new way to hoist the bodies. Maybe that’s what the break was about.”

  “That might explain part of it,” Xavier agreed, “but not all of it. Because while I see the work of two different men, I do not see a difference in the methods, just the skill level.”

  “But a partner might not change his methodology,” I told him.

  “True,” Lucas said. He looked at the board. “His victims also change. Not much, just a little. The age goes up.”

  “That it does,” Xavier said. “The first three were all in their early twenties. The rest have been in their late twenties or early thirties with an outlier that was almost forty. And their physical appearance changes a little as well. The younger women are all less ‘natural’, I can’t think of a better way to put that. The people that were interviewed said they wore make-up, lots of jewelry, one even had implants. The rest of the victims are plain Janes, no make-up, no excessive jewelry, and while their clothes are name brand, they aren’t two-hundred dollar jeans or eighty-dollar shirts.”

  “I would consider the older women to be respectable. They dress nice, but not flashy. Their jewelry is small and tasteful. And judging by the photos of their make-up collection, I’d say they wear it on special occasions, but if they wear it every day, it is very light,” Lucas clarified.

  “Were any of them sexually assaulted?” I asked.

  “Do you read the