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“I was told by Agent Alister to incorporate the Harbinger in my profile as it was your theory, Agent Rana.”
“Well, he’s obviously no longer in charge.” Rana crosses her arms.
Halen raises an eyebrow. “Yes, ma’am.” She moves around the exhibit, using her camera lens to zoom in and study the details of Devyn’s design. The rapid-fire shutter click fills the dense air as Halen photographs the scene.
“The weaving is ceremonial, the act itself sacred,” she says, walking around the woman suspended between the marsh trees. “Where the other scenes were crafted as ritual offerings, this one is more intricate. I think the perpetrator is attributing this specific skillset to Athena, making it divine.” She lowers the camera, her gaze cast upward on the slender antler tines. “She’s taken the time and care to honor this victim.”
Halen’s use of generic verbiage in place of a name is telling, trying to distance herself from the woman she’s profiling, but she can’t disguise her anguish, the connection she still feels to Devyn.
At Rana’s confused expression, Halen says, “Athena the goddess. She was a weaver.”
Rana’s tough exterior softens a fraction as she studies Halen. “I remember my mythology classes,” she says. “That doesn’t answer why Childs deviated in method. Why display this victim rather than dismember her for a sacrifice?”
Halen slides on a pair of latex gloves and leans in to examine the symbols traced in blood, focusing on the circle within a triangle, the philosopher’s stone. “Because she cared for this woman. Because she couldn’t bring herself to offer her to Dionysus. They were friends.” Emotion cracks her voice, and she looks away. “I think once the medical examiner conducts an autopsy, they’ll conclude the victim died of natural causes.” Halen snaps her gloves off, the sharp sound concluding her examination.
Rana holds up a hand. “That’s a huge leap, Dr. St. James. Care to share a theory?”
Still chasing away her unsettled emotions, Halen reinforces her stance. “Based on the deviation, it doesn’t fit the other ritual scenes. The perpetrator could also be devolving.”
The way Agent Rana scrutinizes Halen spears my chest with apprehension, and I move in closer. “Your perp has lost most of her higher men, her sacrifices,” I say, diverting the lead agent. “Symbolically, she may believe this exhibit will garner her more favoritism from the god.”
“I’ve never once heard you utter an indecisive word, Professor Locke.” Rana pins me with a skeptical look before returning her attention to Halen. “Theperpis Devyn Childs. She murdered an FBI agent and decapitated him. Yes, clearly, she’s devolving. I’d like to stop her from devolving further.”
I watch the tension gather in Halen’s shoulders as she purposely avoids looking my way at the accusation. While I did as she asked, pointing the proverbial finger at the alchemist suspect for the murder, Rana still has her sights set on Devyn. Respected or not, Alister was FBI. One of them.
Rana shifts her gaze to me expectantly. “So, professor, I want more conclusive insight from you where the wordmaydoesn’t enter your extensive vocabulary, or I’ll send for Dr. Markus, and your evaluation will reflect that.”
I rub the back of my neck, sick of the humidity. Sick of this town. Sick of performing. “It’s a replica ofThe Bacchae,” I say decidedly. “An ancient Greek tragedy set in Thebes. The scene depicted here is iconic, ornamented on vases and murals from the era. Do you also recall the play from your mythology classes?”
The agent doesn’t flinch. “Refresh my memory.”
My smile is cutting. “Fearful of the raving ones, themaenadsempowered by divine madness, men chased the women up a mountain side. It was barbaric, branded as the pursuit ritual. Their fear of these women was so tremendous, they chased them over the cliffs of the mountain.”
My gaze drifts to Halen, registering the sadness in her expression, the residual ache of loss I always sense within her. The desire to taste that ache deep inside her thrums through me with vicious need, and I give the agent my closing statement so she can be rid of this scene.
“Overall, I agree with Dr. St. James,” I say, sinking my hands in my pockets to curb my desire to touch her. “This is a shrine. Childs views her followers as the mad women regardless of gender. Their groupthink mentality is so strong and loyal, their devotion to their priestess earns them a commemorative death.” I tic my chin toward the exhibit.
“Childs hasn’t deviated from Nietzschean philosophy,” I continue. “Nietzsche used Greek tragedies to express how life is cruel and unfair, how illogical our suffering can be.” But I’m looking into Halen’s eyes as I say this, my words meant solely for her. “As Childs has clearly replicated here.”
Halen doesn’t break my gaze, a certain understanding passing between us. “Nietzsche also felt that to make sense of our suffering, we have to have ‘a recognition that whatever exists is of a piece, and that individuation is the root of all evil’.”
A faint, hopeful smile graces my mouth at her direct quote fromThe Birth of Tragedy.
“In other words, Dionysus offers deliverance from our pain, where we don’t have to suffer alone.” Halen looks at the exhibit. “Devyn’s shrine denotes her pain, but in this way she also reconciles it, mitigating her loss by making herself one with this woman through the god.”
The crime scene all but falls away. Halen’s saccharine melancholy infuses the air and reaches right into my sternum to strangle the muscle that beats only for her. I’m tempted to set this whole field on fire and make love to her as it burns to ash around us.
Rana cranes an eyebrow. “You two do work well together,” she says, her innuendo not so subtle. She’s not oblivious, but at least she’s also not tactless, giving the moment sufficient time to taper before she addresses me. “Thank you for your thorough analysis, Professor Locke. I expect a detailed report onThe Bacchaebefore the end of the day.”
Yet another reason to set fire to this town and be rid of this whole charade before the day’s up. I don’t do fucking homework.
Finally, I break away from Halen and give Agent Rana a compliant nod, satisfied when she turns her full attention to Hernandez and another task force member.
The activity of the scene bleeds into the sudden stillness incasing us, the chirr of the crickets too far off, the rustle of disturbed deer buried beneath the whine of cameras and ringing devices.
Nothing feels sacred anymore.
With a final zip of her bag, Halen hefts her gear. “Since I have nothing further to offer, I’m heading back to the hotel.” She directs her statement to Rana.
