Consumption

A dinner roast steamed on the counter, a thick gravy and carrots surrounding the perfectly cooked meat. Sirius took his place at the end of the table, gently laying the pristine white napkin across his lap.

A hand reached out in front of him, pouring an almost blood red wine into the crystal cup. The figure slowly retreated to the other end of the table, taking his seat.

“Bon Appetit, I hope you enjoy Mr. Black.” The voice seemed familiar, an accent dripping over the words, but Sirius couldn’t place it. His fork bit into the meat, the tender flesh tearing away with ease. The second the delectable feast touched his lips, a new vision appeared before him. The figure from before…his back was to Sirius, the thin white dress shirt spanning across his broad shoulders, pulling taught on his muscles.

A sharp crack split through the air, Sirius’ eyes straining to see what caused the noise, but he couldn’t move. He was stuck to his chair, no bounds were visible, but he was still trapped.

Suddenly, the figure turned around.

“See?” He spoke in a deep voice, “Do you see?”

He held something up to Sirius’ face, causing him to gasp in surprise and wonder.

“Do you see?” The girl's eyes were still open, but her head had now been decapitated from her body. The man's fingers threaded through her hair, holding her up to Sirius’ eye level.

Sirius looked up at the man, shocked to see-

Sirius woke up with a start. Sweat beaded around his collarbones, the sheets around him damp. His head ached as the blaring sound of his ringtone echoed through the room.

“Black.” He grumbled, sleep evident in his voice.

“We’ve got a scene.”

Fuck me. Sirius got up, quickly taking a cold shower and getting ready as he brewed a pot of coffee.

“You’ve gotta stay Snuffles.” He murmured to the dog following him towards the front door. “I’ll be back soon okay?”

The drive to the crime scene was torturous, nerves thrummed through his body as he remembered the dream. The voice was familiar, but Dumbledore woke him up before he could actually see the man's face. It was unsettling, but it had to be telling him something.

Sirius frequently had nightmares, but never one like this. This one felt like someone cracked a hole in his brain, poking at prodding at the organ until it came up with the image the person intended. He felt like a puppet on a string.

After he left that house, Sirius was never out of control. He went against his parents and became a police officer. He went to school and studied psychology, in a way, coping with what had happened to him throughout his life. He knew that everything he did was with the intention to get through one more day. He could live with that though.

He could read people infinitely well, making it difficult to get caught off guard, allowing him to be in control of the conversations.

Now though… Now, he was not in control, and it felt like his world was crumbling.

These thoughts of this man in his dream did not stop, not until he got to the crime scene.

The woman was enclothed in a satin floral gown. The beautiful fabric flowed down and onto the grass in an entrancing motion. She almost looked alive, her eyes were open, the color dimmed due to her death, but she had a peaceful expression on her face…almost serene.

“Is it The Artist?” Sirius sighed at the voice in his ear.

“Hello to you too Albus.” Sirius moved closer to the woman leaned against a tree, a wreath of flowers laid atop her head, standing out against her blonde hair. “Yeah, it’s him. We’ll know for sure once Dorcas and Marlene get their hands on her. She’ll probably have some missing organs.”

“What does it mean? Is he starting a new sounder?”

“She looks like the woman, Flora, in Boticelli’s Primavera.”

“English please Sirius.” Peter mumbled, wiping his eyes of sleep as he appeared at Sirius’ elbow, James in tow.

“It’s a pretty famous painting. The victim I presume is pregnant. In the painting, Flora isn’t explicitly said to be pregnant but she is said to be associated with this nymph called Chloris who becomes pregnant and is reborn as Flora.” Sirius explained, his finger circling the rim of his coffee cup as he spoke.

“So what does that mean?” James asked, pushing his glasses up his nose as he stared at the woman.

Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke, a headache already forming. “She represents the beginning of spring, technically speaking, but she can also represent fertility and renewal, which is most likely how our guy took it.”

“Why her?” Dumbledore asked, motioning for James and Peter to get to work. “Is it just because she’s pregnant and fits the narrative?”

“With our guy, who knows. It could be that, it could be because she made his coffee wrong one day, I don’t have any clue until Dorcas and Marlene have her cut open and her records in my hand.” Sirius snapped, turning away to walk up to James who was currently taking pictures.

“Well you seem jolly!” James smiled from behind his camera as he snapped a shot of the flowers in the girl's hair.

“Didn’t sleep well.” Sirius muttered, finally taking a second to take a deep breath, letting the crisp morning air circle through his lungs. “Do you think we’ve got anything?”

The Artist has never before left evidence at any of his scenes. He’s a master at his craft and in all honesty, it’s impressive. Sirius has never seen a serial killer of this intensity who has never left a single hair of evidence.

As annoyed as he is, Peter, Marlene, and Dorcas are probably pissed.

If you ask Sirius, their forensics team is fantastic. They’ve caught countless killers and are definitely the most qualified for this job; but that doesn’t mean they can make evidence. That’s what’s most frustrating about The Artist. He kills in sounders, typically of three, with weeks to months of time in between each killing. One time, he went a whole year.

This tactic of his is genuinely genius, it makes it harder for the FBI to figure him out as they only have a few weeks to gather enough evidence. The second they recognize his pattern and can anticipate his next kill, he disappears.

“Lab time! Can I ride with you?” James asked Sirius as him and Peter packed up.

Sirius nodded, leading James back to his car and following Peter’s car back to the lab. The brick building always sends a chill down Sirius’ spine, anticipating the gruesome realities that lie behind those stainless-steel drawers.

“Another day, another body!” Marlene cheered as Peter and James laid the black body bag across the table. Dorcas elbowed her, shooting her a look telling her to be quiet.

“According to Sirius, it’s The Artist.” Peter said, unzipping the bag and transferring her onto the table. He promptly took her gown and wreath off to his station as Marlene and Dorcas got to work.

“Stitches on her lower back and left side.” Marlene muttered as Dorcas wrote her observations down on the autopsy report. Sirius and James watched them work, looking over their shoulders as they worked in tandem.

“It’s The Artist all right, took her kidneys and liver.” Dorcas said, pointing at her open body where the organs were supposed to be resting.

“What’s he doing with them?” Dumbledore asked, walking around the table.

“Could be an organ harvester.” James suggested, his head slightly tilted in thought.

“No.” Sirius shook his head.

“No?”

“No. It’s too organized and cultivated to be someone just trying to make an extra buck.” Sirius closed his eyes, thinking about the woman before him. “He thinks they’re pigs...What’s her history?”

James passed the file to him. “Prison for child endangerment. Left her niece in a hot car for hours while she gambled her savings away in Vegas.”

“You have no right to breed…Took away your life so you don’t taint the world with your spawn.”

The room went silent as Sirius muttered under his breath, his eyes focused on the woman's face. His thoughts swarmed around the careful procedure of removing her organs, leaving her out in nature to rejuvenate. A renewal of her polluted life.