Seven
The room smelled of death. Six bodies lay spread out on mortician tables, Marlene and Dorcas standing behind them as the rest of the team waited for their run down.
“Missing heart.” Dorcas pointed to a young woman, the cavity of her chest empty. “Missing liver, missing lungs.”
“I swear it’s an organ harvester.” James muttered, his hand over his mouth in concentration.
“Pancreas, kidneys…” Marlene pointed to the last man. “Missing spleen.”
“Who the hell gets a spleen transplant?” Peter threw his hands up in the air, staring at James.
“They don’t.” Sirius’ voice was quiet as he thought.
His shirt spanned tightly over his back, his shoulder tense as he pushed his weight down on the lungs in front of him.
“He’s eating them.” Sirius’ face was slightly pale, his eyes wide and crazed as he stared at the bodies in front of him. He would be lying if he hadn’t thought of this for a while, especially after the Shrike case. But this was just the confirmation he needed.
“He’s eating them?” Peter looked just on the verge of throwing up at the idea.
“He thinks of them as pigs.” Sirius had said this before, but he hadn’t realized how accurate that statement was. “By no means is he a vigilante, some of his victims aren’t criminals, but they are the filth of the world. The rude barista, the mechanic that tried to scam him into buying unneeded parts. They’re the people that are impolite, unworthy of their life. And what better way to justify your killings than wanting to throw a dinner party?”
“So why display them?” Dorcas asked. “I mean if he’s eating them, why not use every part of them like the Shrike?”
“He doesn’t love them. The Shrike loved those girls, he wanted to honor them, keep them with him.” The disgust in his voice dripped over his words. “The Artist is, just that. He’s a lover of history and antiques. He wants to create.
“He has money, and people know, but he doesn’t necessarily urge to show it off. He’s a collector, a socialite, but more so out of keeping up his human facade than actual enjoyment of his acquaintances. He has some form of medical background as we can tell from the organ removal. He may have some connection to law enforcement as well. He sees his victims as just another slab of meat waiting to get on his stove. He doesn’t feel guilty; there’s no human connection like there was with the Shrike.”
“So, he’s a psychopath?”
“No.”
“A sociopath?”
“They will call him a sociopath, because they don’t know what else to call him. He has some of the characteristics of what they call a sociopath. He has no remorse, or guilt at all.” Sirius bit at the nail of his thumb. “But he doesn’t have any of the other marks. He’s not going to have any history of trouble with the law, he’s not insensitive. They don’t know what to call him.”
“What would you call him?” Marlene asked as her and Dorcas got to work putting the bodies away.
“He’s a monster.” The words sat heavy on his tongue. “I think of him as one of those pitiful things that are born in hospitals from time to time. They feed it, and keep it warm, but they don’t put it on the machines, and it dies. He’s the same way. He looks normal. Nobody will be able to tell what he is.”
Remus sat in the front, his back board straight as he stared at the woman singing on stage. The voice reverberated through his ear drums, settling deep within his soul as his eyes watered. The woman's voice was beautiful, the story even more so.
As the intermission began, Remus swiftly stood, in search of a waiter carrying a tray of champagne.
“Remus! How lovely to see you.” Madam Pomfrey smiled as she stood next to Remus, looping her arm through his. “Work is swell, I presume?”
Out of all the people he’s been forced to socialize with, Madam Pomfrey is like a breath of fresh air. She’s very straightforward, which Remus quite enjoys, as well as the fact that she always has good gossip.
“It’s a pleasure,” Remus gave her a genuine soft smile, gently guiding her around the hall. “Work is eventful, I’ve started working on a psychological profile for the FBI.”
Madam Pomfrey gasped at the news, “Well that's just splendid! I heard the head of the FBI is struggling to catch that one killer.”
“The Artist, yes.” Remus nodded, finally being able to grab a flute of champagne off of a silver tray. “He’s a tricky one; I can’t tell you much more than that.”
“Oh, come on,” She batted at his arm playfully, “I won’t tell!”
Remus shook his head in amusement, knowing that is the biggest lie she has ever told.
“Oh Remus, it seems this young man would like your attention.” Remus turned to the man Pomfrey was talking about, his mask going up as he tried to hide his disdain.
“Dr. Lupin! I wasn’t expecting you here.” Christopher smiled brightly, all of his teeth on display. I wonder how many I can rip out before he loses consciousness. “Well, I was expecting you, because of course you love this kind of thing! So do I, look at us, we're like one in the same.”
Remus grimaced at the ramble, “Nice to see you Christopher, and you are?”
He turned towards the man at Christopher’s elbow, he looked like he did not want to be there, or at least not with his companion.
“Jacob, I have heard a lot about you Dr. Lupin.” Something in his eyes flashed with danger, a crook formed in Remus’ eyebrow as he stared at the man. “I loved the performance, although I have to say, Christopher seemed more occupied looking at you than the stage.”
Remus gave a polite smile, “Don’t say too much, we do have to leave something to be talked about next week. Christopher, Jacob.”
He held out his hand in a polite goodbye, turning away and promptly walking back to his seat.