Page 29 of The Darkest Gift

I start arranging the photos in a circle on the desk. "What if each of these women represents something? A specific archetype or symbol?"

Reeves' eyes widen as he begins to catch on. "You think this could be... what? Some kind of ritual?"

A slow smile spreads across my face. "Perhaps. Or maybe it's art. A grand, twisted masterpiece that only the creator can truly appreciate."

I lean back again, gesturing at the circle of photos. "Six women. Six points on a hexagram. In many occult traditions, the number six is associated with harmony, balance, love. But it's also linked to sin, temptation, the imperfections of man."

Reeves is hanging on my every word now, his pen forgotten in his hand. "So you think this person is, what? Trying to create some kind of human mandala?"

I tilt my head, warming to the theory. "It's possible. Or perhaps they see themselves as a collector of human experiences. Each woman represents a different aspect of the human condition—joy, sorrow, innocence, wisdom, passion, restraint."

I pause, letting the idea sink in. "But here's where it gets truly interesting, Detective. There are six women missing now. But what if that's not the end? What if six is just the beginning?"

Reeves' face pales as the implications sink in. "You think there could be more victims?"

I nod slowly, feeling a shiver of excitement that might be mistaken for professional enthusiasm. "Consider the symbolism, Detective. In many mystical traditions, seven is considered a number of completion, of perfection. The seven days of creation, the seven heavens, the seven deadly sins..."

Reeves leans forward, completely engrossed. "So you think the next victim..."

"Could be the end, or be the keystone," I finish for him. "The final piece that brings the whole twisted masterpiece together. But who would represent such a concept? A politician? A CEO? Or perhaps someone with a different kind of influence... a religious leader, maybe? Or even..."

I trail off, letting the tension build. Enjoying the thrill of it. Reeves is on the edge of his seat now, hanging on my every word. "Or even what, Dr. Blackwood?"

A slow, predatory smile spreads across my face. "Or even someone in law enforcement. Someone who holds the power of justice in their hands. A judge, perhaps. Or a district attorney."

The irony of suggesting Elijah as a potential victim while he's bound and gagged just a floor above us is almost too delicious. I have to fight to keep the amusement from showing on my face.

Reeves' eyes widen. "You think our perpetrator might target someone in the justice system next?"

I shrug, affecting an air of professional detachment. "It's just a theory, of course.” I stand, moving to the bookshelf that lines one wall of my office. My fingers trail along the spines of leather-bound tomes, eventually pulling out a hefty volume on occult symbolism. "And then there's the number twelve," I continue, flipping through the pages. "Twelve months in a year, twelve signs of the zodiac, twelve apostles..."

I turn back to Reeves, the open book cradled in my hands. "What if our perpetrator is working towards some grand design? A living, breathing work of art composed of human lives?"

Reeves leans forward, his face a mask of horrified fascination. "But... why? What could possibly drive someone to do something like this?"

A small smile plays at the corners of my mouth. "The human mind is a complex thing, Detective. Some seek meaning in religion, others in science or art. But there are those who find their purpose in darker pursuits. They see beauty in the forbidden, in pushing the boundaries of what society deems acceptable."

I set the book down on my desk, open to a page depicting various occult symbols. "Imagine someone who views the world as a canvas, and human lives as their paint. Each abduction, each life taken, is a brushstroke in a masterpiece only they can truly appreciate."

Reeves shakes his head, looking slightly nauseated. "It's... it's monstrous."

"Is it?" I ask, my voice soft and contemplative. "Or is it simply a perspective we can't understand? To the artist, their work is everything. The suffering of their subjects is irrelevant in the face of the greater vision."

I pause, letting my gaze drift back to the window for a moment. "Of course," I continue, turning back to Reeves, "this is all purely theoretical.”

Reeves huffs in frustration, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Yes, and it could be something far simpler," he says, echoing my words. "Maybe we're overthinking this. What if it's just some sicko getting his kicks by taunting us?"

I shrug, leaning back in my chair. "It's certainly possible," I concede. "We haven't given much thought to that angle, have we? Sometimes the simplest explanation is the correct one."

Reeves nods, his brow furrowed in thought. "Yeah, maybe... maybe this is just some asshole playing games. Showing off how clever he is, how he can snatch these women right under our noses."

"'Catch me if you can,'" I muse, tapping my fingers against the polished wood of my desk. I can certainly appreciate that mindset on many levels. "It's a tale as old as time, isn't it? The criminal who views his crimes as a game, law enforcement as worthy adversaries to be outsmarted."

Reeves sighs heavily, slumping back in his chair. "God, I hope that's not it. Those types are the worst. They never know when to quit, always pushing for bigger scores, more attention."

I hum thoughtfully, my gaze drifting back to the photos spread across my desk. "It would explain the apparent randomness of the victims," I point out. "If the goal is simply to prove he can take anyone, anywhere, without leaving a trace... well, that's certainly been accomplished, hasn't it?"

Reeves grimaces, nodding reluctantly. "Yeah, it has. Six women are gone without a trace."

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