Page 22 of Secrets Along the Shore
Reuben seemed to be mulling over my observation. “So you think the killer is trying to say that they’re finished killing?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, or there’d only be one snake and one victim. I think—” Who was I to theorize? Because that’s all it was. Theory. I wasn’t a profiler. I had no experience solving crimes or getting into the heads of killers.
Or did I?
Maybe there was something innate in me—after my experience—something subconscious that I didn’t understand, that helped me get into the mind of the killer.
I was afraid to meet Dickson and Reuben’s eyes.
Afraid to shift my attention to the corner where Sophia had stood. It was one thing to imagine and connect to a victim, but what if my empathy, what if my brain conjured the image of the killer himself? What if he started talking to me?
I squeezed my eyes shut. Medication may not be a bad thing. There was no shame in admitting that I was losing it. That I needed psychological help. That I?—
“What do you think?” Dickson pressed, encouragement in her voice communicating that nothing was off the table of consideration.
I opened my eyes to absorb the images of the snakes once again. Their lifeless, rope-like bodies. I would just say it. No matter how crazy it sounded.
“I think whoever put the snakes below their windows is a submissive. They’re regretful. It’s as if they’re trying to say that they don’twantto do what they do, but they’re compelled to. Theyhaveto.”
Neither Dickson nor Reuben said anything to stop me, so I continued.
“I think the snake is their form of an apology. It’s laid out in a way that shows they’re not going to fight. That they’re not attempting dominance or control.”
“That’s a lot to take from a few snakes laying on the ground.” Dickson said aloud what I’d already been telling myself. I was stretching. Theorizing. Based on the knowledge of literally nothing psychological except my own experiences.
“Ooookay,” Reuben said. “Let’s say you’re right. If Sophia’s killer isregretful, they still abducted the other women and—in Sophia’s case—murdered her.”
“Because they had to.” I lifted my eyes. “Something about Sophia pushed them beyond where they were comfortable going. It’s why they drowned her. It wasn’t planned. It was impulsive.” I tapped the photo of one of the snakes. “They know what to do with submission, because they respond to submission themselves. But if Sophia fought back or—or—threatenedthem, then it turned their plans on its axis. Her killer didn’t know how to process it so he just reacted. He killed her and then left her there.”
Dickson and Reuben looked at each other, their eyes speaking unsaid volumes. I waited. I’d either sounded completely nuts, or utterly like an amateur know-it-all. Either one didn’t sit well with me. I squirmed on the metal chair.
“Based on that theory,” Reuben concluded, “whoever killed Sophia wasn’t intending on killing her. Which means?—”
“The other two missing women may still be alive.” I finished his line of thinking. I didn’t want to be guilty of encouraging false hope, but then, I was simply trying to help them out. Nothing more and nothing less. I’d put myself out there to help as much as I had. They could easily take my theory or leave it in this room and never revisit it.
“If you’re right—which it’s plausible—” Dickson considered. “Then Sophia’s killer is definitely not the Serpent Killer. They don’t fit the profile.”
“No,” I affirmed.
“But why a snake? I just can’t get past that. Two strings of crimes a decade apart and both with serial abductions and homicides and both with snakes associated with them.” Reuben’s argument made sense, and I understood why. In a rural environment such as Whisper’s End, one abduction would seem like a lot. But two, with a third ending in murder? Ten years after another serial crime with a very similar set of events? It was potentially detrimental to assume they were unrelated. And yet, my gut said that they were.
“Why a snake?” Reuben repeated.
“It’s a symbol of good and evil.” Dickson’s words separated the air between us. “It’s deceitful. It’s powerful. Cunning.”
“Maybe the snake being belly-up isn’t a symbol of submission.” Reuben shot a glance at me. “What if it’s a declaration of dominance? The killer has struck and they have conquered. The snake doesn’t represent the killer, but rather, his victim?”
I hated that theory. Really hated that theory. If Reuben was right, then the entire meaning of the snake shifted. Instead of a killer with some element of conscience, a killer with psychopathic tendencies was introduced. Someone who laid a dead snake beneath the window from where he’d stolen his victim and smiled with satisfaction as he positioned the snake on its back. Complete and utter defeat.
No. I liked my idea better. It was more palatable. A killer with regrets. That the abductor might be manipulated with goodwill and obedience. But another side of me knew I couldn’t believe a theory as fact just because it was easier to swallow. Reuben could be just as right as I was.
“Fact of the matter is,” Dickson concluded with conviction, “this just underlines one element no one can argue with me about.”
“What’s that?” Reuben raised his brows.
Dickson scooped the photographs into a pile.
“I hate snakes. No matter how you position them.”
