The Knight, the Beauty, the Beast, the Fool. Eat a Heart – Gain Love

“Why not? Women are cruel creatures, Agent Serret.”

Allex shrugged. A woman who hates women, is as strong as a weightlifter, bites her nails and is unhappy with her appearance … But this woman has a man’s size feet, a heavy hand, cold-blooded calculation, and strict logic.

“The Heartthrob is too big and strong to be a woman.”

“Well, that means women offended him! Or his cock doesn’t get hard!”

This is closer to the truth … The killer has no time for sex – at least not for the conventional one – he is too immersed in eating the treat, becoming a demon.

Will said he had to do some kind of ritual, he had an anchor – to trigger the entrance to the state of dissociation. A spell, a gesture, a mask …

For example, like Wilhelmina Gustavsson’s, from the Great Red Dragon music video.

Cruz is right, feature films often present a beautiful, aesthetic, attractive wrapper, romanticize violence and murder, idealize antagonists. Miss Gustavsson, with blobs of paint running down her chin, neck and half-naked breasts, singing about rebirth through death, is dangerous in her ability to impose the greatness and power of the dark side of the human soul.

But if Allex weren’t a rational-thinking FBI agent, he would be squealing like a teenage girl and running to the front rows of the dance floor to look at the beautiful artiste.

The store employees did not find the backpack. Allex was not upset at all, even though he understood perfectly well he would have to make ridiculous excuses and throw up his hands over the lost uniform.

“Can you recommend someone else to talk to, someone observant?” Agent Serret asked.

Ms. Hill walked along the shelves, her subordinates, noticing her approach, immediately stopped idling and got down to work, Allex walked beside.

“Dario Pesce2 and Sarah Roth,” the senior store assistant replied after a pause to think. “And Sabrina Maxwell, but she’s off today.”

Everyone worked on a four-two schedule, twelve hours a day, plus time to prepare the sales area and clean up after the shift. Everyone was friendly, replaced each other when necessary, and did not refuse additional work, including the one to deliver heavy bags of groceries to customers’ homes.

Dario, who was busy laying out the products on the stands, began his story by saying that he had always dreamed of becoming a detective, so he would be happy to help the investigation in any way he could. He hadn’t noticed any strange customers, they didn’t even steal, they just inattentively forgot something in the basket, or their children dragged the sweets in bright wrappers they liked into their pockets. There were some weird ones, though they were all local rich folks with a dash of madness, he had already gotten used to them, but he hadn’t noticed any dangerous or creepy ones … The cashier Sarah was one of those people who find a common language with everyone, would always offer to buy something, and form a large average bill. Sarah’s breasts and hips were also large, and her waist was thin, this had a positive effect on her productivity indicators.

On the best employee of the month board, they were in the same row as Dylan Vermillion, the only one without a photo.

Allex asked Sarah about Dylan when they went out into the backyard during her break.

“He’s hardly any use to you,” she chuckled, exhaling cigarette smoke. “He doesn’t speak.”

“Well, how—” Allex was confused. “He was talking to me.”

Sarah studied Agent Serret more closely than she would have studied an FBI agent. There was a mischievous glint in his green eyes, like the glowing end of a cigarette between her fingers.

“Not with us. He’s unsociable, he doesn’t care about his colleagues, he doesn’t stay for a beer or a cake on someone’s birthday, he’s never come to a corporate party – while we often have something for the staff.”

“Is it bad that he chooses what is more comfortable for him?”

“No, it’s not … Probably,” Sarah drawled. “I generally forget that he exists. If you hadn’t asked, I wouldn’t have remembered about him.”

So that’s it … A familiar situation – both with the unsociability in the style of Special Agent Gatti, and with the role of an invisible man.

Allex hated his father’s indifference so much as a child that he tried to draw attention in any way … In the end, it became part of his personality, to be in the spotlight, to always be loud, to always be the main hateful concern, a pain in the ass, a reason to blush.

Dylan didn’t seem to him as downtrodden or shy, unable to assert himself. Dylan was comfortable in the shadows, not needing attention.

Having finished with the interview at the store, Agent Serret headed to the office of Dr. Gasztold – where he and Will had agreed to meet. A familiar black car was driving away from the house with high windows and stone columns of the porch, Allex couldn’t help but watch it until it disappeared around the corner of an elite neighborhood narrow street.

9. Control

[United States, Baltimore, Reservoir Hill]

“You never tried to imagine something pleasant at the moment when you needed to dissociate.”

“It won’t help me, Dr. Gasztold, I don’t want to run away,” Wilhelmina Gustavsson emphasized the last word, a wry smile appearing on her lips. “I don’t understand the strategy of escapism and avoidance, I have to remember what’s really going on.”

“You are resisting the natural mechanism of psychological defense.”

“I know. And that makes it even harder.”

“Do you want to feel control in this at least? Control over your hatred, disgust, over your feelings?”

Wilhelmina thought, her gray-blue eyes clouded slightly, her long eyelashes fluttered.

“Yes,” she answered shortly.

“What else will allow you to regain the control you have lost? For some people, it is enough to control the food on their plate, their daily routine, their expenses—”

“I’m not ‘some people,’” Miss Gustavsson sighed resignedly. “Not because I put myself above – or below … I just—”

She picked up words like puzzle pieces, like shards in a stained-glass mosaic, carefully stepping on crumbs of broken porcelain that dug into her bare heels, leaving bloody blots on the floor. She had long since stopped filtering the thoughts she expressed at her psychotherapist’s appointment; she was not afraid of Dr. Gasztold – judgement, reactions of rejection, condolence … Dr. Gasztold was cold and impartial, a real surgeon.

Surgeons have to take a detached view of the situation, to hurt people – so that they can recover later.

“Have you ever thought about having an affair?”

The gray-blue eyes blinked, and the gaze moved from the statuette – a noble deer by a 19th-century French sculptor – to the man in the chair opposite.

“Why?”

Wilhelmina, out of habit, had already managed to capture the first thought that came into her head, caught it like a cat catches a mouse by the tail with its claw, had already managed to analyze its meaning.

At first, she didn’t think about the rationality and point … Before her eyes, bright as a camera flash, there appeared, as if from nowhere, an image with a shock of chestnut hair and freckles on a young face.

“You need to distract yourself. The way you hide the affair will allow you to feel the power and sweetness of the secret you did not allow yourself.”

“It’s physically impossible,” Wilhelmina answered, perfectly understanding that Dr. Gasztold had already drawn conclusions: that instead of denying, she had switched to logic, hid behind rationalization, and had not refused. “Phoebus knows everything, I don’t have a minute when he’s not present in my life, either explicitly or implicitly.”

“Everything is possible – if you want it. Think about it, just think, don’t drive this thought away.”

Wilhelmina didn’t drive … She was thinking.

“Tell me about a person you might like.”

“Dr. Gasztold, I wouldn’t like to discuss this now, it’s more important to me—”

Who is she trying to deceive! She came to the session with a specific request that had nothing to do with her real problem! She slips away, hides, condemning her own escapism …

Phoebus had begun to irritate her much more recently, Wilhelmina simply could not stand the scent of his perfume, his body odor, and the gag reflex, seemingly lost forever, was again raising its head and trying to rise from its knees … She wanted Dr. Gasztold to give her practical advice, some kind of auto-training technique for accepting the situation, but in the end she came to what she was trying to escape from.

Phoebus became disgusting to her because suddenly someone else became nice. Before, no matter how much de Lavender shoved his cock into Wilhelmina’s mouth, no matter how much he kneaded her breasts and ass with his hands, no matter how much he grabbed her hair, carefully, afraid of ruining her hairdo, Wilhelmina didn’t care.

She sincerely thought she had died long ago, all that was left of her was a shell, a walking dead, not even a dead bride, in the guise of a doll on joints … It turned out that her heart could beat unevenly, out of rhythm, not according to a memorized script.

She instantly forgot the lines of the role, she became confused and began to fall into the abyss, she was afraid that the prompter had disappeared – and would no longer tell her what to do.

She had been enslaved for too long, she should have forgotten about any possibility of escape! She felt herself stupid and weak, she was afraid to even think about habitual way of life changing.

Dr. Gasztold suggested imagining something pleasant during moments of intimacy with de Lavender; Wilhelmina put on a mask of indifference, simply not knowing what she would find pleasant.

The warm azure ocean, hot white sand, snowflakes tingling on her face, the fresh wind of a ski resort, the taste – and sensation – in her mouth of slightly stale, yesterday’s bread made from coarse flour … And sometimes she imagined that Phoebus was dead, that suddenly there was no longer a tormentor, a warden, a caring owner holding a leash with a gold chain, a calfskin collar no longer digging into her neck.

“You yourself understand that this is only internal resistance. Okay, Wilhelmina, we’ll talk about this when you’re ready.”

“He has warm hands and a kind smile,” Wilhelmina said suddenly. “He has tousled hair, ordinary, very ordinary, slightly worn clothes, he smells like cheap shower gel.”

“Go on.”

“He looks like …” she exhaled, almost giggling, “a pine marten. He has sharp teeth and claws, a strong, agile body, a fluffy tail.”

Wilhelmina fell silent, her thin-fingered hands released the armrests of the chair and lay on her knees in wide suit pants with perfectly defined creases.

“What do you feel when you are with him?”

‘Feel’ – not ‘will feel.’ Probably some technique of Dr. Gasztold to immerse oneself in a certain state.

“I can be myself, I feel myself, I am calm.”

She looked at the doctor, he nodded.

“That’s great, Wilhelmina. You know who to look for. And you know what to do, too.”

It was out of the realm of fantasy to even imagine that there would be someone in her life, other than Phoebus. Someone who would touch her, who would look into her eyes, who would whisper nonsense in her ear, whose laughter would ring like a bell … Someone whom Wilhelmina would want to touch herself. Unthinkable!

Dr. Gasztold knew what he was talking about, Wilhelmina believed him – but in her situation, such a way of ‘distracting herself’ looked like suicide.

Sometimes Wilhelmina thought that therapy was not helping her, sometimes she looked back and saw positive changes, her growth and progress … Even when she only attended support sessions with a regular story about the last days, monotonous to the point of toothache, the psychiatrist’s office was the only place where she could speak openly, call things by their proper names.

Phoebus de Lavender bought her, raised her from childhood, like a pig for slaughter, forced her into sex when Wilhelmina was eighteen, fucked her like a doll all the following years, albeit rarely – because of his low libido – carried her around with him everywhere like an expensive, luxurious thing. Phoebus de Lavender was stern, but explained his sternness by care and love, he never raised his hand to Wilhelmina and did not even raise his voice. He spoke calmly, but imperiously, not forgetting to remind her from time to time where he took Wilhelmina from, what shit he washed her from, and how he sometimes wanted to take her back to a brothel in Latin America, where rich men looking for exotic pleasures can easily buy a blonde Swedish girl of eleven.

It is also possible to buy permanently. Phoebus de Lavender gave five hundred thousand dollars for Wilhelmina, adopted her as a distant relative, and as a share of the inheritance – in fairness – bequeathed to her an equivalent amount.

Wilhelmina noticed how, during one of the sessions – with another portion of Miss Gustavsson’s revelations – at the word ‘fairness,’ Dr. Gasztold slightly curved his lips into a condemning and sad smile. He often asked what Wilhelmina’s life would be like without de Lavender … He made her think about an infeasible reality, beyond the possible, for some reason to see artificial pictures in her dreams, causing pain in the eyes – or causing nothing.

Wilhelmina did not understand the meaning of the psychiatrist’s questions – until recently.

What would she do first if she had a free day? Without a tracking app using navigation – as parents do with their children – without the constant trigger of vibration messages and timers on the watch to respond to Phoebus, to ask Phoebus how he is doing, to be active, to serve …

She served. She was a useful and valuable plaything, eager to please, catching every crooked smile, every sarcastic sigh, every shrug, every word – to assent, to speak in time, to play the part like a perfect actress.

“You have abandoned the theater,” said Dr. Gasztold, as if reading her thoughts. “Does it no longer bring you comfort?”

It’s not the first time he asks … It’s not the first time Wilhelmina says that she will soon return to the theater studio, will finally write a script for a new video … But she didn’t have the strength. The playing requires dedication, she is afraid to get involved in the flow, she is afraid to lose herself, to remain in the role.

She hasn’t even sung lately – she’s just been exercising, doing vocalises, warming up her vocal cords to keep her voice in shape.

What if she suddenly snaps, becomes bolder, stronger, rips out de Lavender’s heart – like the Great Red Dragon? Or what if she can’t stop – like the serial killer Heartthrob?

Wilhelmina had often heard the statement that musicians had an exceptional sense of time. She disagreed – because in music it is not time that rules, but rhythm and meter, dynamics determine the irrational, subjective slowing down or speeding up, passion and languor, drawn-out anticipation or fleeting moments.

There were three minutes left until the end of the session.

“It doesn’t,” Wilhelmina admitted. “Wearing different masks became too much work.”

“But you were pouring out your feelings, you didn’t need therapy, you were calmer and more harmonious.”

Maybe … She was walking the demons, she could allow herself to become someone else for a short period of time, to taste freedom, to taste tears, to taste the love she sang about but never experienced.

“Maybe, Dr. Gasztold,” Miss Gustavsson replied, lost in thoughts that had nothing to do with work. “I don’t know.”

“‘I don’t know’ is also an answer,” Gasztold nodded. “Is there anything else you want to ask?”

Dr. Gasztold is involved in the investigation, he is cooperating with the FBI, agents were working undercover at his home at a dinner party … He probably knows the latest news, he’s aware of all the events.

Moreover, he showed no concern at all about his client records being stolen.

“No, nothing. Thank you, as always, a lot of new information to digest, Dr. Gasztold.”

Wilhelmina Gustavsson left the psychiatrist’s office with the idea that he had arranged the disappearance of the notebooks in order to participate in the capture of the criminal. An excellent excuse to be not only a consultant, but also a full-fledged member of the team – and even if they wanted to, no one would be able to prove otherwise.

Wilhelmina had an idea. She paused on the steps of the porch, a smile of inspiration appeared on her pale face, which she immediately hid under the make-up of indifference.

She can also come up with an excuse, even if it is a little artificial.

10. Object of Study

[United States, Baltimore, Reservoir Hill][United States, Vienna, Wolf Trap]

Agent Serret enthusiastically chewed a duck leg, dipped bread crumbs into the aromatic fat, Will told about his plan to visit the gym. Dr. Gasztold approved the idea of dressing Allex in sportswear, giving him a premium membership – so that no one would suspect a trick.

“If I were a blonde, I could be used as bait,” Allex reasoned, half-jokingly, half-seriously. “But that’s how it turned out, alas. The main thing is to see as much as possible during each visit, because the demon doesn’t even think of stopping.”

Every socialite was at risk – and according to their information, there were quite a few of them. If the Heartthrob has not yet chosen a new victim and is trying to get the key, he is to be found near objects of his interest, and those who are in the entourage.

The press added fuel to the fire, the news was full of loud headlines about horrible murders, with a bunch of exaggerations and distortions, reporters presented the criminal as a cultist, impotent, a pathetic imitator of the Maryland Ripper, a favorite of popular culture. The texts could raise a new wave of murders not only of the Heartthrob himself, but also of others like him, could anger the criminal and force him to refute the slander. Fortunately, the journalists did not write about the details of the investigation that could have spooked the Heartthrob and make it clear the investigation was on his tail.

They still had no leads – just a useless DNA sample, a sketch of the criminal, and guesses based on the findings of Special Agent Gatti’s unique detective method.

Will looked like crap, with shadows under his chameleon-gray-blue-green eyes, his hair even more tousled than usual, and a sickly flush on his cheeks under his stubble. He had no appetite, so Serret tucked away enough food for both of them.

Will and Dr. Gasztold agreed that the Heartthrob truly did view his victims as heartless bitches, as meat, and had no remorse. He did not create a certain image intentionally, but followed his own system of symbols, in which he devoured the heart of an enemy, a just act, in the name of retribution and the simultaneous desire to please his alter ego. The fact that he was disgusted with himself – regardless of the murders – was only a consequence of his psychological trauma.

But he pretends well. His image in everyday life is a facade built over the years, an emotionless mask.

Allex had seen many monsters, many empty eyes, soulless bodies of narcissists and psychopaths, dead shells, but this one, according to Will, was alive – and seemed to be dying in agony, hoping for an unrealistic dream of deliverance from suffering. Allex thought, if he saw the Heartthrob, he would immediately understand … There was a horror about such people, even if they pretended to be ordinary ones.

Three short vibration signals sounded from the pocket of Agent Serret’s jacket. When the young man took out his phone and read the message, his face involuntarily got long in surprise.

He looks like a pine marten, Dr. Gasztold recalled the words of his recent patient. He has sharp teeth and claws, a strong, agile body, a fluffy tail …

Allex Serret was indeed like a little animal, naive and kind, but capable of swallowing a victim twice his size. Besides, he was also caring towards those he considered friends … He kept glancing at gloomy Will, but by the end of the meeting he was convinced Dr. Gasztold had noticed Special Agent Gatti’s depressed state no worse than he had – and said he would wait in the car.

As he left the psychiatrist’s office, he was typing a text message, his lips smiling.

“Will,” said Dr. Gasztold, “I’d like you to come to dinner tonight.”

“Do you think I need an additional session, Dr. Gasztold?”

When Will was frustrated or upset, he would become more tough, with quills sticking out of his armored shell like a porcupine.

“I think you need to distract yourself,” Lukas Gasztold replied patiently. “This won’t be therapy or a work conversation. You think about the Heartthrob case day and night, it’s wearing you out.”

Will bit his lip, his chameleon eyes looking away.

“I can’t help but think about him. And I can’t think about him anymore either – because I’m confused about what I think about him at all …”

“I understand.”

Will looked at his interlocutor with hope – to see if he was being disingenuous. It was odd … If at times Dr. Gasztold’s gaze was cold, piercing, now he looked softly, kindly.

Will has been thinking a lot lately – and not just about serial killers. Dr. Gasztold hears a lot of stories every day, is aware of every nasty thought of the perverted rich, sees the garbage in other people’s heads – and yet remains calm. Neither dirt nor fear nor doubt sticks to him … Will soaks them up like a sponge, as soon as he passes another monster. Dr. Gasztold said it was a habit, a skill that is developed with experience.

Will’s only way to defend his personal boundaries is still to be wary and sullen. And sometimes to use sarcasm … Now he had no time for sarcasm, he didn’t even find the strength to laugh at Serret’s jokes.

“Thank you, Dr. Gasztold, I’ll think about it.”

“If it’s not convenient for you to come to Baltimore today, I can visit you myself.”

Will has three dogs, his house is located in the middle of nowhere, in northern Virginia, near a nature reserve, in his free time he fishes and repairs boat engines … It would be strange to force him to come back tonight – to have dinner with the psychotherapist.

It’s not so easy to win him over, he’s not Serret, who only needs to be fed and told a few kind words … It was difficult with him – and Dr. Gasztold was attracted by Will’s inaccessibility, his multi-layeredness, his versatility, his reinforced concrete walls of defense.

“Okay,” Will finally agreed. “But I’m not likely to be a good conversationalist, I’m too absent-minded.”

“We don’t have to talk,” Gasztold said. “And you know perfectly well that I’m comfortable with you, in any form of yours.”

For some reason, Will remembered Allex’s words about potatoes – that he loves them in any form: fried, stewed, baked, in chips … He doesn’t like them raw – but that’s because he hasn’t tried the kind that is well cooked.

Will was that potato for Lukas Gasztold – at least, deep down he already knew it. He had begun to pick up on non-verbal signals a long time ago, but he hadn’t attached any importance to them, hiding from them as from unnecessary, distracting information … Now Dr. Gasztold spoke directly, with an poker mask-face, with a soft look in his dark eyes.

Will has always explained the human race representatives’ desire for closeness as a need for security, the formation of alliances as an evolutionary mechanism of optimization, and has never seen himself in friendship, partnership, or relationship with anyone. He is too special, too unsociable, too incompatible, he does not need it, and it is not even worth trying.

But he seems to be thinking about someone else for the first time, he felt a friendly shoulder for the first time, Serret’s support, Dr. Gasztold’s attentive gaze; he suddenly understood what he had been missing all this time … But at the same time he is rolling down, into the abyss, into the depths of these painful thoughts, and the longer he is near the Heartthrob’s creations – corpses, clues, any evidence of his presence – the more Will empathizes – and does not judge.