Seduction of the Mind

Facing South

The clock on the wall ticked loud enough to feel like mockery. Two in the morning. The room smelled of stale coffee and recycled air, its fluorescent lights bleaching every shadow into submission.

Detective Bennett sat hunched over the monitor, tie loosened, jaw set in a way that made his teeth ache. He clicked Play again. Another grainy clip rolled across the screen—hotel lobby, muted colors, strangers passing like ghosts.

Nothing.

He jabbed the key harder than necessary, rolling to the next file. Different lobby, different angles, different hours. Still nothing but men in business suits, tourists in sunburned clusters, the occasional couple dragging matching luggage.

No women who matched the theory. No one who appeared in more than one location.

The intern, Daniel, leaned back in his chair with a groan, running a hand through hair that had collapsed hours ago.

“This is insane,” he muttered. “Three properties. Eighty-six hours of footage. And not a single overlap. Whoever she is—if it is a she—she’s a ghost.”

Bennett’s lips pressed into a hard line. “Ghosts don’t leave bodies, kid.”

Daniel shrugged, desperate to keep his eyelids open. “Maybe we’ve been thinking wrong. Maybe it’s not a woman at all.”

That yanked Bennett’s eyes from the screen. “You think a man’s pulling this?”

Daniel lifted both hands. “Why not? Half the serials in history were men.”

Bennett leaned forward, voice low and sharp, like gravel under pressure. “Not like this. These kills? They’re clean. Too clean. Every wound exact. No frenzy, no overkill. No s****l assault, no DNA—hell, not even a bad cut on a body. Whoever’s doing this plans like a surgeon and tidies up like a goddamn maid. That level of discipline?” He tapped the desk with two blunt fingers. “It screams control. And control this obsessive? That’s not testosterone. That’s art. That’s a woman.”

Daniel gave a short, skeptical laugh. “That’s profiling, not proof.”

Bennett’s glare slid over him, dry as dust. “And yet, every time my gut says ‘woman,’ my cases close.”

Before Daniel could fire back, the door pushed open on a muted squeak. A young woman entered, crisp blazer, hair knotted into efficiency. She carried a folder hugged tight to her ribs.

“Sir,” she said, setting it on the desk with the reverence of something that mattered. “Latest forensic notes. And…” Her eyes flicked to the monitor, then back. “Confirmation from scene analysis. All five victims were positioned facing south. Without exception.”

Bennett stilled. Slowly, a grin—thin and wolfish—unfurled across his face.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He leaned back, savoring the words like bourbon. “Looks like our doctor friend wasn’t blowing smoke.”

Daniel let out a low whistle, disbelief cutting through fatigue. “The shrink called it? That precise?”

“Good therapist,” Bennett said, a growl of grudging respect curling under the phrase. “Creeps me out a little, if I’m honest.”

Daniel arched a brow. “Why? He’s just doing the job you asked for.”

Bennett’s grin held, but his eyes were knives. “Or he’s doing more than that.”

Before Daniel could probe, the woman cleared her throat gently. “There’s more.” She opened the folder, sliding a photo forward. A gleam of metal against black plastic. “We recovered this an hour ago. Cleaning crew at a midtown property found it in a service-level trash bin. Forensics says no prints—wiped clean.”

Daniel squinted. “That’s… a cross?”

“Cross pendant,” she confirmed. “No chain. Just the charm.”

“And the wife?” Bennett asked.

“Identified it immediately. Said it belonged to her husband. The custom piece she reported missing.”

Silence stretched—thick, electric—before Bennett’s laugh cracked it wide open. Short, humorless, teeth in every note.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, turning the photo under the light, watching the cross catch a sterile gleam. “The chain’s gone, but the charm? Tossed like trash.” He set the picture down, eyes narrowing as something mean and certain slid into place. “You know what that tells me?”

Daniel shook his head. “Enlighten me.”

Bennett’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Souvenir rules. You keep what matters. You dump what doesn’t. And that?” He jabbed the photo with one blunt finger. “That says she wanted the chain. Just the chain. Which means she didn’t kill for spite, or God, or thrills. She killed for possession. For control.”

Daniel shifted, a ripple of unease tightening his features. “So what now?”

Bennett stared at the cross another beat, then looked back at the footage looping silently across the monitor. His voice, when it came, was low and almost amused, like a man savoring the edge of a blade.

“Now?” He leaned back, folding thick arms across his chest. “Now I start wondering what the hell Doctor Hale knows… and why he’s so eager to help me catch her.”