"Ah, damn it, it looks like I'll never get used to this…"
A few minutes later, Larry had managed to calm down, but his expression showed how furious he was. Somehow, he had to channel all that hatred, guilt, and fury into something, or he couldn't even imagine what he might do.
Ever since he became a criminal profiler and a pathologist studying how countless murderers committed their crimes, he had discovered a bottomless iceberg of cases, some darker than others. It seemed as if humans were inherently more evil than others—there was always someone crueler.
Larry sometimes wondered if murder was truly a crime… or just an extension of human nature.
Since the beginning of time, man has killed. No matter the era, culture, or excuse, we always find a reason to spill blood. We call some "murderers" and others "heroes," but in the end, they all do the same thing: take lives.
The Romans did it for power. An emperor could live surrounded by luxury one day and be stabbed by his own friends the next. During the French Revolution, people cheered as the guillotine fell over and over again, as if justice took the shape of a sharp blade. In World War II, millions were murdered simply because someone decided they didn't deserve to exist. History is filled with corpses, and each had its executioner.
What intrigues me is not that people kill. It's that they enjoy it. Maybe if I did it, I would enjoy it too. Some do it for revenge, others for pleasure, some simply because they can. I've read serial killer profiles, and they all have one thing in common: the feeling of power. The absolute control over life and death. Some savor it, turning it into their art.
But the most terrifying thing isn't them. The most terrifying thing is how easy it is to cross the line.
"I've seen ordinary people lose their minds in a moment of rage. An insult, a shove, a betrayal… and suddenly, someone dies. They don't even realize what they've done until they see the blood on their hands."
"Maybe the difference between a murderer and someone who doesn't kill is just a matter of circumstances. A bad day. A weapon within reach. A thought that turns into action before you can stop it."
"As for the other minority, they are just monsters."
What held Larry back from becoming a judge of death was that his first victim had to be the murderer of his parents and siblings. That man had to die first, and he wouldn't kill anyone until he found him.
"Am I just a hypocrite?" Larry asked himself.
He sat on the couch and thought deeply. He decided to keep going until his body demanded and allowed it. Maybe he was a necessary evil. And now that he thought about it, he was just like all those murderers in history.
At that moment, the sound of his phone rang throughout the room, pulling him from his deepest thoughts.
Larry stood up and picked up the phone. Seeing that it was Jack Crawford, he put on a serious face and said, "Sir…"
"You seem to be doing well. If you have time, you should come see me. I'll send you the address by message. We'll talk properly once you get here."
Jack, maintaining a cold tone, said this before hanging up.
Jack Crawford was the head of the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit, tasked with investigating and capturing the most dangerous serial killers.
He could easily recommend Will Graham, Larry's former professor, who had a unique ability to empathize with murderers and imagine the events at crime scenes.
But to Jack, Larry was an improved version of what he could get from anyone else—someone who could easily become the greatest criminal profiler in history. That was why he wanted him in his unit. He had done everything possible to get Larry to join the FBI, but for some reason, which he now wanted to study, Larry had chosen Miami, specifically the Metropolitan Police Department.
This man was very intelligent, persistent, and was the only one, besides his mentor, who knew that his true desire was to find his family's murderer. Killing him… well, Larry hadn't been very smart about hiding that during his student years. For highly observant people like Jack and Will, Larry was easy to read after interacting with him for a few weeks.
"I'm glad we talked. Couldn't even say goodbye?"
Larry looked at Jack's message and turned off his phone.
[Café Nostalgia, 1524 Biscayne Blvd, Miami, FL 33132.]
"Yeah, I suppose that's your style," Larry murmured as his gaze focused on the room where he kept his private investigation into the murderer he was hunting.
He quickly took a shower, got dressed, and even though the meeting was at night, there was a place he wanted to visit first.
…
Half an hour later, while Larry was eating at home, someone knocked on the door.
"Dexter, I didn't think you'd take my invitation seriously."
Larry was surprised to see Dexter at his door after inviting him to a psychology session the day before.
It wasn't common for him to offer these sessions to the public, especially because he only analyzed killers, and reflecting their abilities onto normal people wasn't the best idea.
But now wasn't a good time—not after finding out that Jack was in town and having dreamed of his family's murder. Those weren't good omens, especially if he wanted to study someone like Dexter.
"Did I come at a bad time?" Dexter asked, handing Larry a pie.
"Well, I was thinking of heading out. Want to come?"
Dexter, who was far too tense, smiled and nodded. "Anything but work. I need a break."
"Then come in."
As Dexter walked into Larry's apartment, his thoughts raced.
I didn't refuse the psychology session. Why would I? Refusing would have been suspicious. Accepting it, on the other hand, made me seem open, normal… human. And if there's one thing I've perfected over the years, it's the illusion of humanity.
But it seems fate has smiled upon me. Larry has other commitments. His excuse was vague, almost improvised. His eyes weren't those of someone who was simply busy but of someone hiding something. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that secrets are gateways to weakness.
Larry was unsettled. His posture, his tone, the way he avoided my gaze—it wasn't just stress. It was something deeper. Guilt, maybe. Fear. Or even… rage. Who does he hate? What eats away at him from the inside? And most importantly—can I use it to my advantage?
I can't help but be intrigued. A criminal profiler with a dark mind. How does the world look through his eyes? How close is he to crossing the line?
Investigating Larry could be interesting. Not because he's a threat—if he were, I would've noticed by now—but because if I play my cards right, I might be able to understand him. I might even be able to use him. Who knows? We might even become friends.
After all, monsters need company too.
…
Public Cemetery, Miami, Florida
Larry was indifferent to the emotions of others, but cases like Greta Mayer's affected him—not in a way that would mark him for life, but enough to take it personally and solve it as quickly as possible to bring some comfort to the parents.
As expected, at the end of that case, all that was left for Larry was a new profile of a murderer—one who would no longer be free thanks to his smooth efforts and his imaginative mind.
"I wish I had caught the killer before they claimed another victim, but it wasn't my fault. Those so-called adults delayed my investigation."
"They were the only ones responsible for Camila's murder. This could have been avoided if I had been given time to interrogate those four students separately."
"If we had had time to question those kids, Camila wouldn't have been murdered," Larry told Dexter, who had followed him to the cemetery where Camila was being buried.
"We don't control much in life," Dexter said, glancing at Larry's indifferent expression, as if blaming someone else rather than his colleagues or himself for failing to catch Valeria in time.
"Yeah, you're right about that."