Cops see the worst shit.
And it's not just the blood and gore, either. Sure, that's a part of it. But the mental aspect is what can really wear someone down over time.
The emotional torture.
The seemingly endless string of bodies.
When you work in the shittiest part of a big city - and there's a murder spree going on - every phone call has the potential to be another nightmare.
My new partner (Steve) and I were getting to know each other standing over the mutilated corpse of a young girl. 19, maybe. Lying in the back of an alley no more than 50 feet from the main drag.
Her long, stringy blonde hair was spread out carefully. The 9-inch blade that had been used to bisect her stomach perfectly in the middle was still lodged inside her. Various slash marks across each cheek showed careful consideration - each side a mirror of the other. Pieces of bone stuck out of each arm with similar conformity.
"Jesus". uttered Steve. "Jesus....". He trailed off in disbelief. Steve was new. Coming from a small town, this was not something he'd ever experienced. But he'd get used to it. They all do. "The symmetry..." Again, his words evaporated.
Out came my phone. Another dead body. Another call to the precinct.
The next night was no different. Back alley... 22 years old ? It was hard to be sure. Dark-haired girl. Slashed throat. Remarkable consistency. The blood had completely soaked through her white shirt, turning the entire thing red. Post-mortem designs carved into the underside of her wrists displayed the skill of a surgeon. Holding up one arm to the other was like putting it beside a mirror. The winding symbols were reminiscent of dragons, an S-like pattern with wings etched into the skin, down to the bone.
"The harmony... it's unreal". Steve said, again, astonished. "it's hard to believe".
He wasn't kidding. Complex designs wove through the body, yet the consistency was maintained from side to side. It was artwork, without question. The canvas was a human corpse, but the talent undeniable.
I slowly got out my phone, barely able to take my eyes away, and dialed the precinct to give them the news.
3 nights. 3 bodies.
This one was the youngest, most likely. She could have been 18. Could have been. Probably not.
She had selected the wrong dark corner of the city to cut through, and it cost her.
A single blow to the back of the head had been enough to incapacitate her. Intricate patterns had been sliced into her face, hands, arms, legs, and stomach. The mirrorlike consistency, even with the blood flows, was remarkable. Each individual design was a latticework of lines. The past two victims had been impressive, but this took the work to another level. A large snowflake pattern began on the stomach, stretching out to the limbs. The design continued through the veins of the arms, exposing the interior, as well as up the neck into the chin. A pentagram had been carved directly onto each eyeball.
A single drop of blood escaped from the central design on her stomach, rolling down the wrong direction and breaking the symmetrical perfection for a brief moment.
Unwilling to allow this, I quickly lapped it up with my tongue. Harmony was restored.
Exquisite.
"This.... this is the best one yet". Steve was almost hysterical with excitement.
He was right; I'd outdone myself. Some nights, you just feel it.
As I stared lovingly at my handiwork, I got out my phone, and gave detective Crosby a call to tell him the good news.
"... Crosby." His voice quivered. He knew it was me, even before I spoke. I could feel the tension through the phone. Everyone in that precinct had undoubtedly been hoping, praying, that tonight - tonight - the call wouldn't come. But it did.
Exhilaration.
"Detective Crosby... How are you? Got another one for you. Really, REALLY phenomenal work tonight, I must say. Our usual arrangement ? She'll be waiting for you."
".... we're going to catch you, you s-"
"No, you're not, detective. You're not. And you know it" I cut him off. "Have a great night!"
I gently laid the open phone directly on the center of my girl's chest.
I took one last look at my work, ensuring its placement was directly central. It sagged nicely into the middle of the open wounds.
Steve and I were off.
"I cannot WAIT for tomorrow!"