The Profiler Prologue

Prologue


“You know Doc? The only reason I haven’t killed you yet is cause I need ya.”
Although sincere, Doctor McCleod did not feel threatened. Spat from the mouth of Thomas Edwards, son to someone unknown, friend to no one known, Tommy as he preferred was living at the end of a ten years stint on Death Row.
“Now, we both know that you’d never kill me and that I wouldn’t let you.”
Tommy looked away. McCleod smiled and realized that he had lost all objectivity. In his mind, this immature man had lost all of his humanity and only deserved the respect due an animal, like a fish, a cheap carnival goldfish. Still, he was a professional and as such had to finish this session or interview as many of his patients called them.
“Besides, who would you confide in once I was gone, Billy Michaels?”
McCleod’s stoic expression demanded respect. Cultivated over many years, he was certain of its usefulness. It calmed down the most crazed of his patients, many commenting to him, the prison guards or other inmates that it reminded them of their fathers when dowelling out a punishment.
“Billy Michaels?” Tommy said. “I don’t talk to him that much.”
“Hmmm,” He thought this would evoke a response from Tommy. When it didn’t, he continued. “That’s not the impression he gave me.”
“Well, maybe I do talk to him sometimes, but that don’t matter. Talking to that idiot is like talking to the wall, or you.”
McCleod was not bothered by this comparison, he was immune them, especially when he considered their source. Tommy was a boy disguised as a man, one who fell through day after day, as if mortality were an option. And the only emotions the doctor felt for this man-child were hatred and contempt. Hatred for the evil that Tommy represented and contempt for the cowardice that seated him at the peak of a bell curve comprised of people McCleod dubbed the ‘Ostriches’. With their heads buried in grandiose delusions, these people shied away from reality in hopes of spontaneous salvation or absolution, most times in vein.
Like the other Ostriches, Tommy’s candor suggested that he too would be set free. Not spiritually, as was the case with most inmates on Death row, Tommy’s conscience was clear. The salvation this madman claimed to seek was to come in the form of some insightful investigation that would prove his innocence in the eleventh hour.
The doctor never felt the need to inform him that since the year two thousand sixty six, eleventh hours always came and went as per everyone’s plan, save one. He also didn’t feel any obligation to tell Tommy that there was no longer any need for proof. The courts confirmed his guilt as indicated by the jury’s verdict and the families of the victims confirmed his damnation. It had been a long time since anyone believed in Thomas Edwards’ innocence.
Glancing at his watch, McCleod figured out how much time his patient had left on this session. He then extrapolated this calculation to determine how much time Tommy had left on Earth, how much longer would the rest of the population have to endure the presence of this seemingly useless individual. It was at these times that McCleod wondered whether his reasons for taking on these prisoners as patients were worth the toll they took. He understood the good that would come of these studies, but when he counted down the time of an inmate’s death, he wondered whether he was any different. Not wanting to go a philosophical loop, McCleod said.
“Well, rest assured Tommy, I’ve listened to every word you’ve uttered. It’s not only my job, but I actually find it therapeutic to listen to the lives, thoughts and ideas of others, especially when they’re as interesting as yours.”
“Interesting. Ya think?”
“Yes, quite interesting.”
When Tommy looked up, McCleod scrutinized the thirty six years olds face. Rather mundane in appearance, the doctor realized that Tommy’s strength was his slow southern drawl. Arguably, this trait was the reason for the tragedies that befell so many women who had heard it. Accompanied by a roguish grin dubbed, by the press as, ‘the smile to die for’ and a confidence befitting a much better looking man, Tommy’s silken voice lulled many innocents into a comfort and security that allowed him to get away with just about anything, including murder. And as harsh as prison life had been on Tommy’s looks, it had not diminished his spirit.
This theory was proven when McCleod made note of a new wrinkle that creased the younger man’s forehead. Once smooth and tanned a deep mahogany, Tommy’s face now looked like the scorched earth of Death Valley. Cracked and yellowed as if in the early stages of Jaundice, it seemed to have accepted the fate that awaited the man, yet Tommy remained indifferent, smug. McCleod unknowingly shook his head.
“Pitiful.”
“What, Doc?”
“Nothing, I was just thinking about what you said earlier. About how you would kill me once you didn’t need me anymore.”
“And”
“And, I was wondering how you would do it, especially with time running out.”
“Time?” Tommy said. The new crease in his forehead deepened. “There’s plenty of time to settle up with you.”
“Well, the State says otherwise.”
“The State don’t know shit.”
McCleod was pleased. It was apparent that he had caught this killer off guard. Tommy thrived on the reactions of others, manipulated all with whom he’d come in contact. Hatred, love, the actual emotion didn’t matter, it only mattered that he was the catalyst, but now someone was manipulating him. The doctor had, at their initial meeting, surmised this about him and had successfully maintained an air of indifference to this control, at least outwardly. And although he knew his suppression represented a loss of control to a certain extent, McCleod relished the frustration he believed it caused this patient. Now that he had taken control, he couldn’t wait to see Tommy’s reaction.
“So, as I said before, I spoke to Billy Michaels this morning.”
“So what.” Tommy said.
The matter of fact tone was not convincing.
“He told me that you still believe there’s some bond between us.”
“Actually, what I said was we could’ve been friends had things been different. You know if I hadn’t supposedly killed those girls and all. I told him that we’re more alike than anyone wants to admit, even you.”
“And what did Billy say to that?”
“He just laughed and made one of his stupid remarks. He’s an idiot.”
“So, this bond that we share, how does it make you feel?”
“Wh, what? I don’t know, good I guess.” Before he continued, Tommy hardened his features and cocked his head. “But Doc, we both know that that ain’t the real question.”
Although he was being lead, McCleod didn’t mind going along.
“So, what is the real question then?”
“Well, that would be how does it make you feel?”
McCleod honestly considered this for a few seconds.
“You know, one of these days, I might just answer that question. For now, let’s just stick to you. How does the possibility of this bond make you feel, empowered, strong, dominant?”

Tommy thought for a moment, considered the doctor’s choice of words and rejected them all. It wasn’t that they were inappropriate. It was simply that they were the Doctor’s choice of words.
“It makes me feel out of control.” He said, eventually. “I, I, I mean, it makes me feel like I can’t wait until I don’t need you no more. Because, to tell you the truth Doc, I’ve got something special planned for you.” Tommy’s eyes glazed over, his imagination had taken hold. “Something that we’ll both enjoy for a long little while. That does of course depend on how tough a man you are. Not how tough you think you are. None of that -”
“None of that quick-kill, blood-lust murder that you based your entire career on, right?”
Tommy snapped out of his daydream.
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way, but it’ll do for now.”
He looked at McCleod momentarily, then back at the floor.
“You know Doc? I like the way you express yourself, straight to the point. That’s why I like talking to you, but why don’t we ever talk about anything other than me? I mean, I’m tired of talking about me and I’m my favorite subject.
“Well, these sessions are supposed to be about you. But, say we were to talk about something else, what would it be?”
Tommy smiled his famous smile then rolled his eyes to the floor and back up to where they were trapped by the doctor’s own gaze.
“I don’t know. The weather maybe, the game.” At that moment Tommy was uncertain as to whether he actually wanted to pursuit any topic with McCleod. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”
His smile faded.
“Because, that wouldn’t serve either of our purposes, now would it.” McCleod did not wait for a response. “We’re here to determine why you killed sixteen women, and since you’re not certain yourself or claim to have no recollection of these events, I’m here to find out not only what happened, but what in your past caused this to happen.”
As the doctor continued, Tommy got lost in the diplomas, awards and certifications on the walls. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about getting to the root of his supposed evil, he just wanted it to appear that way. But as he continued this ruse, he found himself growing genuinely interested in the doctor’s achievements. The paper they were written on looked textured and uneven. It was either very cheap or very expensive and since the frames appeared to be either teak or gold, the latter seemed more likely to Tommy.
Fascinated, he wondered what if any sacrifices the Doctor had to make to them. Could he have endured the neglect, or worse still, the abuse that Tommy faced daily as a child. Would he have become a doctor had he been gang raped in the shower or forced to give head to that fat ass pedophile Mr. Winters to cover the rent on a rat and roach infested shit-hole, probably not, no one could. After he stuffed these skeletons back, Tommy interrupted.
“To be honest, I don’t see how finding out why I allegedly killed those girls is going to help me. After all as you said, my supposed death is less than a month away.”
“More the reason to stay on topic.”
“Jesus Doc. You make it sound like my execution will be just another day at the office, real humane.”
“Well, I’m sorry if that came off as callous. What I meant to say was that I know it might be too late to save you Tommy, but if what I learn from our time together can help someone else avoid your fate and the fate of your victims then I’ve done my job and your death will not have been in vain.”
“Oh, you mean like my life?”
“That’s a determination that you must make for yourself.”
Tommy perked up.
“That’s nice Doc. I’m tired of people passing judgment on me. God knows I’ve had enough of that since my incarceration. The verdict, the sentencing, the appeals, all those people condemning me.”
Tommy furrowed his brow again and pinched the bump on the bridge of his nose, a present from an abusive foster parent. Although he felt like sharing his pain with the doctor, he decided against it.
“Speaking of those people, did I ever tell you what happened at my last appeal?” McCleod shook his head, Tommy continued. “Well, as the guy was reading the decision of the appeals committee, I was sitting there growing more and more pissed off, you know anxious. After all, I already knew what they were going to say.” Tommy shrugged his shoulders. “So he’s reading and reading and reading until finally, I couldn’t take it no more. I just stood up - ” Attempting to reenact the scene, the distraction of the handcuffs restraining him from standing. Disappointed, but not deterred Tommy continued from his seated position. “So I stood up and yelled. Look asshole, I know what you’re about to say and the reasons you’re about to say it, but you know what? You’re killing me here. At this rate, I’ll be bored to death before my execution, so how’s about you skip the part about me being a menace to society and forfeiting my right to life and read the last god damn line. The death penalty stands. That’s what it says, right.” Tommy eased back into the chair and said. “Man, it felt good to make those people squirm in their seats.”
“So, what happened after that?” McCleod said.
“Well, the guy skipped a few pages and read the last line, but then you know what that bastard did.”
“No.”
“He starts reading where he left off before. The whole courtroom got a big laugh out of that.” In retrospect, Tommy was himself amused and struggled through his own laughter to finish the story. “That’s when I left, or more accurately, when I was dragged out kicking and screaming.”
McCleod feigned interest and said.
“I do remember reading something about this outburst in your file. If I recall correctly, that was the only time that you’ve shown any violent behavior in custody?”
“Yeah, I’m not really a violent person. To be honest Doc . . .”

As Tommy droned on about his position on violence, McCleod observed the smirk that twisted his face. He spoke of the atrocities that he claimed no knowledge of as if he were speaking of his first born, remorse seemed beyond him. In all of his years as a psychiatrist, McCleod had never studied a patient with fewer regrets. From Tommy’s lips came the words of a man who slept very soundly at night. Whether guilty or not, McCleod had never seen anyone so detached from their crimes. While most would wince at the details of such acts and all would look away from the crime scene photos presented, Tommy relished both.
From first to last, McCleod knew that this raving lunatic rejoiced in his victim’s deaths and had committed every moment to memory. And like many of the other serial killers with whom the doctor had conducted interviews, Tommy never satiated his bloodlust. Had he not been caught, McCleod believed that his killing spree would have continued well past the mutilation of Barbara Goldstein, wife, mother and Tommy’s last victim.
“Doc, you in there, Doc?”
“Uh, yes, I was making a mental note. Please continue.”
“I don’t know Doc. Sometimes you drift off, far away”
“Maybe you’re right Tommy. Let’s stay focused here.”
“I will if you will.”
“Fair enough.” McCleod said. “Please go on. You were explaining your views on violence.”
“Well, basically, I don’t like it-”
“Unless you’re the one committing it.”
The question was not meant to offend, McCleod only wanted to understand what motivated him.
“I guess.” Tommy said
“And why do you think that is?”
After a few seconds, Tommy turned towards the doctor, raised his eyebrows and said.
“I guess because violence is usually so unpredictable. I mean, if you get in a fight that you didn’t start, there’s no guarantee that you’ll win-”
“But when you stalk your prey, as you did, you know their strengths, their weaknesses. You study them, reducing the uncertainty of the outcome.” Again McCleod did not intend to offend.
“Yeah, I guess. Like I’ve said, I don’t remember committing any of those heinous crimes I’m accused of, but if I was to attack someone, I would have to know that I’d win the fight.”
“And that’s it. That’s all that you dislike about violence?”

“That and the fact it has a way of growing.”
“You mean escalating?”
“Yeah, if escalating means to grow, then that’s what I meant. Violence escalates, but not with me. I cut it off at the source, in a manner of speaking.”
As Tommy continued his dissertation, McCleod began to seethe. It started out so small that it barely drew his attention. Like the annoyance of a fly caught between a curtain and the window, the feeling buzzed around, fighting to be noticed, while McCleod struggled to suppress it. Looking down at Tommy, the doctor could see his patient’s mouth moving, but could not make out any of the words. The buzzing was too loud now and was accompanied by the pounding of his heart and the surging of his blood.
While fighting to maintain his composure, the Doctor failed to realize that his reality had become warped. Every breath he took slowed the world to a crawl, while every blink incited him to take action. In one instant, he viewed Tommy as a boy cowering in the shadows of some lonely corner and in the next he saw a demon that patrolled the edges of those same shadows, something to be exorcized.
Blink, McCleod imagined the mass murderer getting a taste his own blood, the salty substance dripping into his mouth from hundreds of wounds inflicted by the doctor.
Breath, Tommy was a very sick individual who needed help.
Blink, Fingernails popped free as spikes were driven beneath them.
Breath, the information gained in these interviews would help profile this type of killer.
Blink, Tommy’s execution date was set.
Breath, it was today.
When the doctor opened his eyes all that he saw was the face of a killer, twisted and grotesque, superimposed over memories of crime scene photographs.
Tommy’s absolution would not come today. No one would be absolved for crimes committed this day. Angered, the doctor reached out to his patient and smiled. A gesture Tommy attempted to mimic, but when McCleod placed his hands on his shoulders, Tommy tensed.
“Thomas” McCleod said. The disrespect was apparent in his tone. “I think the time has come to move on to the next phase of our relationship.”
“Thomas, you know that I hate that name Doc. And what’s this next phase you’re talking about?”
“Well, it has to do with the state’s requirements.”
“The state?” Tommy asked.
His voice sounded thin to McCleod, weak, a weakness that manifest itself in an almost imperceptible shudder. The muscles in Tommy’s neck tightened for the second time, or had McCleod’s grip constricted, the distinction blurred.
“Yes, the State, that entity which condemned you to death for your crimes has also employed me for quite some time. They want to know what motivates you, what drives you. This part of our relationship you are aware of, but there is another aspect to it. Shall I tell you what that is?”
“If you have to, but to be honest there wouldn’t be no phases, no relationship, nothing if I had my way.”
“I’m sure of that Thomas, but that doesn’t change the fact that there is, and this next phase relates to your execution.”
“My alleged execution.” Tommy interjected. “We don’t know that I’m going to die just yet. I’ve got one more appeal, and I feel confident that this is the one that will set yours truly free.”
The vibrato in Tommy’s voice did not disguise his uncertainty. McCleod sensed fear.
“My sentence could still get commuted to life in prison.”
At this statement, McCleod rolled his eyes.
“Thomas, I can tell that you don’t believe that. You and I both know that the odds against that happening are so astronomical that holding out any hope is a waste of the last few weeks, days, minutes or even seconds of your life.”
The space between McCleod’s hands shrunk and for the first time he saw revelation in Tommy’s eyes.
As his patient gasped, McCleod said.
“Thomas, have you ever seen me with a visitor’s badge. Have you ever wondered why my office is down here. Why the rest of the prison staff’s offices are up high, where the sun can distract them from their choice of vocation. Why do you think that is. I mean, I could understand why you wouldn’t raise questions about the lack of glass in my picture frames or anywhere in the office for that matter, but look around. Note the Spartan nature of my office. Does this look like any office you have ever seen, or is it more like the very cell you’ve spent the last ten years of your life in.”
At that moment McCleod hoped that Tommy felt the vulnerability of his victims, but when he looked into his face he realized how wrong he was. Instead of the wide-eyed stare of a man facing death, McCleod looked upon someone whose spirit had freed itself from the constraints of their body. Tommy smiled.
Perhaps involuntary, the doctor could not be certain. Perhaps Tommy was reliving his crimes from a different perspective and enjoying them anew. Whatever it was, McCleod didn’t appreciate it.
“Stop smiling.” He said. His blood pumped faster, fueled by Tommy’s smile. “You’re about to die. Stop smiling!”
Tommy’s eyes did widen at this point, but this was an involuntary action caused by the corpuscles that burst in response to the pressure exhorted upon them. Tommy continued to smile.
“I know how to put an end to this.” McCleod said, as he leaned forward on his toes. “You see Thomas, I’m not going to kill you for the murder of Barbara Goldstein. I’m not going to kill you for the murder of any one of your victims, I’m going to kill you for all of the women you raped, tortured and mutilated.”
Tommy’s smile faded.
Before Tommy could slip away from the world and the pain he’d caused, McCleod rested his heels back on the floor, loosened his grip and restored his patient’s will to survive. While Tommy filled his lungs with air, McCleod read his sentence aloud.
“Thomas Guthrey Edwards. You have been sentenced to die for the deaths of Mary Bennett, Suzan Margolise, Stacey Trenton, Elizabeth Sheraton, Rachel McDonald, Brenda Mitchell, Tanya Wyndom, Sheila Banks, Marsha Jackson, Maria Austin, Lynn Wittfield, Sheryl Stipes, Monica Bladez, Giselle Hernandez, Patricia Stone and Barbara Goldstein. In accordance with the laws of this state, I will now carry out these executions until you are dead.”
With that, McCleod choked Tommy once again and once again he revived him from near death. These first two acts of near suffocation were for the last murders that Tommy had committed, when he had grown careless.
While the dying man recovered, McCleod justified his actions.
“You see Thomas, the advancement of police profiling alone is worth the price, which in this case is your life.” He said this to an unconcerned audience. “I think the state’s getting the better of this deal, especially since I save them the cost of the execution as well. So much so that politicians have won or lost their elections based on their views towards what I do. Various news outlets, albeit none that you were aloud to watch in here, have even come up with some pretty interesting titles for what I do. My favorite is Psychutioner.”
Tommy’s lack of enthusiasm, while understandable, dampened McCleod’s spirit, so the doctor carried out most of the remainder of his sentence in silence. For the next few hours, he administered punishment befitting each of Tommy’s crimes, utilizing serrated knives, car batteries, cigarettes and pliers to mirror the coroner’s description of the horrors faced by the sixteen women. Each sentenced was carried out as prescribed in McCleod’s contract with the Board of Corrections.
When he reached Tommy’s last sentence, he opened the file and looked first at the photograph Mary Bennett’s family had provided when she was still only a missing person. Such promise the doctor saw in her eyes, as in the eyes of all of these women he had avenged thus far. He then flipped the photo over to reveal the picture of the girl’s mutilated body.
Without much speculation as to why Tommy had chosen this method to dispatch her, McCleod clamped the cage-like contraption to his patient’s head.
“You should recognize this Thomas. It’s designed to the same specifications as the very device you built. I’m sure you remember that there are several rats on the other sides of these little doors.”
McCleod walked around Tommy’s limp body and listened to the shallow breaths he took periodically. He checked his pulse and was pleased to find it both, constant and rapid, an assurance of Tommy’s awareness. The doctor then positioned himself directly behind his former patient and looked at the small metal doors that separated life and death.
“How insignificant this trap and the rats on the other side would be under normal circumstances.” McCleod said. “How significant they are under these circumstances. Oh, don’t worry. Although we couldn’t find the same rats you used, we did take the liberty of starving ours for a week or two. And to top it all off, I’ll be pouring acid on various parts of your anatomy so your screams will incite them, just as they did in Mary’s case, you remember Mary don’t you. When her body was discovered, the police could only identify her through dental records. You forgot to take the teeth, but I won’t. That’ll be my only proof of your demise. Shall we begin.”
Tears formed in the corners of Tommy’s eyes.
Finally, McCleod would be rewarded with the thrill he sought when he first approached the Board of Corrections with his proposal. The Board would gain further insight into the mind of the serial killer by viewing these tapes and the doctor would gain further insight into his own psyche, making his voluntary incarceration worthwhile.
“You know Thomas? You’ve really fucked up my day! Now, I’m going to have to explain why I carried out your sentence weeks before it was sanctioned.”
McCleod then donned a pair of rubber gloves, rapped on the cage a few times then lifted the first of several tiny doors.