Page 211 of Hidden Nature

“Okay then. Serial killers escalate, and the time between kills narrows. They crave the high like any addict. But these don’t, not after those first two. They’ve stuck to that monthly hit—and in February and March even widened the time frame slightly. Or they’ve stopped. Illness, death, incarceration could account for that. Or they’ve reached their goal.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“I don’t think they can stop, no. Not on their own. They’ve succeeded. It’s possible they’re in law enforcement or have a connection there and feel the heat. So they’re lying low awhile. But that doesn’t feel right to me either. They need to do this. You don’t go through all this, the time, effort, risk, and end with taking a human life unless you need it.”

“But?”

“But if I’m wrong, and they’ve stopped, or moved on, it lowers the chances of finding them and putting them away. Anything short of that, there are seven people who’ll never have justice, whose families will never know for certain what happened to them. Loved ones who will very likely cling to the hope they’re still alive, will come home again. That kind of hope is another kind of death.”

“So what do you do?”

“Wait, and that’s horrible. Waiting for someone else to be taken, used, disposed of. Keep looking, hoping there’s some detail you, and everyone else, missed.”

Now she rose, wandered to those wonderful glass doors.

The sun had set and dusk had given way to night. Dark brought its comfort and quiet. The low, lyrical call of an owl just added to it.

“You’ve got a great horned owl nearby.”

“You see an owl?” He got up to join her.

“No, I hear it. That’s its call.”

“The one you hear in movies when someone’s lost in the woods at night?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’ve got a barred owl, or a pair of them. They got in a hooting match, probably with your guy out there, last night. Mates, protecting their nest.”

“Mates will do that.”

“Exactly. I don’t think this is a cult, not in the traditional sense. It’s not a group—you don’t keep a violent secret with a group for nearly a year. And it could be longer. But two people? Siblings, father and son, spouses, lovers? Dedicated to this purpose and each other?”

“You’re thinking mates.”

“Another thing I keep circling back to. A parent and child there’s a power differential, even as an adult child. And eventually that imbalance would cause issues. Siblings, yes, possible, but even with devoted siblings there’s some rivalry. But mates? Spouses, lovers—if they love each other—they might establish more balance in the power structure. And sex unites.”

“That’s a big circle around from a hooting owl.”

She let out a half laugh. “Not as big as it might seem. Your owl out there? That’s the male. The female has a higher pitch. When she comes into it, they often synchronize their calls.”

“They work together.”

“As real mates do. Possibly they’ve been together for years and just found this purpose.”

He could read her fairly well now, and shook his head.

“No, you think they found each other more recently. And following your line of thinking, that makes the most sense. They saw something in each other.”

He turned to her, looked at her.

As he’d seen something in her weeks before they’d met as she’d pushed herself to walk along the lake.

“They saw something in each other,” he repeated, “and that drew them together. Add in sex, and sure, maybe a twisted kind of love.”

“It doesn’t have to be twisted. They may genuinely love each other.”

“That one doesn’t add up for me, but fine. And through that, they found another common denominator. This purpose. It’s a kind of mission, isn’t it?”

“You could…” Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah, mission works. And if it’s a mission they consider—no, believe—comes from their vision of a higher power? Fanatics again.”

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