No Peace For The Damned

Oliver skimmed through the file for what seemed to be the twentieth time. Pages upon pages of photographs depicting the murder scene. A collage of crudely sliced body parts retrieved out of plastic bags, all belonged to the same victim: Richard Giles, a successful businessman from the Boston area. His head and hands were found preserved in jars at his wife's art studio. His now patient: Aven Rebecca Giles.

Honestly, Oliver didn't give a damn about the man's grisly demise. He flipped through the photos until he found the one that had piqued his interest : A large and vividly detailed painting of a young woman. She was naked and her hands had been tied up at her back. She swung upside down at the end of a cliff, suspended by a long thick rope and an enormous fishing hook that had been inserted through her vagina. It's point protruded from her pubic bone. Two men stood at the top of the cliff, some good thirty feet above, holding the rope in place. They were smirking down at the scene below them while the woman cried out in massive agony.

Certainly a gruesome piece, yet it wasn't the detail that had him curious. It was the fact that the entire painting had been done by the victim's wife using his blood as paint.

He flipped the page again to find her records

Patient Name: Aven Rebecca Giles (nee Blackwell) 

Date of Birth: August 12th, 1936 

Age: 28

Date Admitted: December 2nd, 1964 

Sex: Female 

Civil Status: Widowed

Spouse's name (if applicable): Richard Giles 

Spouse's D.O.B. (if applicable): February 6th, 1912

'A 24 year difference. Mr. Giles was a wealthy man, an inheritance could be a powerful motivation behind the murder'

Year of marriage: 1953

Father's name:

Mother's name: 

Legal guardian's name: 

Reason of Admission: Homicide suspect

The lack of parental information caught his attention. Had she been raised in the system, just like him? Oliver glanced at his patient's picture. She looked ravishing and full of life. Her blonde hair and light green eyes adding to her youthful appearance. Even in a picture, her skin was radiant and healthy. She didn't look like a murderer, in fact, she didn't really looked all that different from his previous victims. At the thought, he wondered how soft her skin would feel to the touch. His mind wasting no time in conjuring up images of that same skin being parted from its owner by his scalpel, red liquid flowing from the incision. He didn't realize that he was absently fondling the picture with his thumb.

'Pull yourself together Thredson! All that work is behind you. You have Lana now, she's the one, my mommy. She understands you, she will love you unconditionally, just like a mother should love her child'

He had dealt with some deeply disturbed individuals over the course of his career. But this would be the first time he'd ever work with someone who shared his...hobby.

Her artistic style was incredibly raw in content, some might even describe it as grotesque but in contrast, her technique was subtle and elegant. Each element of the drawing structure and brush stroke was obviously expertly and meticulously measured. The finesse shown in the painting clashed with the vulgar way the body had been cut up.

Whoever had sliced the body was in a hurry to get rid of it. The edges of the cuts indicated that they were done under an intensely emotional state. The whole thing lacked artistry, or maybe he should say that it was void of passion and purpose other than disposing of the body and hiding tracks. Very different from the painting. A part of him would be disappointed if it turned out to be a mere lover's spat that got out of hand.

"Already so intriguing and I haven't even met you yet. Who are you really Aven?"