Page 15 of Insidious Heart
Rapists. Pedophiles. Wife-beaters. Child killers, kidnappers, and serial murders.
All of the so-called victims proved to be horrible, terrible people; the worst of the worst who actually deserved what they got and then some. And each one was a man, found with his penis in his mouth and his left femur missing.
Just like the man that was found last night.
It seems as thoughThe Harvester of Boneshas struck again.
The Rolling Gazettemight be a rumor mill, but there’s usually some truth to what they say, and if the speculation is true, the vigilante ghost has officially come to El Paso County, and he possibly killed two people last night.
Except, something isn’t adding up.
According to the article, the unidentified man was the same as the others, pose and all, and apparently the room he was found in—the bathroom, so it says—had every telltale sign of The Harvester having done it. No forensic or physical evidence, the crime scene was sterile, bleached, and void of any blood. Everything about the man’s murder points to it being him, but the woman… that’s another story.
The bedroom portion of the motel room was trashed, completely trashed, and bloody. By all accounts, she was unrecognizable, and several officers were even caught on camera running outside so they could puke. And there’s speculation that she was sexually assaulted, which is more than enough proof for me that it wasn’t him.
Not only does The Harvester of Bonesnotassault or kill women, he only seems to kill men that do things like that to other people.
Sure, yeah, I guess things could escalate or motives could change. For all we know that woman could have been just as horrible as the man no doubt must have been, but something feels off about it.
Both bodies show signs of overkill and The Harvester of Bones definitely has a flair for the dramatic, but it’s never quite like that with his victims, and he definitely doesn’t leave messes.
And yeah, I know all of this because as soon as I read about the Cobra Con prospects that were murdered, my interest was piqued.
The Rolling Gazettethrew the idea out there, made a half-assed connection to the serial killer terrorizing the U.S, but it was a longshot at best because he very literally had struck in another state the day before. At least that’s what the paper said, but that’s when I dove head first into The Harvester.
I started reading everything I could find about The Harvester of Bones, every article or mention of him in the news. I listened to podcasts, watched interviews with police and prosecutors from across the U.S., and the further down the rabbit hole I went, the more interested I became.
You could almost call it an obsession, the way I researched El Paso County’s newest resident and very own serial killer, and that’s why nothing about the woman’s murder is adding up to me. I’m 99.9% positive it was not The Harvester of Bones because Imightbe obsessed with him enough to have convinced myself that the ruthless killer isn’t everything he seems to be.
But I guess we won’t know until more information is released. And in my personal opinion, the determining factor should be whether she’s missing her left femur or not. That seems to be his signature, and until they can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was the vigilante ghost, I’m choosing to believe it wasn’t him.
Call me stupid or naive, ignorant or screwed up, but I like the idea of someone like him being out there. Someone that fights the monsters in the dark and makes them pay for what they’ve done, and gets away scot-free so he can do it all over again.
Someone like him gives someone likemehope.
Hope that even monsters have something to be afraid of.
CHAPTERFOUR
VICTOR
I spinmyself around and around in the computer chair behind Little John’s desk at MACs as the bear of a man himself comes lumbering through the door, his permanent scowl something I can still make out even as it whips by in a blur multiple times.
“Red Room.”
I slam my feet on the ground and come to a screeching halt. “I do believe it’s redrum.”
He just glares and nods over my shoulder.
No sense of humor, this one.
Not that this is a laughing matter.
I’m downright pissed, to be honest, but that’s the entire reason I’m here—out of hiding and in the daylight of Sabine Woods—and obviously Little John wants to get down to business.
So, I give myself a minute to let the dizziness pass, stick a cigarette between my teeth, then get to my feet and follow this grizzly into theRed Room.
Not one damn thing about the room is red, by the way.
