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The Cure for Boredom

If asked, he'd tell you the greatest deterrent to true happiness is boredom. Boredom accounted for most of the monumentally stupid things that people did. If not for looking for a way to relieve boredom, people wouldn't risk their lives doing things like extreme skiing, or sky diving, or even climbing mountains. The pursuit of the ultimate adrenaline high, to counteract mind numbing boredom, often led to injury, maiming, and death.

He had no intention of injury. He'd found what everyone else longed for, a way to overcome the boredom of everyday life, or at least he thought he'd found the way. Until today.

She lay sprawled on the metal table he'd converted for his use, her arms and legs chained so that she resembled Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. He studied her as he tried to get his breath back. It had taken a near complete loss of control to achieve his ultimate high with her. He'd beat her so badly her face was unrecognizable. He had no idea how many times he'd stabbed her. The last cut to her throat was so deep; he could see her spinal column.

He looked down at his nude body, and flinched in disgust. The blood normally didn't bother him, for it was necessary to achieve his release, but he'd had to all but swim in hers and the result had been less than satisfactory and inexcusably messy. Hell, it was completely unsatisfactory. He removed the condom he'd worn for his own protection and tossed it into the trash pile of her clothes, and other belongings he'd dispose of later. Well, he'd just have to up the stakes a little in the game and he knew exactly how to do it.

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He felt much clearer after he'd tidied up his workspace, disposed of all her possessions and id, except for the bracelet she'd worn on her right wrist. It was an old-fashioned charm bracelet. He hadn't seen one of those in years. He packed it away in a zip lock bag and locked it into the safe along with other souvenirs he kept hidden behind the false front of his bookshelves.

He'd cleaned up with a long hot shower, and a good fifteen minutes in the little steam room he'd built in his basement. A year ago when his wife had left him for another man, he'd thought it was the end of the world, but now he thrilled to the fact that there was no one there to get in his way. In a way, it was too bad though, if she'd been around when he'd discovered his little hobby, she might have stumbled onto the work, and then he could have practiced on her. Oh, it would have been so thrilling to hear her scream, to feel her trash about under him and watch the crimson red of her blood gush from her veins just at the moment of climax. He went rock hard just thinking about it.

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It was midnight, when he found just the right spot to arrange his surprise for the local authorities. He parked his car under a large elm at the edge of the parking lot. A light breeze freshened the air, but he could still detect the faint odor of her blood, that was as alluring as the bouquet of the finest wine. Her blood still burned in his memory and already the urge to play again was slowly cresting like high tide on his heart.

He looked around, but there was no one in sight. The possibility of someone seeing him only enhanced his fading high. It wasn't enough though, he realized as he opened the trunk and muscled his last experiment to the ground behind the car. She weighed at bit more than the others did, but one had to be flexible when one had his hobby. If one were too rigid in their thinking, they couldn't find transcendence. He'd made the mistake of believing that for too long. Thus the reason for coming here tonight, instead of disposing of her in the same way he had all the others. It was time to up the stakes of the game.

When he had it, all arranged to his liking, he left the sealed envelope where the police would be sure to find it. He was whistling when he got to his feet after one last caress of her face with his gloved hand.

"Good-bye," he said. "Parting truly is such sweet sorrow."

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Detective Prescott Messerly groaned as he got out of his car. His back ached from sitting too long in his office doing paperwork. The night shift had been very quiet until he and his partner, Tony Wo had received the summons to the back parking lot at one of the local Wal-mart stores. A patrol car had found the body and something else.

"Damn, I hate these freaky sexual killings," his partner said.

"Well, let's get to it. The quicker we go over the scene, the faster we can start working for her."

His partner nodded; his black hair so close to the colors of the night, that Detective Messerly wouldn't have been able to make out his head without the aid of light. His eyes were almost as black, but his cheery expression belied his serious job.

"Yes sir," He quipped.

"I told you not to call me that."

Wo smiled, and saluted Messerly who was fifteen years older and had twenty years on the job. "I'll try to remember that, sir."

"You're hopeless," Messerly complained as they ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. "Remind me to put in for a new partner when this is over."

"You've been threatening to do that since our first day together."

The lights set up by the CSI's threw the scene into glaring relief that was nauseating and fascinating at the same time. Messerly's retort died on his lips. "Holy God!"

"You got that right," Wo said, putting one hand over his mouth.

"If you're going to lose it, get out of the perimeter," Messerly barked.

"I'm okay," but he was pale and watery-eyed. "Jesus, sir, what the hell?"

Messerly stepped up to the body. A couple of Crime Scene Techs were snapping pictures and the flashing bulbs lit up the body like some homicidal paparazzo were trying to make a dead celebrity a household name.

"What've we got," he asked the female officer who'd been first on scene. Her mouth trembled and her face was bloodless, but she snapped to attention. "My partner and I were on routine patrol. We took a turn through the parking lot and found her."

Her throat worked. He didn't blame her. The Philly cheese steak he'd had hours ago was making itself known again in a big way.

"Good job securing the scene Officer Pearly." Geez what a name, he thought. "If you need to step away…"

"I'm fine sir. We found the body and called it in. We secured the scene and have been standing. There was no one here when we found her."

She nodded to her partner who was as tall and dark as she was tiny, blond and white. They both looked at each other then back at the body, their eyes drawn there as if it was terribly fascinating. Well, he could relate to that.

"Start the canvas. See if there're any open businesses that might have seen anything. It's probably a wash, but do it anyway, and talk to the working girls if there's any in a three block radius."

"Yes sir."

They both left with the speed of bystanders that know they shouldn't be staring at some kind of terrible traffic accident. He wanted to run too, but he knew he had to stay.

"Sir," one of the techs, a small man with thinning blond hair and grey eyes like chips of ice appeared in front of him. "We found something you should see."

He walked around the body to her left side. "We found this clutched in her hand."

Messerly and Wo snapped on gloves. Wo took the sealed envelope and flipped it over. On the front, it had one name like an invitation.

"Did you run the name?"

The tech shook his head. "I just found it. Want me to bag it and we'll run it at the lab."

"No, I'll take it."

Wo met his eyes. "What's wrong sir?"

"Not here, let's walk."

Wo followed Messerly to the crime scene tape, under it and back to their car where they climbed inside and shut the doors. "I know this guy," he tapped the envelope.

"Who is it?"

"Right before I started training you, we had a seminar with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit."

"Oh, the profilers."

"Yes, this guy is their resident genius. He's some kind of wunderkind that hit the FBI running and started at the BAU when he was twenty two which is unheard of in the Bureau."

"What's he got to do with this?"

Messerly glanced wearily at his partner. "I don't know, but we're going to find out. Get on the horn and get me the FBI. We need to talk to Dr. Spencer Reid now, tonight."