The Butcher and The Wren

by Alaina Urquhart

Nature always makes the best soundtrack.

A lot of well-adjusted people admire a well-sculpted skull. Most of them don’t even understand how primitively ominous that particular fixation is. Most people don’t allow themselves to see the savage side of a psyche that was crafted millions of years ago out of their ancestors’ often brutal need to survive. These are the traits that evolution deemed to be useful. People are just too dumb to understand that their own predilections are suggestive of a gene pool that is rooted in brutality.

It’s like the universe was asking him to take out its trash. Of course, he obliged.

To call what he was doing a “lobotomy” is like calling what Ted Bundy was doing “dating.”

His father’s early advice echoed in his mind over the years. “You want to learn about something, son? You have to open it up.”

The thoughts of the depraved fascinated Wren. But the last thoughts of the dead fascinated her even more.

“Who is missing you tonight?” she asks quietly as Jane Doe passes in front of her. A police officer nearby chuckles. “A stiff ever answer you back?” he teases. Wren looks him in the eyes before slamming the door shut and walking to the driver’s-side door. “You’d be surprised how many secrets the dead have told me.”

The Louisiana sun is pretty unforgiving to the living, but it is particularly cruel to the dead.

The loneliness of the Does haunts her. Nothing is worse than being forgotten. She has made it her mission to never let her Does remain that way for long.

Is it not enough drama to take a life away? Are they so starved for validation that they have to package their carnage up like a Jack in the Box toy? It’s always about control. This kind of monster feels power in making sure everyone knows that he is in charge. Wren knows though that these calling cards indicate insecurity more than confidence, like someone who tells a joke but then spends a half hour explaining the punch line. They don’t let it speak for itself. It’s desperate and uncomfortable behavior. It is a move used by only the most pathetic big-name killers, obsessively narcissistic little demons who demand a standing ovation.