Rebel Yell

    The arc of the bat was flawless. It made a perfect semicircle as it came crashing down on the young woman’s face. Blood sprayed everywhere as if it was being spray painted against him. When he was fully drenched he ran off into the night, leaving her at the intersection of Elm and Milwaukee.
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    Miles’ phone woke him up. The unmistakable voice of Billy Idol made its way into his dream, “In the midnight hour! She cried more, more more!”
    Miles grabbed his phone and answered, his voice sounding raspy as he had just woken up, “This is Agent McPhee.” He listened. “You want me to fly to Evanston?” he paused again. “Ok then, I’ll be there tonight.” Miles was always traveling. That's how it was for an F.B.I. criminal profiler, he had no choice. The F.B.I. private jet flew out of Baltimore an hour later and before Miles knew it, he was in Evanston, Illinois.
    He drove to the Evanston Police Department. He swung the enormous double doors open and he walked in. Everyone in the office began staring at him immediately. Miles was thirty-two, very young for such a revered profiler. He was tall with short messy brown hair and he wore tortoise shell glasses that made him look like Urkel. He was wearing a faded blue button up shirt and khakis that had a hole in the back pocket. He was the best and he knew it.
    He walked into the commissioner’s office and said, “I’m Agent Miles McPhee, I came as quickly as I could, why don’t you fill me in on the current situation.”
    The commissioner grinned and lit a cigar, “Its nice to meet you Agent McPhee. My name is Commissioner Ray Lottery, but most people just call me Lottery or Comish,” he paused and rubbed a ring shaped tan line on his left ring finger, Miles took note of it. “I called you down here because we’ve had a rash of very unusual murders in the last two or so months and I’m stumped so I was hoping for some outside help from a licensed professional.”
    “I’m glad you called, can I take a look at the case file?” Commissioner Lottery handed him a thick manilla envelope. Miles sat down at Lottery’s desk and began to leaf through, paying special attention to the crime scene photographs.
    “So this guy somehow lures women to him and then he just beats their brains out?”
    The Commissioner nodded. Then he remembered something else.
    “Actually, Agent McPhee, there was one woman who managed to escape the psychopath. Her name is Marla Newell. She got a bad feeling and she ran from him, I have her number right here on my desk,” he handed Miles a scrap of paper. “I think we should start with her.”
    “We’ll talk to her soon, first I want to read through the case file, everything's here? There’s nothing missing?”
    “No, Agent McPhee, it’s all there. I compiled it myself.”
    Miles read the file. It seemed as if every one of the nine victims so far had been a middle aged, blonde, successful woman. Every victim had either been a CEO, or a lawyer, one was even a judge. Miles began to write a profile for the killer. The biggest part of Miles’ job were his profiles. He would read through a case file and then he would write a profile of the killer and he would help the police to narrow their search using his profile. Miles was known for how quickly he could write a flawless profile. This case was no exception.
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    “The severity of the wounds tells me that we are dealing with a large male, aged forty to forty five. He has to be strong if he could so severely bash in these women’s faces. The trend in high class vocations of the victims also suggests that the killer is of a lower class, and he was probably killing out of jealousy and spite. And finally the trend in appearances tells me that a blonde woman embodies evil for this sicko. Maybe his mother, or his ex-wife, resembles each one of the victims. He most likely killed that person as well but her murder went unnoticed and was not further investigated. Miles was almost ready to present the Evanston Police Department with his profile. What he had left was the killer’s day job. He thought about what job would give someone such upper body strength that they could easily pound someone’s face in. But there were hundreds of different options. Miles drew the conclusion that killer had to have a job that required hard labor, like construction or some type of contracting work.”
    Miles stood in front of the Evanston Police. He had just described to them the profile he had written.
    One cop asked, “How can you be so sure about all this? What if you’re completely wrong and it’s all the opposite?”
    Miles turned to the cop and said, “Well that would not be good.” The entire department laughed. “But I am very confident in my analysis. I have done this many times before and there is statistical research that has proven what I’m saying is true many times over. I have seen at least five different cases of middle aged men killing out of jealousy over other women's’ success. While psychologically each serial killer is very different, there is not a huge amount of variation in their motives for killing, jealousy is a big motivator. But I truly understand your skepticism and I hope you can trust my profile because I think it will end up being right.” The cop quieted down and gave Miles a look of respect.
    “I want all of you guys to think of everyone you’ve ever dealt with as a cop. This guy has a record, but not a long one. You probably arrested him a while back, maybe for assault, but not charges were pressed. See if you guys can remember anyone who fits the description I just gave. Also the victim most likely would have mentioned his anger, or his aggression, just try and remember.”
    The same cop chimed in, “Agent McPhee, I actually remember a case that almost parallels what you just said. I was walking the beat over near Lincoln elementary school and I was approached by this woman who had been attacked. She told me the guy came at her with a large blunt object but when he caught a glimpse of her face he took off into the night,” the cop paused. “She definitely referred to him as aggressive, she said he threw her against the wall on the playground, she was a teacher at Lincoln.”
    Miles was eager to get the details, “Ok officer, can you find the report she filed on this guy?” The cop began typing at his computer.    
    “Yah here it is,” he read a name off the screen. “Her name was Marla Newell. Agent McPhee she had blonde hair, she's the principal of Lincoln elementary”
    Miles took a deep breath, “We have to get to Marla Newell’s appartment right now, where’s Commissioner Lottery?”
    “He just clocked out for the night, he gets to leave early every other friday, while we get to stay and do his work,” the same cop said.
    Just then it hit Miles, he knew who the killer was.
    “Tell me Officer, when have each one of these murders occured?” What day were they on?” Miles hoped his theory was right.
    “They’ve been every other friday for two months. Thats strange, they’ve all occured right around 7:45 each time. Commissioner Lottery gets off at 7 o’clock every other friday.”     
    “Ok, we’re going to Marla Newell’s, you’ve got her address right there right?” the cop handed him a piece of paper. “She’s the next victim, I think he have enough time to stop it.”    
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    Miles was speeding through traffic in the police car, he was frantically dialing Marla Newell, he had to warn her.”
    On the third ring she picked up, “Hello?” She had a soft, comforting voice.
    “Marla Newell this is special Agent Miles McPhee, I’m with the F.B.I. I am here investigating the recent murders in Evanston and I have a few questions for you regarding your encounters with the killer. But thats not important I need you to now answer the door until I call you again ok?” Miles hoped he was not too late.
    “I shouldn’t have let Commissioner Lottery in should I?” he could hear the fear in her voice.
    “No, but don’t panic. Take a deep breath and slowly move towards the door and excuse yourself,” Miles was interrupted by a thumping noise and now he was confronted with a new voice, Commissioner Lottery’s.
    “You can’t save her Agent McPhee, you never could,” the Commissioner laughed.
    “Don’t do this, she didn’t do anything to you. I know about your divorce, I bet she cheated on you with your best friend didn’t she?” no response. “Didn’t she?
    “It was my brother, I caught them together in my bed, on my night off. But now its time for me to go, I need to talk to Marla,” he hung up and Miles heard a dial tone.
    They got to her apartment and Miles ran up the stairs to her third floor room. He kicked the door down and he was confronted with the images of Marla on the ground and the Commissioner swinging his bat. Marla appeared to alive. Miles pulled out his gun and shot the Commissioner, there was no reasoning with him, he was into full blown psychosis.
    He nelt down to Marla and checked her vitals, then he called an ambulance. She was able to squeeze out on last word, “Thanks.”