BRAND OF BODHI (BOYXBOY)

FIVE

There I stand. A board plastered with the pictures of the Prophet's past victims in front of me.

I'm not sure what sickens me the most: the fact that The Prophet has killed twenty-one people so far since 1980; or the fact that we still haven't found him.

For the last three days we have been going over the old files. The thin list of suspects we had back in 2000 has whittled down to just two. I didn't like either of them as potential suspects for The Prophet either. It feels like there is something in front of our eyes but we keep missing it.

"I got the DNA back on our last victim," Chris says as he walks into the office. He moves through the room pinning a new picture to the wall: a mug shot of a blonde girl. He leans towards the board writing her name above her picture. "Meet Sara Mason. A thirty-two-year-old coke head." Chris folds his arms across his chest. "She was arrested several times for drug possession and prostitution in L.A before moving to Vegas in 2001. From there she was arrested a few more times on drug possession until 2008." Christopher pushes his fingers into his thick brown hair.

Moving around the room, Chris passes a file to each of us. He stops at me holding the file towards me. But as I reach for it, he lets the folder fall to the floor. My blue eyes narrow as I glare at Christopher.

What were in high school?

Bending down to pick up the file I can see the slight smile on Chris' lips. Asshole.

"What happened in 2008?" Sam asks. He leans against the desk next to me, his phone in his hand as he looks between the small screen and the board.

Sam normally gives his work his undivided attention unless there is a storm brewing on the Homefront. If I had to guess I'd say one of his children were in trouble, or his ex-wife is nagging him again.

I watch as Sam's fingers move over the keys of his phone, texting with lightning speed.

If it is something serious, Sam will fill us in on it eventually. For now, I ignore him letting my eyes shift around the rest of the room. Lisa is sitting on top of her own desk. A pen between her lips as she chews the top, reading over the file we were just given.

"She went missing in 2008," Chris tells us matter-of-factly. I want to smack that smug look off his face. "She had a roommate, Jessica Pratt, that reported her missing in September of 2008. The local cops gave it a few glances around town and then went on with their lives." Of course, the local cops weren't going to put much effort into finding a junkie.

Pushing away from the desk, I rub my chin as I look at the board.

Back in 2000 we figured out that all of these victims were missing people. Some of them had led normal productive lives before they had disappeared. Others had been junkies, gangsters, or low lives in generals.

"It says that there was traces of coke in Sara's system," Lisa speaks up. She slapped the file down to on her desk. "I guess old habits are hard to break." Being addicted to something was never an easy habit to get away from.

"Let's say the Prophet kidnapped all of them." I muse. "Why would he have kept his first victim, Noah Overman, for five years but kill the twelfth victim, Alice Rosenbenger, after only two years?"

It doesn't make sense. "Also, none of them had any signs of torture. They were just . . . buried alive." I suppose that was a torture in itself. What was he doing with these people while they were together? What did all of these victims have in common? What made the Prophet pick them? "During the years they were with The Prophet he took good care of them. Some of them were in better health than when they left. Why care for these people if you're just going to kill them?"