“You keep saying 'him.' Do you know for sure it was a man?”
Curran shrugged. “Statistically, most serial killers are white males in their mid-thirties. And I guess for some reason, right at the beginning, I felt the killer was a man.”
“So, were the experts right?”
“Yeah. They were right. Six months later. Dallas. Another bunch of bodies with no discernible marks on them start showing up. Each one during the post mortem had characteristics that fit with how your brother died.”
“Like what?”
“Like blood work showing an abnormally high level of glucose spikes just prior to death.”
“Glucose?”
“It’s a side effect of a sudden adrenaline rushes. Like what might happen if the victim knew they were in trouble. It’s that fight or flight instinct response programmed in us all.”
“But they didn’t fight, did they?”
“And they couldn’t flee, either. So this massive dump of adrenaline floods their system. On the outside, it almost looked like they’d been scared to death.”
“There was nothing else that would help unravel the case?”
“Each victim did have a peculiar oddity to them.”
“What’s that?”
“During the post-mortem examination, the prosector — that’s the guy who does the autopsy — discovered the victims — all of them — had green brains.”
Lauren leaned back. “Are you joking?”
“I don't have an explanation for it. I'm just relating what I found out.”
“Did my brother-?”
“Yeah,” said Curran. “Kwon and I did the PM last night — this morning really — and confirmed what I thought I might find.”
“You had a suspicion you’d find it?”
Curran shrugged. “I’m a cop, Lauren. I see scores of dead bodies. Most of them have gunshots, stab wounds, foamy mouths, something that tells me how they died. I came on the crime scene last night, your brother looked like the picture of perfect health. No reason for him to be dead. It kind of stood out as unusual.”
“Especially since Miami.”
“Right.”
“Have there ever been any witnesses?”
Curran motioned for the check and then frowned. “Well, in Dallas, some woman in a nightclub saw someone close to the victim right before it happened. She confirmed it was a man.”
“She saw him kill the guy?”
Curran smirked. “That’s the problem. According to the woman, the killer simply walked up and touched the man on his shoulder. After a few seconds, the person dropped dead.”
“You’re dismissing it.”
Curran smiled. “Well, come on. How silly does that sound? I’ve done a lot of research into Asian cultures and the closest thing I could dig up was a martial art technique called the death touch. But even that didn’t work that fast.”
“There are other traditions out there that might have something like that in them.”
“You know of any?”
Lauren shifted in her chair. “Actually, it sounds something like a reverse laying of hands.”
Curran shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
“Laying of hands is a traditional, albeit unusual method of healing.”
“You mean holistic?”
“Something like that. It’s widely accepted by the Catholic Church as a special occurrence. The healer places their hands on the afflicted and helps heal them using special energies.”
“Special energies?” Curran smiled.
Lauren pointed at him. “Don't look so surprised. A minute ago you were telling me about green brains, after all.”
“Touche.”
“Laying of hands has been acknowledged in the writings of the church for many years and while most consider it something of legend, there are reasonably accurate accounts of healers being able to cure in the name of God.”
“There’s a flip side — that reversal thing you spoke of?”
“I don't know.” She took a sip of water, thankful her stomach didn’t vomit it back up. “I could research it. See if there are any references to something like it anywhere. It sounds pretty odd, I know.”
“I don’t know if I need any help.”
“Sure sounds like you do.”
“You’re being stubborn again.”
“Determined.”
“Let me think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. There might be more bodies.”
“I hope not.” And she could see in his eyes that he really meant that.
Lauren smiled at him. She felt certain he’d come around. “How come you’re not with the Bureau anymore?”
“To be blunt, I was fired.”
“For not solving the cases?”
“That and an evil manager who had it in for me. I couldn't win to save my life. The Bureau canned me and I came north to Boston.”
“Why Boston?”
“At the time, I was dating a woman who had family up here. I figured it'd be nice to be closer to her.”
“Your relationship didn't work out?”
“It was one of those instances where you like the family more than the person you’re supposed to be in love with.”
I wouldn’t know, thought Lauren. “How did you get into the Boston Police Department?”
“My last friend at the Bureau put in a good word for me. That was five years back. Things are good, but it's not where I pictured myself when I was younger.”
“Let me guess: you wanted to head up the FBI.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“A boy's got to dream, I guess,” she said.
“You're telling me you don't have any dreams?”
“I never said that.”
“So…share on.”
She folded her hands. “All right. Thanks to my evil brother, I grew up pretty jaded. I hated men. I became the antithesis of feminine. I felt scarred, broken, unable to figure out what I was supposed to be doing with my life.” She leaned closer. “It was a lonely time for me. I traveled a lot. Hitchhiking here and there, skirting danger and even flirting with the same path my brother had chosen for himself.”
“What changed you?”
“God changed me.”
“What do you mean — you found him?”
“Kind of. He came to me in a dream one night. When I awoke, something inside of me felt changed forever. I can't really describe it. It was as if the sorrow I'd been carrying for all those years suddenly lifted. My vision cleared. I wouldn't turn to evil like my brother. I would turn away from it.”
“Become good.”
“More than that. I'd become a soldier in God's army.” She smiled and hoped he wouldn’t think she was some sort of weirdo. “Don't laugh. I know it sounds extremely cultish. But it's not at all.”
“I'm not saying anything.”
