Warning: non-graphic discussion of a disturbing subject.
Shallan beta'd this but any mistakes are mine.
Crowswork
Blair was going to relax. He had finished grading the last final -- wrapped up the paperwork for current cases he and Jim were involved in -- and purchased the new copy of NewsMonthly magazine. Closing the door to the loft, he let his backpack fall to the floor, tossed his keys in the general direction of the basket and threw his jacket at the hook. The jacket missed, and slid to the floor, landing on the keys.
He held the magazine reverently in his hands and walked to the sofa. Here it was. His article was in a national magazine. The magazine had sent him a copy of the first run, so he had read it and seen the accompanying artwork. But this was different. He had paid for this copy at his favorite bookstore, (even if its shipment was over a week late) and now he was going to savor it.
He started to sit, not taking his eyes off the glossy cover. An abrupt a knock made him jump as the door swung open.
Jim will never let me hear the end of it -- if he finds out I forgot to lock the door.
"Hello?" A diffident, slightly accented voice called from the hallway. "Professor Sandburg?"
Blair wondered if it would be rude to slam the door in the man's face. Still he seemed harmless, and he made no effort to come into the loft. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"You are Professor Sandburg?"
"Oh, yeah. Blair Sandburg." Blair knew his wariness was foolish but he couldn't shake it.
The man looked to be in his mid to late fifties, not much above his own height, but more sturdy. He would have been blandly good looking if not for the intelligence and awareness in his silvery blue eyes and friendly smile. "I'm Dr. Gideon Clark. May I speak to you?" Blair hesitated, trying to read the older man and discern his motives. The cultured accent was undermined by a slightly flat middle-America drawl. "I assure you, I'm not a robber. I'm an old friend of your mother, Naomi."
"Naomi?" The loft had been invaded one too many times by one too many bad guys for Blair not to be wary.
"I know I should have made an appointment and met you at the university, but I'm between flights. I'm leaving for the Philippines in a few hours." The man still didn't move toward him or make any effort to enter the loft. "I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your article in NewsMonthly."
"You liked it?" Blair smiled and gestured for the man to enter. This pleasant seeming man is probably a colleague, and I'm treating him as a potential serial killer. "I'm sorry... Would you like to come in?"
"I should be the one to apologize." The man's pale eyes crinkled and he spoke in a confidential tone. "A person can't be too careful these days, with the threat of crime everywhere." He took the chair he was offered, sitting with ease and an appreciative sigh. "This is a vast improvement over the waiting area at the airport. I'm sorry, but I only have a half hour or so until my car arrives to take me back and I have a great many questions to ask."
"Questions?" Blair offered the man refreshment and was politely refused. "About my article?"
"Yes." The man smiled that knowing smile again. "What ever possessed you chose such a subject?"
"Well..." Blair warmed to the subject. "Some of my colleagues have accused me of pandering to the public's more ghoulish tastes." He opened the magazine and found the correct pages. The top of the page was simple black letters:
(There the lettering became larger and very red.)
A brief history of cannibalism, by Blair Sandburg.
"I think they went overboard on the artwork." Blair cringed a little at the picture of a freezer with a pale hand hanging out of the partially open door. "But it is a viable subject, and one of societies most powerful taboos. Now it seems that even nature is striking out at those who practice it. Mad Cow Disease is probably caused by the feeding of beef byproducts to cattle. In New Guinea, there is 'The Laughing Death' or Koruh, which seems similar to CJD... Crutzfeldt-Jacobs Disease... it's thought to be caused by eating brains..." Blair realised he was rambling.
The other man just smiled, almost proudly and gestured for him to continue, so he did.
"But of course that's cultural cannibalism. Fables in almost every society involve the subject, from Hansel and the witch in the gingerbread house to the 'shadow that devours children' feared by the headhunters of Brazil. We all begin life feeding on another human being and even our mothers kiss us and tell us they're going to eat us up. Of course, there is also cannibalism to promote survival -- the Andes Plane crash or Donner Party -- and of course the occasional serial killer. It's thought that they try to consume another person's essence, or perhaps simply objectify a fellow human being so it will be easier to kill them." Blair stopped to catch his breath. "I should have asked -- are you an Anthropologist?"
"No. My degrees are in Psychology and Psychiatry. I came by my interest in the subject many years ago, because of a patient of mine who as a young boy, survived Nazi atrocities in the Soviet Union near Leningrad. Ravenous German soldiers captured him and his sister -- she was a lovely child, apparently, with long sable curls and huge blue eyes. The men were all starving and there was no food."
"The soldiers didn't...?" Blair gulped and began to wish he didn't have to hear the end of this story. I wonder if it would seem immature to stick my fingers in my ears and go 'la la la'.
"When they took the boy's bright, beautiful little sister, he followed and saw what they did..."
"Oh God!" Blair closed the magazine and sat back. "What happened to him?"
"He went quite mad for a while." Gideon Clark looked thoughtful. "But he's much better now."
"Unimaginable." Blair tried to push the story out of his mind. "We had a cannibal/serial killer here in Cascade. But my partner caught him before he could do much damage."
"I myself have advised the FBI on certain cases. I helped them catch a killer... quite a notorious fellow, too." The pale blue eyes sparkled brightly with pride and amusement. "In the article you mentioned your work on the Cooler Killer case. You work as an advisor with the police department?"
"Sometimes." Blair had played that down in the article, not wanting to bring attention to his work with Jim.
"You seem too gentle for that kind of work. A pure, sweet soul, like your dear mother." Seeing Blair's blush at his words the man continued, "I am something of an observer of humanity. For instance, I notice you wear thrift shop clothing, but rather expensive shoes -- practical, of course -- but also part of the persona you present. I'll bet the police officers call you 'The Kid', even the ones near your own age. At the university, you are the hip young professor -- who has all the answers -- the man everyone goes to for help. At the police station you are the youngster, out of your element, someone for them to take care of. And the part of you that, I imagine, never had much of a childhood, enjoys that very, very much."
Blair squirmed under the intense scrutiny of the piercing eyes. He decided to change the subject. "You said you knew Naomi. When did you meet her?"
"I was her counselor for over a year. She had just started college and I was there doing graduate work."
Blair knew the signs too well. "You fell in love with her?"
"It wasn't frowned upon the way it is now, but it was still reprehensible and unethical. I was, in a way, her doctor. I knew better, but she was simply irresistible."
And in a manic phase, Blair finished silently. His entire childhood had been a series of up and down as his mother struggled with a vicious chemical imbalance. He remembered periods of manic joy followed by depression so profound it sometimes led to suicide attempts. Blair sighed as he gave a sad little smile. He should be furious with this man, but he'd seen Naomi captivate men in a matter of moments. In a manic state, she truly was irresistible. "Every man she meets falls in love with her."
"I wanted to marry her, but she dropped out and ran away." Gideon gave a melancholy sigh. "She was like a wild fawn, so beautiful and innocent. I hope she is well?"
"She's doing very well." Naomi might hate the drugs her doctors prescribed -- they made her distracted and sometimes vacuous -- but she took them. She was afraid not to.
There was a brief burst of tinny sounding classical music and Gideon took out his cell phone. "My car has arrived." He stood and held out his hand. "I hope to see you again someday, Blair."
"Safe journey, Dr. Clark." Blair shook the man's large, scarred hand and was startled by the strength there. "I'll tell my mom I met you." Blair had been conceived during Naomi's first year in college, so he tried to see something of himself in the man's features. It wasn't the first time he'd met a 'potential pappy', and he figured at least this guy was better than Dr. Tim.
"No, please. Don't mention this meeting to her. It will only bring up unhappy memories." The doctor surprised Blair by touching his cheek. "You are so very much like her, you know. The texture of your hair... even your eyes are the identical shade of blue."
Startled by the familiar gesture, Blair drew back. "Yes... well, goodbye." His mom's hair was baby-fine and straight. Her eyes were hazel brown.
"At the FBI... I sometimes work with a young female agent. You could almost say I am her mentor. She too, is a pure, uncorrupted soul." Gideon smiled almost lovingly. "You should meet Clarice someday. You would like her."
The man was gone before Blair could reply.
The End.
OK. I couldn't say much in the opener without spoiling the little surprise. This was a challenge of sorts. Dawn wanted a story where Blair's dad was a really bad guy. I'd just read Hannibal (the story about his sister is in the book) and watched a Discovery Channel special about cannibalism.
The bi-polar Naomi just sorta made sense.