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psychologist who works with you, yes, she told me. I suspect she knows more than most about what goes on here.”
     She paused. “You’re looking for a killer?”
    He felt an oddly unsettling sensation. Being stared at. He glanced around and saw that indeed, all eyes from the residents
     standing or sitting about the grounds were now fixed on them. It struck Brad that he and Nikki were the spectacle in the zoo
     at the moment, not the other way around. To the residents’ way of thinking,
he
was the intrusion into a perfectly normal world.
    “Yes. A pattern killer we’ve dubbed the Bride Collector. He’s taken four women in the last month. We have reason to believe
     he intends to take three more. Our team cross-referenced a note he left with mental health care providers in the state and
     found a connection to your facility.”
    “Residence,” she said. “And please don’t use the terms
patient
or
mentally ill
around them. It doesn’t sit well with the Monkeys.” She smiled and winked. “May I see it?”
    “See what?”
    “The note.”
    Brad caught Nikki’s inquisitive eye. She seemed fascinated. Perhaps amused. He withdrew a copy from his pocket and handed
     it to the administrator. She read it as she strolled, then handed it back. Her smile softened, but he noted that her eyes
     had brightened.
    “How does he kill them?” she asked.
    “We haven’t shared any of this with—”
    “Mum’s the word, FBI.”
    “All right. It seems that he takes women he considers beautiful, fixes them up to appear without blemish, and then drills
     into their heels. He glues them to the wall and lets them bleed to death.”
    “Dear me. That’s a ghastly image, isn’t it? The note would suggest classic schizophrenia. What makes you think he’s highly
     intelligent?”
    Nikki responded. “Despite apparent delusions of grandeur indicated by his note, he’s clearly capable of avoiding the typical
     mistakes in cases like this. If not for the note, we wouldn’t at first focus on anyone with a history of mental illness. As
     you probably know, most pattern killers aren’t mentally ill.”
    “Then apart from his use of the words
center
and
intelligence,
you have no reason to suspect any connection to the center,” Allison said. She pointed to a round building across the lawn.
     “That’s our hub. Game room, gathering room, television, the cafeteria, it’s all centrally located. On either side are two
     wings, one reserved for men, one for women. We run a structured schedule and environment to help our residents avoid any confusion.
     Our primary objective is to facilitate their reintegration by helping them learn to live
with
their gifts and challenges. The world’s a hostile environment. We hope to give them the skills they need to navigate it using
     all the brilliance God has gifted them with.”
    “Gifted?” Nikki said. “Forgive my boldness, but isn’t that just a little naive? Most of humanity sees mental illness as a
     curse.”
    “Exactly. That’s the whole point, now isn’t it? We cater to no more than thirty-six residents at any given time, and we are
     very careful about who joins us. No criminal records. They or their loved ones must be able to afford our room and board as
     well as the nurturing and medical care we give them. They must exhibit a high level of intelligence, indicated by a string
     of basic tests we administer ourselves. Currently, over half have tested with IQs that classify them as geniuses. Most are
     extraordinarily creative. To the world, they are crazy. In our minds, they are truly gifted individuals. Wouldn’t you agree?”
    Nikki raised her brow. “Put like that… I see your point. Why only the intelligent?”
    “Ah, why? Yes, of course, why.”
    Allison stepped off the walkway and headed toward the trunk of the larger maple, nodding at a young man who stared at them
     from a park bench. His plaid shirt was buttoned all the way up. “Hello, Sam. How are you this