Ranger Defender. Angi Morgan

Subject Nineteen has been fascinated with death since the patient was thirteen. The subject has not killed squirrels or other small animals. Far from it. The curiosity has led the subject to research what happens at the time of death.

As with many of the subjects in this study, Nineteen is a near perfectionist, becoming more debilitated at every juncture. The patient is so obsessed with the “perfect death,” they can’t move forward. In some ways this will keep them from the implementation of this fantasy.

The subject is fascinated and refers to “the perfect death” as if something supernatural will occur when it’s found. Subject Nineteen stated that begging from the murder victim for their life would not be a necessary part of the “perfect death.” Subject Nineteen stated the actual killing would need to be swift and not detract from the scientific approach. The Subject also stated that the death would need to be respectful so dignity is always involved. The planning, the hunt, the capture are all unnecessary details to the perfect kill in their opinion.

Subject Nineteen has described the moment of death to be like a symphony. Each phase building upon itself until there is a crescendo...a wonderful moment of songful bliss. But for the most part, Subject Nineteen can’t get past the rehearsal stage. Taking this metaphor one more step, they would not only need the orchestra to perform perfectly, the surroundings would also need to be perfected at the same time.

Only the limits of their perfectionism hold them in check. Wavering from the idea of flawless keeps them from attempting murder. So in Subject Nineteen’s case, we hope the obsessive compulsion disorder and need for perfection will prevent the attempt.

Leaving no room for error, the obsessive compulsive need that Subject Nineteen maintains will lead to disappointment and a further downward spiral. This very well may be the source of the night terrors.

Treating one disorder will not resolve the other and possibly will make each worse. And although Subject Nineteen hides it well, the attachment disorder is deeply seated and may be the basis of all the other disorders.

Time is not on our side since eventually, the patient will determine the flaws and overcome. Therefore, Subject Nineteen is a danger to society and should be committed to a facility for a strict psychiatric evaluation and treatment.

EVIDENCE NOTATION

Other entries in this handwritten journal end with a summary of each subject’s treatment—if any—along with instructions for other staff members. The treatment summary portion of Subject Nineteen’s entry is missing. As in not written or torn from the journal.

Blood spatter pattern indicates the journal was open to Subject Nineteen’s page and the deceased was seated at her desk, even though the body was moved to and posed in the chair normally occupied by patients.

A slash from right to left, indicates a left-handed upward movement, which severed the right jugular. Force is consistent with a person standing behind the victim.

Chapter One

“How can a little research and a few interviews get you in trouble?” Wade Hamilton asked. “Besides, I’ve done all the hard work.”

Slate Thompson wasn’t on as thin ice as his fellow Texas Ranger. But the entire team knew that one wrong step would shake up Company B—and not in a good way. Wade’s hunches about cases were putting more than one of them in the hot seat. So Slate had a right to be wary.

“Then do it yourself,” Slate countered.

“You know I’m out of a job if I break ranks again. Come on, you can do this in your sleep, Slate. You’re one of the best investigators I know.”

“That’s beside the point, and if you’re attempting to schmooze someone, stating that they are the best is better. Especially if it’s the truth.”

“You read the journal about Subject Nineteen?”

“You stood over my shoulder while I did.” Slate stretched backward in his wheeled chair, balancing himself with a booted toe under his desk. He tossed a ball of rubber bands over to Wade. “Moron.”

“Just verifying you can read.”

Slate popped forward, clicking off the screen as Major Clements walked through the office. Recently, he managed to stop by and check on Wade’s progress through the “punishment” boxes—files that were either a last check on cases coming up for trial or completely cold.

“How you doing, Wade? Slate, you aren’t busy? Need something to help that along?”

“No, sir. I’m about to head out the door. I...uh...have a lunch date, sir.”

Major Clements clapped Wade on the shoulder, then tapped the multiple file folders at the corner of the desk. “Power through, son. We’re a little shorthanded out there.” Then he continued to his office.

Clements was about fifteen or maybe even twenty years older than either Wade or Slate. But he looked ancient, like a cowboy who had spent one too many years in the saddle. He walked straight, but his belly hung over his belt buckle, a serious silver piece of artwork with the Texas Ranger emblem over the Texas flag. He was one of the few men, in Wade’s humble opinion, who wore the uniform’s white hat exceptionally well. Like it fit.

Slate, on the other hand, always felt better wearing a ball cap.

“You going to look at that case for me?” Wade whispered. “Victor

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