The Knight, the Beauty, the Beast, the Fool. Eat a Heart – Gain Love

Cover Design Alexandra Undead

Translator (from Russian) Alexandra Undead

© Stella Fracta, 2026

ISBN 978-5-0065-6118-2

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

1. Dollhouse

Another high stoop, a brick facade of a house with maisonettes, a carved door and a bell that makes a typical, pompous and booming sound of a gong. Did they all conspire? This is the seventh, fortunately the last address on the list, with the same audible signal – it turns out, the local wealthy people are completely lacking in imagination and imitate each other.

Allex sighed, glanced at the squares of the windows, shifted from one foot to the other, tapping his thigh with the clipboard with the sheets of paper attached to it. He secretly hoped there would be no one in the apartment – and then he would finally take a break for lunch … He was tired and terribly hungry.

He should at least see who lives in the dollhouse … Allex usually needed a couple of seconds to get the necessary information, he could read diagonally, he looked at the clipboard only before the visit – as a rule, already on the approach. He improvised – because he knew, what was planned in advance would have to be re-acted anyway.

Footsteps were heard behind the door, light and rhythmic. His future interlocutor was some female artiste … Allex knew nothing about films, movie stars, singers or musicians, he was not interested in media life – and today, as luck would have it, he came across one arrogant bon ton, each more bizarre than the last.

One of them even looked askance at Allex’s dusty boots with chipped toes as he walked across the antique handmade carpet … If the person-number-seven on the list is just as arrogant – and the likelihood is high – he’ll just— What will he do? He’ll have to interview her – that is his job.

This was not how he had imagined his first week on the job in a new department, on a new team, on a new investigation. He was once again being sent to do what others would consider boring work – but he could be of real use!

The door opened, and a tall young woman with golden hair and a pale, thin, textured face appeared before him. Allex instantly emerged from the whirlpool of thoughts, for some reason perked up, and it seemed to him that an autumn sunbeam ran across the glass and the facade, the colors became brighter.

Most likely, this is the effect of the combination of hues – the hairstyle and the gray-blue blouse, perfectly ironed, matching the color of the eyes.

Allex was observant, sometimes too much. He habitually absorbed the entire image in front of him, memorized every detail, noted the neutral makeup in the ‘no-makeup’ look and the barely perceptible light foundation – which made the lady of the house look very young – the asthenic physique with thin wrists, narrow shoulders, and high set breasts, expressive eyebrows and long eyelashes.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and Allex didn’t even have time to open his mouth to announce the purpose of his visit when the golden-haired artiste said, “Unfortunately, Mr. de Lavender is not at home, but I can tell him that you came.”

Allex blinked and shook his head.

“Wilhelmina Gustavsson?” he said to her. “Agent Allex Serret, FBI. I need to ask you a few questions, it won’t take long.”

Allex reached into his pocket, pulled out the documents and showed them, pressing the clipboard to his ribs under his arm, his jacket bulging at the side, covering the holster. For a moment, a shadow seemed to flicker across Miss Gustavsson’s face, but it immediately took on the friendly, neutral expression, the same that had been a moment ago.

“No need to worry, the questions won’t be about you, but about Dr. Lukas Gasztold. He’s your therapist.”

Obviously, Miss Gustavsson knew that Gasztold was her therapist … A psychotherapist. She went to him twice a week. Allex had gotten used to the fact that Dr. Gasztold’s patients were scared by the badge, by the very mention of the FBI, and couldn’t decide how to talk to him – looking down, as they would usually look at a shabby guy in shabby shoes, too young to be an agent, or looking up, obsequiously, so that Allex wouldn’t get wind of their dealings …

Allex Serret had no interest in the affairs and petty dirty tricks of wealthy clients of successful psychiatrists. His focus was on killers, especially serial killers, especially those who calmly wandered the streets of Baltimore and committed another cruel and terrible crime.

While he’s been going door-to-door interviewing possible – but unlikely – witnesses, his new team has been sent to re-examine the latest crime scene since Special Agent William Gatti has had another epiphany.

“Yes, of course,” Miss Gustavsson replied. “Please come in.”

Allex crossed the threshold of the dollhouse, walked inside along a bright corridor, past a wide mirror in a golden frame, interior items that would fit in the style of a museum, and not a modern city apartment … In the reflection, out of the corner of his eye, he saw himself: a dissonant spot of a green khaki jacket, disheveled chestnut hair – an image that seemed completely out of place, as if from another universe, which ended up in an aristocratic nest not according to plan.

“Can I offer you tea, coffee?”

Wilhelmina Gustavsson, twenty-five years old, lives with her stepfather in a luxurious three-story apartment in the elite Mount Royal Terrace neighborhood of Reservoir Hill. She is a professional singer, has never been convicted of any offenses and has not participated in bon ton scandals, almost nothing is known about her and her past, despite the publicity of her person. Miss Gustavsson has been Gasztold’s patient for four years, has never missed a session and has not even been late … Allex assumed the latter from the portrait formed literally in a few seconds of observing the golden-haired artiste, he did not have to make an effort to notice such trifles.

Miss Gustavsson’s hairdo has no hair out of place, the golden strands down to her shoulders combed and carefully arranged in waves; her low-heeled shoes – she is over six feet tall – shine like new, her blouse and suit pants are custom-made, each fold of the light fabric a detail, a stroke on a work of art; her figure is straight, and her waist is narrow, her movements are fluid, like a cat’s – the one with large ears, a lean body, long bony legs, and no hair …

Miss Gustavsson was much more beautiful than the strange cat, and for some reason Allex stared at her and did not immediately answer the question.

“Tea, please.”

“Black, green, white, red …”

Why so complicated? He should have asked for coffee – or not asked for anything at all … Allex already regretted that he had not gotten down to business right away. He had probably gotten so tired that he lost his vigilance – and fell for that unfortunate tea.

“Black. Without lemon, without bergamot, without sugar, without anything, but with hot water … Thank you.”

Miss Gustavsson smiled a little wider, condescendingly and understandingly. Allex sighed.

They were still standing in the middle of the spacious living room, with its armchairs with intricately curved legs, its marble fireplace surround, and the cozy attributes that made up a cleaning service’s nightmare on a regular basis.

“Please sit down,” the young woman pointed towards the couch, the pouf, and the coffee table, “I’ll bring some tea.”

Idiot, Allex scolded himself mentally, looking around, sitting on the silk seat for imperial persons, when Miss Gustavsson disappeared into the wide opening of the arch, obviously in the direction of the kitchen, it would be better refuse everything and start working! Now she will only brew tea for half an hour, with ceremony and pauses!

However, the golden-haired artiste, contrary to Allex’s expectations, appeared soon, with a snow-white porcelain set on a silver tray.

“Do you mind if I start?”

“No, of course not, do ask,” the interlocutor responded calmly.

Slender-fingered hands were setting out cups and saucers, the guest was watching. Miss Gustavsson was sitting on the pouf straight and even, as if at attention, perfectly fitting into the setting, like another outlandish thing; Allex could not find a comfortable position, crossed his feet, then bent his leg, the second one at the knee began to twitch spontaneously, betraying his restless nature.

They were like order and chaos, in one room, united by one task – to Allex’s luck, not for long.

“Some of Dr. Gasztold’s records were stolen from his office,” Agent Serret said, “with personal information about his patients. I can’t give you all the details, but the important thing is that the contents of these records, the reasons for the incident, or the identity of the thief may be connected to the investigation of another, very serious crime.”

“What is it?”

Miss Gustavsson held the lid of the teapot, lifting the spout gracefully over the cup, the stream flowing and ringing, bubbling into a growing puddle at the bottom of the bowl. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her gray-blue eyes stared at Allex without looking away.

The knee stopped twitching, Agent Serret smiled conspiratorially, leaned slightly towards the table, examining the pale, textured face.

“Have you heard of the Heartthrob?”

Everyone has heard of him … Those who read newspapers, watch the news, listen to tattle – but Allex, in order not to go crazy from fatigue and boredom, for the first time all day caught the long-awaited chance to relieve tension and fool around.

Miss Gustavsson feigned innocence, blinking her beautiful eyes – but she asked not out of naivety or even idle curiosity … It was an invitation to dialogue.

“Yes,” she replied, her golden head tilting slightly to one side, and Miss Gustavsson returned the teapot to its place.

“So you understand how serious this is,” Allex said. “Four victims found, how many more could there be …”

Wilhelmina Gustavsson took the cup in her hands, the guest repeated after her. Afterwards, Allex asked her the usual questions – what she had been doing on the day of the theft, what in her confidential conversations, recorded by Dr. Gasztold, could be connected with cannibalism, misogyny, ritual sacrifices, people who had spoken or acted suspiciously or strangely …

Allex didn’t notice how time flew by, how the tea ran out, how the questions ran out. Miss Gustavsson looked at him openly, answered calmly, smiled at his jokes – at both of them – and at the end of the conversation asked how many of the psychiatrist’s notes had fallen into the wrong hands.

Agent Serret did not give an exact number, but explained that a small amount confirms the investigation’s assumption that the notebooks chosen were not random – in Dr. Gasztold’s office there are data from several dozen of his patients, past and present, over many years of work. Of course, like every doctor, he encrypts his notes … But the intruder probably knew about it.

Allex put the cup on the table, his stomach howled with the drawn-out cry of a hungry dog, the howl was clearly audible in the pause that hung between the lines.

“I have to go,” the young man said, not hiding the incident, his eyes wide and smiling. “Thank you for your help, Miss Gustavsson.”

He put the clipboard under his arm and rose from the couch, the young woman followed suit.

When Allex came out onto the stoop, having already said goodbye and given her a business card – in case Wilhelmina Gustavsson remembered anything – she called out to him from the door.

“Agent Serret!”

Allex turned around, raised his leg over the step, and the evening wind ruffled his shock of chestnut hair in a cold gust.

“It may be a strange question, but … why do people kill, deliberately commit murder – in situations when there is another choice?”

Agent Serret’s foot returned to the stoop, his young face with a scattering of freckles took on at first a surprised, then a thoughtful and even a little sad expression.

Allex answered honestly.

“For some, murder is the only way to feel control – over a situation, over a person, over anything. The reason is always despair. And broken logic – when in the picture of the world, it is considered completely normal to rip out a person’s heart and eat it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Allex nodded, watching as the door slowly closed and the golden-haired head disappeared into the dollhouse.

He ran down the stairs easily, the wind was getting under his open jacket, his stomach was still growling and demanding dinner, but for some reason his soul was calm and even joyful.

Among the empty-headed rich, there are some who are not hopeless … Miss Gustavsson turned out to be a reward for a hard day of stupid interviews, sidelong glances, and pointless running around to the addresses of Dr. Gasztold’s clients.

It was a pity that they would hardly see each other again. With her, it was … Allex tried to find the right word in his internal monologue. Nice …

He understood perfectly well, he had only watched a beautiful picture – like on TV – with perfectly smooth faces, ironed blouses and shirts to match their eyes, delicious tea, and casual conversation. It was time to get back to prosaic reality – where there was poverty, pain, ugliness, death, and murder.

Allex was glad that not everyone needed to know how crazy the world could be in destroying itself. He loved his job – and accepted its various aspects, from tedious communication with witnesses to operational detention, with shootouts and mayhem.

2. Swallows Without Chewing

“He does it with his bare hands,” Allex said, his mouth full, pointing to the pictures on the board. “He opens the chest with a hunting knife, removing the sternum, without using any special tools – not like a surgeon, but like a pathologist.”

“Like a self-taught man,” Will nodded. “He separates cartilage and muscle to get to the insides, casually, without caring about aesthetics.”

There was indeed little aesthetics in the works of the Heartthrob. The murder and desecration of the body were rather a chaotic act, impatient and crude, haphazard.

“He is neither a doctor nor a butcher …”

Crumbs fell to the floor, Allex greedily bit into the sandwich, rustling the paper, squinted, looking at the photo, leaned a little closer.

“He got hold of a manual on autopsies and just took what he needed without going into detail,” Will continued. “He has a hard time learning, even reading.”

“A delay in development?”

Special Agent Will Gatti thought for a moment, pursed his lips.

“More like attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.”

Allex hemmed and started chewing again. He didn’t say that his restlessness, his inability to sit still, typical ADHD, were perceived as mental retardation or educational neglect …

“Serret, every time I see you, you’re always guttling!” came from behind them.

“I’m always hungry,” Serret shrugged without turning around. “Can’t help it.”

Beverly Cruz, a forensic scientist in the Criminal Investigative Division, had meanwhile approached, her heels clicking lightly on the shiny lab floor. She stood between Will and Allex, crossed her arms, and glanced at the images on the board.

“Get checked for helminths,” she smirked, turning to the young man.

Allex shoved the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, crumpling the paper with deliberate noise.

“I can give you a sample for analysis right now,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

“No, thank you, I have a lot of work to do, without your feces.”

Will was silent, not even noticing their mutual jibes, he was immersed in his thoughts, in the picture of the crime; in the first person he saw the mangled female corpses on the dining tables, he stood over them, resting his knees on either side of the hips of the dead bodies, with his hands stained up to the elbows in blood, his mouth full of slimy flesh, still warm and sweet.

If there was something in his stomach, it would want to come out. How could Serret impassively eat his lunch when he had those disgusting pictures in front of him? Will couldn’t eat at work, even when he was outside the lab or office, he couldn’t get a bite down.

He literally felt the slippery, elastic heart muscle sliding down the esophagus, not completely chewed, in a hurry, in greedy ecstasy, in affect.

“He swallows without chewing,” Will muttered under his breath, as if to himself.

“He probably has problems with his stool. Like Serret,” Cruz agreed.

“My stool is fine,” Allex grimaced. “Even if I eat nails …”

“He has an oral fixation. He doesn’t eat to eat, he eats to swallow,” Special Agent Gatti said, ignoring them. “He’s thrilled by the sensation in his mouth.”

“How lovely.”

“He might have an eating disorder,” Allex suggested, throwing a sandwich wrapper into the basket. “Bulimia, compulsive overeating … In advanced stages, it’s easy to spot by appearance.”

“I’ll check with Dr. Gasztold,” Will nodded. “Whoever got into his office could have been his patient, an acquaintance …”

All four of the Heartthrob’s victims were clients or family members of clients of Lukas Gasztold, a psychiatrist who had assisted the FBI in several other cases. This fact only came to light when Gasztold told Will about the theft of the casebooks, two days after the last body was found. They all lived in the same area of Baltimore, an upper-class neighborhood, and were all young, attractive women with husbands and children.

All of them, having first been strangled, had their chests brutally cut open, their hearts torn out, and their lifeless bodies laid on a table in the dining room. The killer did not rape them or perform any sexual acts on the bodies before or after death – at least no traces of semen or other evidence of manipulation were found.

The Heartthrob left no evidence. He would catch up with women at home when they returned alone, play with them a little, letting them break free and run around the apartment in panic, knocking over antique furniture, breaking vases and other curious decorative items. He was physically strong, bigger than them, he knew his superiority and advantage.

He tinkered in the bodies with his bare hands, but killed with gloves. He didn’t want to touch them while they were alive …

Allex stayed in the lab for a long time, sitting on a chair, staring off into space with an unseeing gaze. Just recently, the young man imagined that, having returned to the criminal-investigative group under the leadership of the head of the Behavioral Science Unit, Jack Howard, he would pursue the case of the Maryland Ripper, an elusive serial killer, who, according to the FBI, extracted organs from his victims for cooking … The new butcher was no better, but, fortunately for the investigators, an amateur – the Heartthrob was still learning, he was gradually gaining strength. They would have a chance to catch him – the main thing was to pay attention to detail.

Agent Serret graduated from the FBI Academy in Quantico a year and a half ago, but distinguished himself not by his high score, but by his unique ability to stick his nose into things that weren’t his business, get into trouble, and contradict his teachers. Even during his internship, he managed to stir up an anthill, raise a long-closed case from the archives, prove inconsistencies in the investigation results, and force Howard, who was responsible for this, to take action.

At first, Howard couldn’t believe how an intern, a short guy with a permanently shaggy head, freckles on his pointed nose, actively gesticulating, a real pain in the ass, dared to dispute the expertise of professionals … But he soon became convinced: Serret was right.

He was not publicly thanked or praised, but simply told that his information had been noted and confirmed.

When Allex received his badge and FBI credentials, Howard called him to join the Criminal Investigative Division. Serret was a good profiler, he used his boundless energy for good, he was ready to work without rest, enthusiastically and passionately. He was attentive, as attentive as someone who processes information at the speed of light can be, but at the same time he risks losing the context. Serret was stubborn as a mule, sometimes naive as a child, he could not be intimidated by punishment or words … He was like a tank, he did not know what diplomacy was, but his toothy smile and natural charm gave him a privilege, he could please anyone if he wanted, even with his stupid jokes and pantomimes.

After yet another conflict in a couple of months, Agent Allex Serret was transferred to the Critical Incident Response Group, where his hyperactivity and bullheadedness have found application. He went on raids and detentions, helped negotiate with criminals, got into the thick of things – conflicts and adrenaline were his comfortable environment.

After recent events, Howard reconsidered his attitude towards Serret – he needed a fresh look and help, he didn’t mind Allex being dubbed the FBI clown, the Clown Knight … The head of the Behavioral Science Unit did not miscalculate – with the appearance of Serret, William Gatti found a fellow traveler.

The sullen autistic Gatti, formerly a teacher at the FBI Academy, currently holding the position of a special agent, not going for social interaction, but giving stunning results of profiling, amazingly formed a tandem with the young, noisy and constantly grimacing Serret … They were so different that they complemented each other. They thought differently – and in different ways simultaneously came to the same conclusion.

They were both stubborn and unyielding, they dug their teeth into the work that Jack Howard assigned them. They were both initially met with hostility by the team …

A week ago, when the entire team, including the chief, three forensic experts and Gatti, quickly left for the crime scene, Howard took Serret with him. He expected his men to be confused, but not so much …

“Jack!” Cruz called out, raising her head from the table with the bloody mess spread out on it. “What are the red-haired clowns doing here? We have enough of our own.”

Standing a little way off, holding a pair of deer antlers on a holder to the top of his head, was Serret, engrossed in his examination of something on a high shelf. Jimmy Ross and Brian Bailey, who were carefully studying the floor and the surrounding area, stared at the young man in bewilderment. Will Gatti was oblivious to his surroundings, not even turning in the direction Beverly Cruz was pointing.

The woman held her gloved hand outstretched until Howard reacted. He forgot about the newbie …

“Serret!” he barked. “Put it back!”

Serret shuddered, his young face mugged, his dark eyes flashed. He reluctantly put the antlers on the rack, walked around the obstacle, openly meeting the dissatisfied faces of his colleagues.

“From today on, Agent Allex Serret is a member of our team, no objections will be accepted, you should leave your reservations once and for all, we are working for the common good. Is that clear to everyone?”

Cruz pursed her lips but gave a short, reserved nod, and Bailey and Ross followed suit.

“You know Cruz, Ross, and Bailey, I won’t introduce them. Special Agent William Gatti—”

Jack Howard sighed, he had a premonition of a headache, for a moment he doubted whether he could cope with an autistic person and a court fool …

“Special Agent William Gatti!” the chief called out loudly and sternly.

Ross blinked in surprise, the notebook and pen creaking in his clenched fingers.

Will woke up, looked around the room, and stopped his gaze on Howard.

“Agent Allex Serret is working with us, fill him in on the details as soon as possible.” And then, turning to the young man, making sure Gatti could hear him, he added, “Stay close to Will and follow his logic.”

“Yes, sir,” Allex responded, half-jokingly, half-seriously, rising and falling on his toes, putting his hands behind his back.