Impossible Object, Improbable Force
The “Whodunnit” genre almost always has one pivotal and underappreciated character. It’s up to this character to set the stage for the entire story- without them, this one character, there would be no story. We don’t get to see much of them, but they are usually the first person we are introduced to, the trigger for our adrenaline to start pumping and kickstarting the plot. It is their function to attract our attention and draw us in closer. They are vulnerable in some way, no matter how big and tough they look. Some fatal flaw is being exploited- inattention, arrogance, or just plain bad luck. They have many styles or forms and the way they execute their function varies but they have one thing in common: They are ********. We get maybe enough information about them to like them or dislike them and then BAM. They are a sacrifice to the plot gods, in the hopes of snaring an audience’s attention. We, the observers, either think “Oh god, that poor a*****e...” or “That a*****e SO had it coming!” and lean forward in our seats, nerve endings aflame as we wonder who did this thing and what the heroes are going to do to him when they find him.
A couple examples of this- two sagas about teams of heroes, use this trope to attract a dedicated fanbase of hopelessly addicted adrenaline addicts. Let us examine the shows Criminal Minds and Supernatural. They have universes that overlap in a lot of ways, but a big one is what the cynical might call the “crimson rule”- Thou shalt not be the character in the first 5 minutes of the show or thou shalt die screaming. These universes are about to collide in the following sections, so let’s go ahead and dive in. Enter our unappreciated plot-starter: She’s blonde, petite, and in her baggy, faded sleep-shirt- we guess somewhere in her teen years. And she’s in the woods, alone? It’s not a promising start for her and she knows it as well as we do, hazel eyes wide in fear. She doesn’t have a chance, poor thing.
The knife entered her neck just in front of her spine, with the bladed edge pointing towards the soft meat of her throat. The strike had come fast and from behind, expertly finding its mark and piercing all the way through her neck, half an inch of metal showing through on the other side as the handle kissed the entry wound. There was some blood, but not a lot yet as the knife lodged, holding back the red flow, and the girl tried to choke out a scream through a throat blocked with a kitchen knife. 16 years of bruises and scraped knees was not enough to prepare her for this kind of pain. It raced through her body like poison and she struggled against the gloved hand gripping her across the chest unable to break free even in her adrenaline fueled fervor. There was a second or three of struggle and suffering and then the fire blacked out her brain- this came with a sharp forward tug of the knife and a bright red spray of red that soaked a twisted looking tree. Bright eyes framed by tears went blank and a gasp of expelling lungs signaled that her purpose had been served. When the blood stopped pumping out, the gloved grip released, and with a disgusted shove she was propelled towards a dark pool that formed in the basin of the tree’s roots and had eaten deep into the ground. With a small splash she sank in and faded to a submerged white blur. The knife was tossed after her. A bloody overcoat and gloves were yanked off and stuffed into a paper bag and set aside, and a pillowcase full of rocks was heaved up from the ground and dropped on the girl, propelling her further into the pool. Then, a sack of dirt was poured in, followed by two more. The murky water hid all signs of her- she was gone, even the blood that had soaked the tree- gone. The tree had drank it all in, absorbing it in an unnatural way that made nature herself scream and howl. No one heard her screams either, because Nature’s voice is so loud it resounds across universes and is beyond the capacity for humans to hear. The scream hung in stasis between the stars and it waited there... a sacrifice was made but it had a condition. It was required that the sacrifice be protected until the moon shone upon it a second time, and then the scream would rip a hole in the fabric of our world to grant a wish. The killer turned his back, satisfied with the work, and walked home with the paper bag tucked under his arm. In a nearby tree a red light winked on, and he waved at it. The body would not be disturbed. He would make sure of it.
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