01

Detective Ackermann slowly walked out the entrance door of the victim’s house, with both his hands tucked firmly in his harem trousers. He took a few steps away from the crime scene and headed towards the deacon’s bench across the roadside. He realized the bench was as dusty as it could get but he still slumped into it without care. 

He leaned forward, placed his head in his hands, and groaned. Huge body-shaking sobs racked his body, each coming in a wave, he let out a low whimper. “When is this atrocity ever going to end?” He ran his left hand through his black messy hair repeatedly and reached out for his mobile phone with the other hand. He got into his contacts list and started scrolling down hastily with his thumb. He eventually stopped at the “S” column and phoned the first contact. The call got answered on the first ring. 

“Hello, Ackermann.” Said the called party. 

Detective Ackermann: How far away are you? We need to turn off the flashers; it’s still sleeping time for the neighborhood. 

“Oh- I’m just around the corner” ----- hangs up! 

Detective Ackermann sighed hard and started caressing his eyes. It was two fifteen in the morning and he had not slept a wink. He closed from work rather later than usual, filing a report on a particular case. He got home twenty after one and the moment he untied his shoes, a call came in, following a homicide. Not just any homicide, one from the one who called himself THE ANGEL OF DEATH. Detective Ackermann was extremely irritated after the call came in; not because he was fatigued after the long day’s work, nor because he was especially sleepy. He was vexed about the call since the perpetrator was the one person he’s investigated for years but hasn’t found a grain of clue on him. 

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Special agent Shirley arrived about three and a half minutes after talking over the phone with Detective Ackermann. She parked her twenty-sixteen Ford Mustang across the road, right in front of the rugged deacon’s bench where Ackermann was seated. 

“Sorry for the lateness” – She sang immediately as she dived out of her ride. "You look like shit..." She added.

He nodded and started walking in the direction of the house. 

"I feel like shit...! Shall we?” ---  

“I’m right behind you” 

“He enters the house from the backdoor into the kitchen; He glares at the victim for a while as she dances to the loud music in her ears whiles she washes the dishes in the cinque. He walks up behind her, and without wasting time, he forcefully pulls her head back to expose her neck. He slits her throat from under her right ear across her windpipe with his sharp dagger. 

The victim first falls, she feels warmth coming down her throat all of a sudden. She looks down and realizes her clothes are soaked with loads of her blood. She gets confused because she feels no pain. She gets on her feet and turns around to see who held her head earlier --- she immediately understands what's indeed going on. She starts feeling a great amount of pain in her neck, and the inability to breathe -- she tries to escape from him. She takes a walk into the living room with her hands over her throat, trying to stop the blood from oozing out. The Killer followed slowly behind her, knowing she had no chance of escaping. She crashes into the glass table in front of her couch and shatters it. She lay her back over the shattered glass, her hands still fixated on her gushing throat. 

The killer stares down at her with a massive grin on his face. The victim tries hard to let out a good scream, but instead, she hurt herself – chokes on her own blood. She covers her slit throat with her left hand and stretches out the right to reach the Killer. Even though she knows he’s the reason for her pain and suffering, she still stretches her arm to him for help. He laughs at her helplessness. 

The killer, whiles she’s still alive and in pain, starts dissecting her, in search of his trophy; her heart. The victim dies a few seconds after her heart had been ripped out. 

He paints his favorite phrase on the wall with her blood.” 

Special agent Shirley narrated after several minutes of studying the crime scene. “I’m always amazed every time you do this, Shirley...”, detective Ackermann stated. 

“Yeah… What do we know about her?” 

“Well, her name is Matilda Amber, 36. She works at--- worked at “MARCO’S”, the Grocery store down the street.” 

“I see. Who called it in?” 

"Her neighbor across the street… She made the call even before the victim was attacked; I haven’t yet talked to her so I think you should head over there.”

Shirley gaped wildly.

"Before she was attacked....? Does -- that mean..."

"It's looking that way."

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The cold and heavy air of the dejected night rushed angrily into her eyes the moment she came out of the house. She unhooked the red scarf around her neck and caressed her eyes with it. HER RED SCARF – which she'd never left behind since it was handed down to her by her grandmother on her death bed. “This… has been in our family for generations. Take good care of it and pass it on when you have to.” Shirley had just turned eight the day her grandmother passed. 

Thinking that was the worst thing that could ever happen on a birthday, the universe showed her there was something more inauspicious in line for her. Shirley’s heart randomly decided to stop beating a few hours after an ambulance had transported her granny’s corpse to the morgue. She knew her grandmother was gone, and, she wouldn’t see her again; she was downhearted --- but only that wasn’t enough a reason for her heart to stop beating. Her parents rushed her to the hospital, but that didn’t make any difference.

“I’m very sorry Mr. and Mrs. Odoi, there was nothing we could do. Your daughter passed even before she touched the ground.”

Her mother shook her head and smiled. 

To her, this was just a bad dream that she knew would be over soon, when she woke up. It just wasn’t possible in her point of view --- to have both the eldest and the youngest of the family, die on the same day. 

Just wasn't possible. 

That day was the worst in the history of the worst days of their family. 

The father, on the other hand, knew this was reality. And, even though he was grieving and hurting on the inside, he had already accepted the reality and the depth of the matter. “Things happen, good and bad --- We have no control over it” -- That was his everyday quote, passed down to him by his father when he was still in his teens, after the death of his beloved mother. An unexplainable miracle or somewhat happened though. A nurse rushed into the doctor’s office during the time he was with Mr. and Mrs. Odoi. 

The nurse bashed the door open: “She is… She’s not dead!” The nurse’s statement echoed repeatedly in the girl’s father’s ear; at first, he didn’t realize the meaning of that statement: "She’s not dead." Or perhaps he did know what it meant, but it just sounded so unreal that his mind had to replay it to him repeatedly. He got on his heels and raced as hard and as fast as he could, with the mother and the doctor, and the nurse pacing behind him. He entered the room hastily and found his daughter who'd just defied the odds of death, jumping playfully on her bed with no grain of care or somewhat, with the red scarf tied around her neck. The man broke down in tears the moment he laid eyes on his daughter. Her happiness, while she was playing, was so peaceful, and her smiles, so genuine, lightened her father's grieving heart. The mother walked in hurriedly and took Shirley into her arms. “I knew nothing could happen to you, my baby...!”, She said as she wept.

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It didn’t take too long for the two to notice the significant change that their daughter had undergone, following the miracle. 

It’s only natural for someone to change after he or she comes back from the dead, but they weren’t dealing with that kind of change --- this was more of a physical appearance kind of change. Shirley’s previously short platinum black hair had inexplicably become very long, almost reaching her tailbone, and the color had turned pure silver. Her eyebrows and lashes had also mimicked the coloring of her hair and had also changed. 

The girl’s parents weren't bothered with that at all, they were just glad their daughter didn't cross over to the other side.

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Agent Shirley landed a light half-knock on the door of the supposed witness's house, directly opposite the victim's. A chime from her mobile phone announced the arrival of a new “W******p” text message.

It was from Gehrig; 

The night is so lonely without you sweetheart --- I miss you. She smiled lightly and hit the reply button, but the audible clicking sound from the door unnerved her. She slid the phone back into her jacket pocket.

“He… Hello…?”

“Hi there. I’m Special Agent Shirley, investigating the homicide that just took place; the one you called in.”Shirley stated as she revealed the badge to her. 

“Oh—um, okay…” the woman said hesitantly after taking a thorough look at Shirley’s hair and the four corners of her face. “I want to ask you about exactly what you saw. And, please, don’t mind my looks” --- said Shirley with a light smile. The woman smiled back at her, but it was as fake as a politician promising authenticism. 

Shirley immediately spotted the weightlessness of the smile but didn't take it to heart. That wouldn't be the first, and it was far from being the last. Everywhere she'd gone--- and almost everyone she'd met for the first time, took a second look at her, and tried to figure her out. Everyone thought it was a deficiency or somewhat, but it didn’t bother her when she was eight; it surely didn’t bother her in the latter.  

More importantly, she deemed it a gift from her grandmother, following a dream she had had when she was still lifeless— a gift, alongside the red scarf which was already in her possession. 

“Okay, so I came out to get something from my car, and that’s when I saw him,” said the woman. 

“You saw him? What did he look like…? Would you be able to recognize him?” 

“Well, I didn't see his face…" 

“hmm?” 

“How do I explain this? So I saw someone standing right there, glaring steadily at Matilda’s house, and it felt strange immediately. I rushed inside to phone her but she didn’t answer – then I called 911 instead. After the call, I came back out to check if he was still there, but he was already gone.” 

“I see--- thank you. Call us when you remember anything else.” Shirley spun around and walked away. Normally, there were questions she would have asked a witness about the victim; something about if the victim had problems with someone that might have led to the murder, but here, she already knew who the perpetrator was, and those questions were especially unnecessary here. She knew what she had to do though; to retrace each step the victim on that day, every corner the victim passed, to find out if she was followed, or other clues for that matter. This... she’d done with every victim, and the factuality of the matter was that Shirley never missed anything; she never left a stone unturned, yet, she found no relation between the victims and the angel of death. But she remained as determined as ever. Every murder gave her extra motivation to bring down the so-called angel of death.