CHAPTER 3
WARNING: MATURE CONTENT FOR 18+ [ If you are below 18, please leave, because it may not be suitable for your age. Thank you :) ]
Screeeech. There are series of screams. Shambles chain clanked, misheard pleas to be spared had never actually come so forth as there is no salvation. Soreness knocked through instill walls; distraught camouflage by endless sorrow – continuous- unending. The raging river flow. Anger aroused by something unjust were fueled to set ablaze, and berserk to destroy many that scarred, and harm innocence that was left to rot, and bygone for ages.
Unbearable dreary nights overflow. As for the woman lying mindlessly, hopelessness and doom is what awaits for her. Tears-stained face, grim and sooth from how hard she cried last night painted the pinkish glow on her cheeks that almost mourn a pale blue colour of the cold winter. The metal bed leads to the aching pain on her back, but that’s least of her worries. On that room screams misery abhorred life, the smell of flesh and death bleed anguish and grief. Prolonged agony that to beg would be a mistake leading for her own grave.
“I-I wanna go home.” If she hadn’t gotten out, uncaring of the risk, would she been there? Perhaps, no, but lament accords to who’s at fault promptly bitten the choices she made. To be back before weren’t an option anymore least to hunting she’d been preyed.
Her reverie were cut off; footfalls beyond underlies what she fears of. One. Two. Three. Footsteps echoed. A hum that bounce back on the walls rings back and forth, a malady that carry shivers. To shudder across as she knew what was coming. As the keys jingle, the door slowly part rumbling the creek that only add to the eerie ambiance suggesting that the place means no good at all.
“Hello, ángel.” To hated his guts were beyond recognition.
“P-please let me go.” Blurry eyes, she recoiled.
“Shhh, I can’t do that, ángel.”
Thump. A cold metal touches her skin, something sharp, and evidently curving as the culprit trace it across to where the cloth failed to cover – from her arms to her chest then it disappear.
“W-what are you doing?” Her lips quiver.
“I am not going to hurt you.” Yet his reassurance told otherwise. She knew better. She’s no fool at how he could have dismissed the terrifying truth as if her naivety could have been a bait prior to who really was this man. He is a monster out of this world, who should have not lived as he carry death on his steps.
“I am going to pray for you, ángel.” He soon declared. “I am going to clean you.”
“W-what...?”
But what happened next petrified her. Screams filled confinement released horrid smell, flesh carved out and nailed. Crucifix in reminder of mankind’s sin. The downfall of men beyond decades.
“Ave, ave dominus.... Dominus tecum.... Bendicta tu in mulieribus.” Nonstop, the man repeated over and over again.
With bloodshot eyes, he carefully tore off the visage. Scalpel penetrated through crave out leading to the splattered blood pooling on the metal bed. Pale lips, and lifeless eyes, skinless stunt that deems to be professionally set in display. The expression of utter misery on the hands of a murderous deed.
“I clean, yes.” And soon he laughs maniacally, and leave.
To devour the sin, yet he is also the sinner himself.
NAME: ALESSANDRA FUERTE CONSTACION
AGE: 20 YEARS OLD
ADDRESS: PUERTO VALLARTA, MEXICO
CAUSE OF DEATH: FATAL BLUNT FORCE INJURIES AND OVERDOSE PRIOR TO ACETAMINOPHEN.
[Acetaminophen is a drug regularly used for pain relief and is considered to be the most dangerous on the list due to its potential to cause liver damage and toxicity]
“A hooker?” Detective Charlie Reed flipped the pages open. A report containing the identification of the body prior to the sudden murder that has been reported.
It was 5 am in the morning, when their station received an unknown call that least to be identified as it is wired, to think that the caller would lead them to an abandoned two-story house stunned them. Presumably an assumption that it was a regular prank call, but the convoy they sent to investigate confirmed –counterfeit a corpse beyond recognition. In spite of, the genitals bared onslaught for prying eyes told them otherwise that the victim is a woman.
“That has been confirmed, yes.” The junior officer responded, turning blind-eyed towards the hanging corpse as it made his stomach churns.
The sight is horrifying to say the least.
Alessandra as her name is hanging on the ceiling, bare, and bleeding horribly dried and stick across her skin. She’s been dead for 10 hours. Pale lips parted, and underneath an unfamiliar symbol were written around her soles. Crucified, and the rotting flesh hanging atrociously is starting to attract flies. Yet, what makes it more ghastly gruesome is the fact that Alessandra is missing her whole face, tore off as to leave organs and veins on her once fresh-looking facade.
“Any idea about the culprit?” Detective Reed closed the folder.
“There are murders similar to her case that happened a few months ago.” The junior officer faced his senior detective. “Miranda Salvador, the same age around Alessandra, and yes – she is a hooker herself.”
“So, we are practically looking for a serial killer?”
“I can’t confirm yet, Detective.” The junior officer shook his head. “It could be a coincidence –“
Before he could finish what was he tries to imposed, Charlie cut him off.
“On our field, there are no coincidence, Detective.”
With his gaze, Charlie Reed stared ahead, cleaved the wound, unwavering at how Alessandra has been put into a lurid macabre. Fair skin tainted; dire eyes bulging towards the atrocity audaciously been committed. The absence of life that he could see she fought for, yet failed. To wish to live, yet given none. To hope to breathe, yet solely what she earned is death she never asked for.
“If you were correct, you told me that there are previous cases the same way she was killed.” Detective Charlie Reed queered. He never tore his gaze off from Alessandra. “If it happened years ago, I could have said the same, it is a coincidence or a copycat –inspired murders. Ever heard of Jack the ripper between 1800’s?”
“I do.” The junior’s forehead cease as to ponder what could have that serial killer’s connection to what they are dealing with. “He was never found, after he killed at least 5 women near the Whitechapel District of London’s East end.”
[Jack the Ripper was an English serial killer. Between August and November 1888, he murdered at least five women—all prostitutes—in or near the Whitechapel district of London’s East End. Jack the Ripper was never identified or arrested. Today the murder sites are the locus of a macabre tourist industry in London (Jenkins, 2021)]
“That’s right, but the killings never stop. There are inspired murders.” Charlie Reed confirmed. “During 1893 of February,
Henry G. Dowd explicitly committed the same crime as his. 7 drunk men that were killed without mercy.”
[By 1894 people stopped looking for Jack the Ripper in New York although several arrested murderers were described very explicitly as Ripper-style killers. One example from February 3, 1894: “Only a little over two years ago Henry G. Dowd rivaled the fiendish Jack the Ripper by slashing seven intoxicated, but inoffensive men in the Fourth Ward (Young, 2018).”]
“I never heard that yet, but I wasn’t unfamiliar with inspired killings as a reform to whom they admired, Detective. However, what I am intrigue is why are we talking about them as if they are connected with the case on our hand?” The junior officer’s frown deepens. “I couldn’t get what you were trying to imply, I’m sorry.”
“That’s alright.” Detective Charlie Reed reassured his junior. “What I was trying to say is that some serial killers could have the same and different ways to show their mark, and on this spree, I could say the same if you confirmed what I am putting into assumption.”
“What do you mean, Detective?” The young officer curiously asked.
“Did Miranda lose her face?”
Then realization hit the latter.
“Yes –Don’t tell me...?”
“Yes, it’s a serial killer, and their face if my hunch is right would be his trophy keepsake on his collections.”
BELIZE PUERTE, MEXICO
“What’s the matter?” Rio ponder.
If it wasn’t for Malcolm’s call exactly at 12 in the afternoon, she could have sworn to be wrapped up on dreams – left with no choice as she turned left and right leaving an earnest messy on top of her bed. Witching hour drawn for her nightmares. Afflicted thorn cursed through at the back of her head. Sleepless night in attribute with the gallant ordeal that had cause her to stay awake for more than an hour she couldn’t recall.
“I am just worried.” Rio heard him sigh on the other line. “Can’t you not just work tonight?”
What he said made her frowns.
“You know I can’t do that.” Rio put her phone down on the kitchen counter, yet never forget to tap the loudspeaker button as she prepare her breakfast –late as it seems, but the usual.
To think about what could have bitten Malcolm this time had intrigued her as he knew what her line of work was. It never matters actually. He do his business. She does her own. In spite of, both can count on each other if something goes wrong, unplanned and so sudden that could lead to ruse ailed for numerous disaster.
“I just got another news—”
She did not let him finish.
“A murder?” Rio placed 3 sliced pieces of bread on the toaster and left it until it was golden brown and ready to be serve.
“Yes.” Malcolm confirmed her suspicions. “And it is just around town.”
“You know I always take precaution.” Rio reassured the male.
“But there are rumours going around that it could be a serial killer.” The undertone told her how serious Malcolm was.
“Malcolm –“
“Just... If anything happens, call me immediately, okay? I’ll be in touch, just take care, please.”
The fear he always express touched her heart embedded on depth, and buried for ages. The brother she never had, yet she found on a circumstances she never asked for. The fate she never wished from how horror dragged her into. If only things has been different she wouldn’t be there, the same as his.
“I will.” Rio bit her lips to hide her smile. “I will, Malcolm.”
@cycy
CHAPTER 4 Later that evening, El Casa Cuatro is full of rigor, one of the renown club around Mexico. Men loitered. The cheers of both sexes on vigour as they lost sanely –room confined by the smell of alcohol, smoke and sex. Sweaty bodies grind uncaring. Strangers who initiate intimacy in spite of unbeknownst circumstances. People on that place were driving themselves to ruin, but it makes them free. Cluttered disarray in a crude display to what excites them. “You are going to definitely rock that stage again.” One of the girl sitting right next to Rio – no, to Eve smiled at her. She have a fair skin, curls running on a semi-circle wave behind her nape and running around her neck put forth her appearance to be somewhat intoxicating just like her. A pair set of teeth, and dimples showcasing that it exist on each side of her cheeks. Clad on a lace robe, yet Rio knew better, the bareness
CHAPTER 5 [As the wind carry a malady that a flower leads to dither... Misheard pleas; voice locked outgrown mercy... ] WARNING: [ This include scenes, which is inappropriate for a younger audience. If you are below 18, you can stop reading and leave. Thank you :)] “R-ruscov—ah~h—...” Wails after another brazenly whimper moans that bounce back and forth from a lying woman; bareness shield by the sunlight seeping through from a barely open window. Sheets in mark of a primal needs conformed two person utterly in dismissal to carry out pleasure. The need of ecstasy, and the delight dwelled consciously they were blinded. Mounds exposed, suck and kneed, not until the loud rings in dismay made a fuss to the brewing sensation they are outstay and swayed; thirst in disturbance as the dial tone continue. The woman draw back from the kiss they
CHAPTER 6Rio silently lowered herself at the back of the counter. Hidden physique evoke for her to crawl until she could see through from the door on the 1st floor. Her hunch did not failed her. If reckless, it would only become a matter of time before those thieves scavenge what would be valuable on her house. It wasn’t just a woman, behind her is a group of thugs, 3 men in total in pursuit to the accomplice to urge the door to be open.“P-please! S—somebody!” Her cries compelled truth and anguish, only if Rio is a fool.Without much further ado, Rio opened a cabinet. To feel the wooden cluster and framed Beretta M9A3 without cradled teeter clutched on her hold. It feels heavy, and strange presupposed that it would come to trade her life had she least expected from. To carry it around embark the war it slurred over, a heirloom given scornful for unjustified actions. Rio never forge
CHAPTER 7If days had gone bad, it became much worst for the Belize station. It did not take for a week, before a new murder were reported. A man were find hanging on the cathedral, bareness in display, yet visage imposed how it was perfectly cut of as if somebody who are on the field of medicine is the main culprit. It was horrid. Both terrified priest and nun is in denial to how come that nobody noticed. Yet the autopsy says the male has been dead for over an hour. It’s stage, but no leads. All fingerprints that could have laid out some clue is absent.“This is driving me nuts.” Groans left Ruscov frustrated as he’s been over the information since the assignment has been given. The spouse and everybody related to the victims were interrogated, but their alibis probe that they weren’t the person that the law are soughing after.“Giving up already?” Senior Detective Charlie Conra
CHAPTER 8 BELIZE PUERTE, MEXICO A nasty headache excruciately is something that set to fester Rio’s mood. Another worst thing for how painful her back was after she dwelled on dreams on the tiled floor on her house sala. To recall what happened from the previous night drove her sour – the robbers and the vague memory of being knocked unconscious that cause her grew dizzy until morning came. “This is killing me.” She groans. Rio walked to the kitchen. She brewed some coffee to appease the growing headache, not before checking her phone to see any missed calls from Malcolm. A relief to breathe, when she found none. To worry him is least something she wanted to do. She takes small sips from her cup until her eyes landed towards the headline that caught her attention instantly. HEADLINE: A BODY WERE FOUND HANGING ON THE CATHEDRAL, MURDER OR A KILLING SPREE?
CHAPTER 9 [ And so the rabbit tried to run, but her chains keep her screams in secrecy.] “Damn, this is horrible, man.” A man barely on his 5ft tall in height scrunched his nose. He is wearing a khaki pants, and a flannel over his white undershirt. The cloth hug his masculine physique as he’s been on his field of work, when he received a phone call from the station in Belize. A witness had died. “Geez, she’s our only lead.” The other male on his company had a disappointing look on his eyes. With Ella Rodriguez being dead, this means a whole new picasso to start over again. She was there. The night, wherein the corpse on the cathedral identified as Indigo Marquez died on the hands of whom they now called as the reaper. The chaeron of hell. An angel of death. He hunted sheep’s during the night, to pry on how they deems harmless, unaware, and oblivious of how he brought the
CHAPTER 10: [And the sparrow sparked a cry; in shambles and chaos that it has never been spared –to peril or to die. ] [PLAYING: Coming to you by Grass] The lights flickered on and off. The pungent smell of blood, flesh and piss took over a dominion that could drove one nauseous. An utter silence envelope the place, walls intricate by cracks and holes. A ruin in display, while boulders were gathered on each corner. There’s a low tip-tap on the roof. A rendered cracked pummelled through that caught droplets of rain, which continue dripping on the floor creating some puddles. The entire room seems bizarre, unlikely and devoid of any soul as it appeared to be abandon for a very long time ago. But what strange was a silhouette were actually there pushing what it seems to be a stretcher. A white cloth covered its surface, but the bump and tremors presumably belongs
CHAPTER 11 [ Her feathers impeccable that it wither; innocence that were long forgotten dither... ]To dread most what could had happened put one anxious. A pit, where thoughts would be in shambles, crumbling to the extent that the brink of what if’s bottled up leading to nowhere. That’s what Rio felt that night. Her palms clammy, her head would continuously whipped across the phone lying across the table right outside her dresser. She fear that Malcolm would know about what happened, the robbery and the death of one of the thieves. Just the mere thought churned her insides. It wasn’t guilt, but something more closer to that word. Rio fear that she would be a primary suspect presumably as she assumed, because of the sudden visit of those two men on her address. But that’s least of her concern as of the moment.“You ready?” Laura had just ended her shift. Unlike her, she’s one of the fir