SERIAL KILLER

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