Scarlet Slaughter

Scarlet Slaughter

The stench was over whelming. So much so that I threw up a little in my mouth, the acidic bile rising from my throat and burning the back of my tongue. It was not only the horrid odor that caused my stomach to turn, but the sight as well.
It was as though some one had taken a paintbrush and painted the walls with blood.
From what I could tell, at least two bodies were piled on top of a large armoire against the far wall… if you could really count them by their heads alone. The gore spilling from the elevated bodies was caked onto the fronts of the doors in thick sheets of dried crimson.
Three more were piled on the king size bed, the sheets once white Egyptian cotton, now stained forever crimson by their precious life giving blood. Their limbs lay mixed and severed, each limb cleanly cut from its trunk with surgical precision.
I held back my urge to vomit, and made my way to the connecting master bath. Just as I had suspected, this room had also been tainted by the killer.
An enormous claw footed, white marble tub was centered against the left wall, and in it, yet another victim. She was soaking in what appeared to be concentrated lye, and was dissolving at an alarming rate. Her skin was peeling in blackened strips, revealing her inner frame work.
He head lay at an odd angle, what was left of her dark hair spilling into the acid and burning away. Her cold eyes stared at nothing, as though she were looking beyond the gates of death.
Of course there would be one in the tub, I thought, it’s his trade mark. Why wouldn’t there be one in the tub?
It was the longest it had ever taken us to find one of his little slaughter fests. Three weeks had past, and the bodies were decomposing, flies and local beetles crawled over the rotting bodies of the dead, eating their flesh in some places.
This was my second case in this ongoing investigation. Already, it was starting to give me nightmares.
The cases had not always been this bad. In fact they had gotten worse just recently, when he had taken one of the former team, and she had nearly escaped. Since then his need for blood had increased greatly, and we had warnings out on the streets for girls not to get into the car with strangers, as they could be his next targets.
I was put on the case to replace, the deceased officer. Only because I happened to be good at marshal arts, as they had decided to “beef up” the teams after that so that there was less chance of losing another officer.
Because of this the members of my team had started calling me Grasshopper.
Stupid movies, with their stupid catchy lines!!! I thought as I adjusted the strap of the processing kit strung across my shoulder.
I looked over to the other members of my team and chuckled to myself when I saw that they were doing worse that I was, as it went for stomachs.
The team leader, Kai, looked at me and gave me a little smirk.
“That’s some stomach you’ve got there Grasshopper. Just like Yuki….”
Oh great, as soon as he starts on his old team he’ll be going on forever! Not to mention he’ll end up crying like a little girl… again…
I patted him on the shoulder and then took out my camera and made sure it had film and that the lens was clean, before snapping photos of everything I was. Pictures were taken of the bed, armoire, and tub, from every possible angle. The walls, floor, and ceiling, making sure I got every last bit of blood spatter documented.
“It’s odd,” I said, “usually he writes that creepy saying up on the wall, but I don’t see it here. Do you think it was just a copy cat?”
I bent over one of the heads that had rolled off the bed and onto the cherry wood floors. I brushed my hand across her cheek, and noticed that there was something in her mouth. I forced open her locked jaw, and to my surprise, there was a small piece of paper in her mouth, just lying on her tongue.
I took the paper out and unfolded it, and there in large curly letters was one word: 'Missing'.
I was puzzled by such an odd find, and turned to look at the bed and see if perhaps there was something folded within the sheets that would help.
That was when I saw another one. This one was hanging half way out of a beautiful black woman’s dark lips.
'Look', this one said.
'How odd….'
I then looked though the other four mouths present in the home. The three on the bed produced the words: 'Missing', 'Look', and 'Are'. The two on top of the dresser were: 'You' and 'Around'. The one in the tub stated: 'Something'.
I laid them out on the bathroom counter and tried to make sense of them. Then it hit me. ‘Look around. Are you missing something?’
I stood alone in the bathroom for once truly afraid of this killer. The fear ran sharply up my spine, like some one was dragging a dagger up my back.
I was now part of his game. By coming to this crime scene I felt he some how knew me.
I felt like I was being watched. It was more that just the cold eyes of the dead that were staring. It was as if a living breathing being were watching my every move. I turned around and saw something I hadn’t seen before.
A camera. A small surveillance camera was placed just above the door on the back side of the frame. And there taped to the bottom of the lens was another message.
‘Hello’.
I was being watched. That guy was watching me right now. I turned to run out of the door when it happened.
I was blinded by a flash of light that seemed to burst out of nowhere. The searing flames brushed against my skin with all the gentleness of a rampaging rhino, sending me flying backwards, my lower back smashing into the marble counter top behind me with a sickening crack.
I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I tried to move, but no movement could be coaxed out of my paralyzed limbs. I could feel the sticky sensation of slugishly flowing blood as it soaked through my shirt.
I lifted my eyes, which seemed to be the only mobile part of y anatomy, and looked out the door from my position on the floor.
I saw what was left of familiar faces. Stared in horror at the increased number of limbs, and the implausible amounts of blood that now soaked every inch of the room.
They were dead. All of them, my entire team, now lay in pieces on the floor. Who knew if they were still alive, and even if they still were it would take several minutes for an ambulance to get here.
I was broken from my thoughts by a sound, a steady sort of clicking noise, like expensive shoes moving at a conscious pace.
How I wish I was wrong.
Just as the thought passed into my mind a pair of black Italian leather shoes made their way into my line of vision. The shoes were paired with black slacks and a trench coat of the same dark material.
A pale face came into my vision as the man stooped over. His sculpted cheek bines stood firmly under the pale flesh, contrasting the dark hair that topped the mans head, which was graying just a little bit at the temples, giving him a distinguished look.
But his eyes, they were what really caught my attention. His eyes were such a light blue that they were almost white. The pupil had shrunk with awareness, leaving even more room for the pale irises to occupy.
A gloved hand snaked its way under my hair and pressed against a spot on my neck.
“Good night.” A deep, rich baritone sounded in my ear.
With that the pressure on my neck increased, and my pressure point gave way, plunging me into an unparalleled darkness.
* * * *
I awoke to the sound of weeping. A steady sob in a high pitched voice, which automatically identified the unknown person as a female.
I opened my eyes, but shut them quickly because of the bright light. Keeping my eyes closed I tried to learn as much about my new environment as I could. They crying woman was on my left. I was lying on something cold hard and smooth, probably something metallic. I was held down by thick straps that held me at my chest, waist, knees, and ankles.
I tried to flex my hands, only to find them resist the movement and make no effort to move. Just as I had thought I was paralyzed from the shoulders down.
I turned my head and was overjoyed to know I had at least the ability to perform this small movement.
I turned to my left and gazed at the woman on the table across from mine. She was struggling fiercely against her ties, and was now starting to scream, her eyes wide. I had no idea what had sent her into such a panic. It was too hard to focus. My mind was hazy, and I could only take in little bits at a time.
I noticed that behind her were several shelves with glass fronts filled with what appeared to be medical supplies.
'Are we in a hospital? Is this lady crazy? Was I seizing in my sleep? Did they have to strap me down?'
I had never had good luck before, adn the circumstances didn't change a this fact. I followed her wide eyed gaze and found that the man was back. He sauntered over to the side of her table, and brushed his hand through her hair like he was her lover.
“Ah, my sweet,” He cooed, “Why do you wail so? Are you in pain? Do you want me to put you out of your misery?” her screaming heightened in pitch as he ran his hand down the side of her face and laced his fingers around her throat.
He then leaned forward and crushed her windpipe beneath his palms. She struggled desperately for air, her ppupils constricting with panic. He pressed down harder and she let out a scream that could only be heard by the deaf.
He stayed in that position with the same sick little smile plastered across his face and stared into her eyes as she slowed in her struggles. Her writhing became sluggish, and stupefied. She gave her last throes of death and then stopped moving completely.
I was horrified, he had killed her so calmly. He seemed to have enjoyed it, and now I was his only remaining victim.
He brushed her hair back again, and brushed his thumb across her paling lips and down her slender chin.
“You were so beautiful Juliana. You indeed had a face carved from the clouds of heaven by the angels themselves.” His eyes clouded for a moment as if he were lost in thought.
'Monsters like you aren’t capable of thought! You disgust me!' I thought to myself as he lovingly brushed his hands across her cheek bones.
He snapped out of his daze at that moment he veered his head in my direction. He walked calmly to the edge of my table and kept my glare with a steady gaze.
“Autumn Prang. Yes, I do believe that is your name, is it not?”
“What should it matter to you?” I spat, surprised that I could actually speak.
“Because, Autumn dearest, I want to know what to call you by when you start begging for your life.” his voice rolled out of his mouth like a glacier over satin.
I glared at him, and he just brushed it off, turning around the walking over to a shelf on the left of a steel door. He appeared to be playing with a CD player of some sort.
My suspicions were confirmed, when a selection of violin music poured out from unseen speakers.
“Handel,” he said, “one of the greatest of his time.” He stated matter-of-factly.
“So you know my name, what am I supposed to call you?” I asked watching as he stripped himself of his coat and donned a pair of latex rubber gloves, snapping then teasingly around his wrists.
“Doctor, if you like. Ilan if you wish.” He said elegantly opening a drawer full of surgical tools.
'A doctor?' My mind rushed to one of the many case meetings we'd had over the case.... I specifically remembered the part about our killer possibly being a doctor. 'It makes sense. The surgical precision, and this room... perhaps his own private practice? I hope I'm wrong... I hate to think of this... creature... bringing innocent people into his home. Wait! maybe this is where he gets all of victims....' I thought at a hurried pace.
“Well then, doctor, you seem to have gotten a lot more organized while you were inactive.” I said unable to keep fear from causing a tremor in my voice.
“Yes I have,” Said Ilan, “and I’ve had a long time to think. I’ve gotten a lot of new ideas.” He said fishing an over sized pair of surgical scissors out of the drawer.
“Oh?” I said trying to stall. Stall for time to think of any way to defend myself.
'I might have time if I can get him to start monologuing. Killers always get distracted when they monologue... right?'
“Yes. In fact I think this one may pique your interest.” He said snatching a few scalpels and a small pair of forceps out of a cupboard above the brushed steel counters.
This guy was organized, too organized for any normal serial killer.
“Have you ever wondered what the reaction of a person would be if an autopsy were performed on them while they were still alive, without any anesthetics?”
I felt blood rush from my face as I realized just what they scissors he was holding in his right hand were….
“As you may have guessed, these are the scissors I will use for the pericardial cut. And if you don’t know what that is,” he said lifting the hem of my shirt to the bottom of my rib cage, “that’s the beautiful little zigzag cut that goes all the way from your belly button, over your stomach, and through your breast bone. You see that’s why these have to be so big.” He said snipping the air once for emphasis. “They have to hack through that thick little piece of bone, and when they do your ribcage will snap open and give me a beautiful, though short, little view of your beating heart.”
He laid an extra strap across my fore head, strapping me down to the table completely.
“Why? Why are you doing this? I didn’t do anything…. Please….” I cried, my eyes filling to the brim with unshed tears and my voice shaking with terror that could no longer be held back. My training was useless now. It was my natural instincts to beg, but I had a feeling his ears were closed.
“Because my sweet little Autumn….” He paused in thought twirling the shears sinisterly, glinting in the florescent lighting above out heads. “I’m bored.” He stated calmly.
That was all he said.
I felt the scissors pressing hard against the flesh of my belly, and all coherent thought flashed from my mind. I screamed as the blades pierced my flesh leaving behind a thick trail of crimson liquid. The pain burning though my nerves like hell-fire.
And then I woke up.
I sat up straight in bed, covered in a cold sweat.
That maniac had been loose for two years, the cases were still active, and I was with the head of the team on the investigation.
I looked over at the nightstand at all the open files piled there.
'I have to stop reading those before I go to bed. I’ve had enough of these nigh mares!!!'
My phone rang suddenly and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I picked up my razor cell phone, and glanced at the number on my caller id. I didn’t recognize it, but I answered in anyway, remembering that my boss had gotten a new phone the day before.
“Hello? Boss? Is that you?” I asked into the speaker of the phone.
That was when my back straightened and my blood ran cold in my veins as I recognized the voice on the other line.
“Are you getting sick of these nightmares yet?”
It was Ilan. The doctor. The assassin.
I snapped the phone shut in a panic, and threw it down at the covers.
No sooner had I dropped it, it rang again. I got ready to give that monster a piece of my mind, but then realized that the number was different. I picked it up and prepared myself for anything.
“Grasshopper? You there?” it was my boss, Kai. “Just calling to be the bearer of bad news. He’s struck again. An uptown house, 420 North Pine-crest Ave., number seven, six victims, and enough blood to drown an army. It looks like the scene’s old though, which is odd. Maybe a couple of weeks or so. I sent you a picture over the phone; you should check it out while you get dressed.”
And with that said, he hung up.
Not even a good-bye, the stingy jerk….
I looked into my ‘received messages’ file on my phone, and felt my blood turn to ice water.
There were the three bodies in pieces on the bed, the two on the dresser, the same dark wood floors, and the body in the tub. And there, just on the edge of the picture, barely noticeable, was the camera he had watched me from.



To be continued?

April 20, 2007-- It's a little outdated, but please let me know how you like the series so far!