Hell's Detective: Murder

by N. J. Bamford

  “I have the info you asked for.”

  Jenne looks up to see Ellisaüch standing before her desk, arms crossed and her knowing smile curved upon her face.

  “Judging from the smile on your face,” Jenne concludes, “you’ve found out a lot more than the police have in five months.”

  “Delightfully so,” the young secretary confirms, “All the victims are families with a single child and a history of failed pregnancies. The locks are picked so well that there is little-to-no damage to determine the type of lock pick that is used. All of the victims have died from multiple lacerations and blood loss. The possible weapon that could’ve been used in the murders appears to be a blade two millimeters thick, an inch wide, and a foot long.”

  “Only the part of failed pregnancies is new to me,” Jenne states lightly, “The weapon sounds like a steak knife, which can be bought anywhere. The fact that nothing was stolen in any of the victims’ houses is quite interesting.

  “Even more interesting is that the cuts are clean and had sliced through vital blood vessels. Three of the victims also had pets that seemed to have died mysteriously upon the same night as the murders.”

  “Mysteriously?”

  “No known health issues or a cause. Just... dead. The police have disregarded the pets, with the exception of one, and I don’t think I need to give you two guesses as to who.”

  “And he will no doubt be dropping by shortly upon learning of our interest in the investigations. Another headache I don’t need.”

  “Which leads me to my first question. Why are you even bothering with this case? As you told so many potential clients before, this is a police investigation. Since you are no longer a police officer, you cannot intervene. Not to mention my searching for you will land us into trouble, if not in jail.”

  “I have no intention to intervene unless the perp tries to harm John or us. Call it a curiosity for now. In the meantime, about our other case...”

  “I’ve have nothing so far on that,” Ellisaüch sits at her desk, “Even with my pets sniffing around the city, the trail is lost to me.”

  “Didn’t I tell you not to use them or have them running around where some occult fanatic can find them? Like Lilia, for example?”

  “For shame,” the blonde secretary feigned shock and hurt, “I have been so busy with paperwork and research on your behalf while you are lazying about in the office that I’ve been very exhausted to do anything else but sleep afterwards. I can’t do everything for you, you know. Also, I’m not being paid enough.”

  “I have not been ‘lazying about’ as you put it, and I do not want you to do everything for me. I’ve been doing my own part in this business and you know it. You want more money, go back to college and be a doctor.

  “For now, let’s put the matter aside. Back to the matter at hand, the perp will strike again and laugh while the police are whining like blind bitches. The question is: where, who, and when?”

  “Indeed, a very good question. Wanna make a bet on it?”

  “People are dying around us. Show some compassion.”

  “Including their pets.”

  * * * *

  The Myth Café is bustling with activity and business. Located two blocks away from Jamerson High School, and no other restaurants nearby, the tiny café and bakery is a popular afterschool hangout for students. It has gotten ever more popular with the additions of wi-fi and the large LCD television in the dining area. Today is even busier than usual, thanks to the flyers and coupons being handed out at the Extracurricular Fair by Daisy and her fellow coworkers, as the owner of the café is one of few that would hire high school students so long as they kept a high average grade.

  “So this is where Daisy works,” Richard said in awe as he and John are led by the hos in search of an empty table, taking in the art on the walls and the many book cases full of books on mythology and fantasy stories, “I can see why.”

  “Yeah,” John rubs the back of his head, “Daisy’s always been fascinated with mythology and fantasy. Sort of... obsessed with it. Most people usually come here for the coffee and the baked goods, not to mention how fast they can make your order. Beats the hell out of the lines at the other places around here.”

  Richard gives off a chuckle and they sit at a booth that had just been cleaned, near the back by the television.

  “Here we are,” the hos smiles, handing them menus, “May I start you off with anything to drink?”

  “I’ll have a cola please,” John replies.

  “Do you have any orange sodas,” Richard asks.

  “Yep,” the hos answers brightly.

  “I’ll have one of those.”

  “Okay. Your waitress will be by with your drinks and to take your orders.”

  “Thank you,” both John and Richard said before the hos leaves.

  “So,” John begins, “What do you think about the fair today?”

  “It was cool,” Richard replies, “I’d signed up for the baseball team.”

  “Congratulations. The team’s a very tight-knit group. You can make a lot of friends with them.”

  “Most sports teams usually are. I can’t see how a team can do so poorly for so long like I’ve been hearing. Could be bad strategy, or lack of practice.”

  “They had changed coaches awhile back, after Mr. Bawnstein retired and Mr. Tress took over. That could be why things went south for them. Maybe you can teach them a few strategies yourself. You know, something you have learned from your last team.”

  “It’s not good sportsmanship if I tell teams of other teams’ strategies. I can try and help them make their own strategies, but not teach them how to use anyone else’s.”

  “Hey guys,” both young men turn to see Daisy walking up to them with their drinks, “How’ve you been? Didn’t you have a meeting with the student council today, John?”

  “It got cancelled,” John replies, “Stacy was absent due to a head cold and Max had an emergency at home.

  “You got a nice turnout today.”

  “Thanks to the flyers I made,” Daisy comments proudly, “Everyone loved them. And you were against me showing them off.”

  “I only said my personal opinion,” John states innocently, “like you asked of me.”

  “Anyway,” the red-haired young woman turns her attention to their new friend as she sits down, “did you find any clubs or after school activities to join today, Richard?”

  “I did,” the taller young man smiles, “I joined the baseball team.”

  “Congratulations. This calls for a celebration. What can I get for you guys?”

  “Turn it up,” they hear someone say loudly over everyone’s voices, “The news’ is on.”

  Sure,” a waitress replies and uses the remote to turn up the volume.

  “Good afternoon,” a reporter greets after she appears on the screen, “I'm Mary Chizara Nicholas is on assignment. Our head story today is the notorious 'Single Family Serial Killr' has struck once again late last night in Jamerson City. Twenty-eight year-old Theordore and his wife Lois Kamin were found this morning stabbed to death in their home by a post officer delivering mail to their home. Police officers arrived on the scene to also discovered that the Kamin's three month-old daughter had been stabbed to death as well.”

  “How could anyone do such a thing to them,” the screen changes to the post man Ben, “They didn’t do anything to anyone. Always so kind and helpful to those in need.”

  “I can’t believe they’re gone,” the screen changes to an elderly woman, “My Theodore... He would never harm a soul! My poor Lois... Anya...”

  “Friends and relatives of the Kamin Family will be making funeral preparations once the coroners have autopsied the bodies and the police release them from their custody,” the screen changes back to Mary, “Police are urging anyone with information that will lead to the capture and arrest of the ‘Single Family Serial Killer. In other news...”

  “Not another one,” John mutters in fru
stration and sadness.

  “Why haven’t the police caught the murderer yet,” Richard asks, “It’s been over five months already. There should’ve been more progress by now.”

  “It’s because what they are dealing with is a professional,” Daisy explains, “They say that the killer strikes at the same time each night, choosing his victims with care and caution. He’s an expert at picking locks and is so quiet that not even the pets of his victims can hear him. He kills his victims with precision, aiming for vital blood vessels so they bleed to death quickly. He leaves no trace of himself in his victims’ houses: no fingerprints, nothing. When his work is done, he vanishes into the night without a glance back, into the shadows beyond human sight.”

  “You sound like you’ve been reading a lot into the cases,” John said uncomfortably, “Maybe a bit too much?”

  “Not to mention that the details could’ve been a bit more censored,” Richards adds, also looking a bit uncomfortable, “You make it sound like the murderer is a demon or something. Anyway, I thought you were into myths and fantasies, not murder mysteries.”

  “That’s the thing,” Daisy explains as she sits down, “If the murderer really is a human being, then the police should’ve been able to catch him by now. My gut instinct tells me that the murderer is more than just a mere human.

  “Think. All of the victims are young couples with a single child. Their pets have died without any known cause or reason. The only explanation is that the murderer is either a vengeful spirit that attacks families with only one child, or a satanic follower performing a ritual requiring such sacrifices.”

  “Come on Daisy,” John exasperates, “A Satanist wouldn’t go this far for a ritual or leave the bodies for the cops to find. And a vengeful spirit? Why would a spirit use a weapon to kill, let alone be able to pick up an earthly weapon?”

  “Use some imagination here, John! If a spirit is so full of emotional energy, then it can use that energy to lift up objects and move them, no matter the size. It has been recorded in many haunting of objects being moved about and cases of people having unexplained injuries. Also, I have read that satanic rituals require as many as even a hundred human sacrifices for them to work, many with a limit as to what type of sacrifices must be made. Some require the bodies, others require just a part of the sacrifice.”

  “I highly doubt it’s a spirit or some crazy cult extremist,” Richard states, “Something like that would’ve been known by everyone. There’s gotta be another explanation. In the meantime, aren’t you suppose to be working?”

  “Oh shit,” Daisy realizes that her boss will not be happy to find her sitting and gossiping while she’s on the clock and quickly stands up, “Sorry. What can I get for you guys?”

  * * * *

  The afternoon slowly slips away into the evening, the sun dipping below the tall buildings to sink in the horizon. The city begins to shine brightly in the falling darkness of night, many residents heading home to rest as others are coming out to either work, join friends, or traveling. Several stores have closed while others have just opened for business. With the Single Family Serial Killer still at large, though, the number of night-going people has decreased, but not by that much. Some would rather take the risk than give up their nightly activities.

  A few years ago, Mayor Collins had each alleyway installed with extra street lamps to prevent further criminal activity from being undetected by patrolling police officers. It also had cut back on prostitution and how many homeless would take resident within. The few that dare take the risk of either being chased out or arrested by the police. Yet, thanks to the serial killings, the alleyways have been checked less and less by the police. A perfect chance for other sorts of criminal activities to take place.

  A lone young man walks into an alleyway, his dark hood hiding most of his face. He heads halfway down the long path and leans against the wall, pulling out a plastic food storage bag. He counts each of the different colored pills, vials, and paper packets within and sighs. The Single Family Serial Killer has been killing his business. Many of his customers are refusing to meet him at his regular hours, including his regulars. The products don’t last long and he doesn’t have enough money to get fresh products from his supplier, who hates to see his products go to waste and may not even sell to him anymore. He really didn’t want to go back to his other job just to make the rent this month. The clients at the Anderson Motel always leave a mess after each stay and no tips to boot. Plus, the dick of a manager pays him way below the legal minimum wage as he holds enough evidence to convict the young man upon notifying the police of his drug dealings. Who are they going to arrest first, an employer violating state and federal employment laws, or a drug dealer? Four-and-a-half times out of five, the drug dealer.

  The drug dealer places the bag away and looks at his watch. Seven twenty-four. The night is still young. Maybe one of his regulars would become desperate enough for a hit, or a group of newbies stupid enough to not listen to the curfew would come his way. He could use some fresh new customers. The regulars tend to die out faster once they begin buying in larger quantities and coming back more frequently. A quick way to make cash, but a short-lived one. Newbies take it in stride and last longer, giving him a steady cash flow. It took him several months to realize that fact, after some woman tried (and still is trying) to talk him out of the drug business. However, considering that his parents had kicked him out at a young age to make room for his younger twin sisters and no one wants to hire a delinquent living in the shittiest part of town, the only choices he has are either being a drug dealer or a prostitute. Quite frankly, he didn’t have the looks to be a prostitute, not the patience to deal with a pimp.

  He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the stench of the nearby dumpsters that have not been cleaned in weeks. A sudden poke in his backside makes him jump in shock, twisting his head to stare at the wall. Nothing. What the hell? He couldn’t be imagining things. Then again, he has been having trouble sleeping at night, bad nightmares and the police sirens passing by his window almost every night for the past month. Paranoia? If that’s the case, then he’s in really big trouble, for the doctors do not take too kindly to people with some sort of mental issue.

  Aw hell. He is probably imagining it.

  He leans back against the wall, completely annoyed with himself. He hears quick footsteps that sound very loud in the alleyway. He only hears the sound after feeling the poking sensation again, this time straight through his body. The object feels cold within his body, the coldness spreading and chasing away any warmth or pain from his body. He looks down to see his shirt being pushed forward by something through his stomach, something with a point at the end, but no signs of blood. His eyes slide lower to the opening around his neck, but doesn’t see what it could be piercing him. All he sees is his bare stomach, the skin becoming paler and paler with each second. He slowly turns his head as he hears the footsteps increase in speed, the alleyway lights not hiding who it is coming towards him. Heh, how irony works. He gives the newcomer a soft and kind smile as the object is pulled harshly out of his body and he knows no more, the darkness swallowing him whole.

  Lilia grasps the drug dealer as his body falls to the ground, cradling his head as she sits upon her knees. To anyone, it looks like he has just fainted, but he didn’t. His soul has been shattered.

  “Too late,” a voice sings, “Too late. He had a chance, spat it back, and paid the price for poor choice.”

  “Damn you,” Lilia curses at the voice, her own full of venom, “He still has his whole life ahead of him! He could have change!”

  “Not today,” the voice continues to sing, “Not any day. To become the damn is to become lost. To become lost is to become dark. The light forsakes the dark. Forever more.”

  “Bastard,” the young woman snarls, but it is pointless. She knows that the voice is gone. She looks down at the drug dealer. It will be an hour before he wakes up with no memory of what happened here or the
previous hour. However, a mortal body cannot live without a soul for long, as a soul is the vessel for both a mortal’s life force and their memories upon death. Without it, the life force within will burn away quickly and shortening the mortal’s life expectancy. She estimates by his age that he has at most two years left to live.

  She will have to hunt for the owner of the voice later. Right now, she has to take the drug dealer to a safe place... and find a way to tell him about what happened without it sounding like a bad fantasy fiction movie. She sighs.

  This job never gets easier.

  * * * *

  Upon a nearby rooftop, Ellisaüch stands at the edge. She can hear Lilia’s argument with some unknown voice having fun with her. The young social worker was too late to save her latest charge, and she knows that Lilia will be hard pressed to save the others. However, the young secretary knows that she is in a losing fight. Worse, she refuses to rely on those that can fight these dark forces that no mortal can defeat. Perhaps she should feel a least bit sorry for Lilia, maybe offer assistance. Then again, she is not the kind to feel sorry about anyone. It’s not in her nature. Besides, Jenne did tell her to stay on the low around Lilia, so that’s what she is doing.

  Ellisaüch turns her head and looks into the distance, hearing sirens passing by. It sounds like the police are chasing their tails again, searching for the Single Family Serial Killer, but she knows that the hunt is fruitless tonight. The perpetrator is smart, smart enough to stay out of the limelight until the police calm down a bit before going out to hunt again. It is still strange that the perpetrator will choose this kind of murdering. What could come out of killing families with only one child? Even someone like her, who claims to have seen or heard it all is baffled by this. More so is by Jenne’s sudden interest. Then again, Ellisaüch simply chucks it up to her old habits as a police detective rearing their heads again. Those habits are her best traits, but can be bad sometimes for business.