SKA: Serial Killers Anonymous

by William Schlichter

  I

  “CURRENTLY, THE SECOND worse mass shooting seen in America surpassing, Sandy Hook,” the news anchor speaks with no emotion. “The alleged assailant, reported to be a middle-aged woman, was shot by security personnel. No word on her condition or of the dozens of people in the path of her rampage.”

  “The local field agency will handle the shooting.” Director Lawrence dials down the volume.

  “I know sir, but there is more relevant information,” Agent Smith says.

  The crawl along the bottom of the screen reports eight females were rushed being rushed to the hospital.

  Lawrence hits the mute button.

  The reporter continues, “…girls in a halfway house. Three dead. Five more sick. This emergency pulled away needed emergency personnel from the hospital where the shooting occurred minutes later. Authorities won’t comment if the two events are being connected, but—”

  “The woman calling herself Jane worked in a halfway house and also claimed to eliminate those whose time was near the end, but machines kept them alive. The shooter was taken down in the long-term coma ward, or whatever the medical term is for it,” Smith says.

  “You think this is Jane giving a last hurrah?” Lawrence asks.

  “I think we need to check into it before all those local cops destroy evidence when they search her home,” Smith suggests.

  “It would close the case. I have doubts we find the truck driver, but this shooter might have something on this Al and we might save a girl’s life.”

  “The brass may want to put a lid on this case but it just won’t shut,” says Lawrence. “Get on a plane.”

  II

  AGENT THORNTON EXAMINES the hand-written note encased in a plastic evidence bag.

  “It was the only thing on her,” Agent Smith says.

  Thornton nods. “I think she wanted us to figure out she was part of the group without giving it away.”

  “She fit the description of Jane. She was a nurse who was dismissed under unspoken circumstances. She worked in a halfway house and now seven of those girls are dead.” Smith continues, “Jane was enrolled at university and was working toward her doctoral degree in psychology of the unstable.” He half jokes, “Murdering twenty-six people who were unable to even run away from their attacker, she could have been her own case study.”

  “People she felt were a drain on society.” Thornton asks, “How did the last girl at the halfway house survive?’

  “She was trying to lose weight and ate one of the rat poisoned brownies. The other girls scarfed down two or three, according to her. She had enough strength to call 911. They got her stomach pumped or whatever they did to stop it,” Smith says. “I figure it was part of her plan to tie up emergency services. In case her shot didn’t kill a victim, there would be limited medical staff to keep them alive. She shot wild to scare staff, but shot so many who couldn’t run, people who couldn’t even feed themselves. They were innocent.”

  “Not to her. These people were a waste of hundreds of thousands of dollars, in her mind. If you are ever going to profile you have think like the people you chase. To her, she freed those people of a worthless life and the system of their burden. In her mind, she was doing the best for society as a whole,” Thornton says.

  “But we are a society of the individual.”

  “Maybe that is our problem,” says Thornton. “This note confirms she was in the group. She addressed this letter To The Man Who Was Holding The Girl.”

  “The group rules. I wonder why? He will never see this paper. No one outside this office will view it.”

  “She may have written it for him before the group fell apart,” Thornton says.

  “The note may spark something with the kid.”

  “We’ll make available all the evidence to any agency that believes they have one of the three killers, but we are finished. Director Lawrence ordered us to release the kid,” Thornton says.

  “I can’t believe you’re willing to stroll away.”

  “Maybe if the murdered agents weren’t avenged. But they are. With no leads on their locations or identities the case is closed. Truck driving killers are near impossible to catch and this Plagiarist changes his MO. He hides among other murders.”

  “What about this girl in the basement.?”

  “He kidnaps women, but with the group decimated he will stop, maybe for years. I would bet my next paycheck he disposed of her,” Thornton says.

  “The kid claims he still had one he...kept,” Smith says.

  “We wait for a strangled body to turn up with his MO.”

  “You’re cold, Thornton.”

  “Sometimes it helps…deal with the job.” He reads the note one more time.

  Printed are the rules the group was constructing to help each of them not return to murdering.

  My Group

  Maybe you will complete the list and restore yourself.

  SKA MEETING RULES

  - Before you’re invited to attend you must not have a current subject in your possession.

  - The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop killing.

  - No names.

  - New people must share first.

  - We leave our judgments at the door.

  - God will not be our excuse.

  - We must accept responsibility for our own actions.

  - We must change from an irresistible impulse to an impulse resisted.

  - When we see a potential victim we must remember they are a living thinking person.

  - Final rule: What is discussed in the group stays in the group.

  Thornton hands the note to Smith. “Let the kid read it. Unless he has an address of another perp, we release him and close our investigation.”

  “No charges? Kid got lucky.”

  “You’ve spent the most time with him, try and convince the kid to read his sister’s file. Or better yet, you read it to him, put an end to chasing down these killers. Dealing with what he learns will be enough punishment,” Thornton says.

  “He was attempting to do good,” Smith muses.

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Read him the file. Or just tell him. But he doesn’t leave until he knows who killed his sister.”

  “Is that your directive or Lawrence’s?” Smith asks, dreading this task.

  “Mine, but you know he needs to know in order to end this.”

  “I think I’m going to hate you when you are right. Glad I get my old partner back tomorrow,” Smith says.

  AGENT SMITH TAKES a seat across from Jesse in the interrogation room. “Don’t remove it.” He slides the bagged note toward him.

  Jesse picks it up. On cursory examination he says, “It’s the support group’s rules. Jane wanted to create a real therapy group and help people.”

  “She was writing her doctoral thesis on active serial killers. She was using the group to earn her PHD.” Smith adds, “Not sure if she was helping or studying them. Not such a noble person now.”

  Jesse gets excited at the prospect, “Then you should be able to use the information to track down Ed, Al and The Plagiarist.”

  “No. Nothing in her work gives clues to anyone’s hunting ground or identity. In fact, she went out of her way to hide who people were. We’re closing the case.”

  “I never figured out who my sister’s killer was.”

  “After I leave this room some agents are going to process you out and drive you wherever you want to go, but first I have been ordered,” he knows they record the conversation and wants to place on record it was Director Lawrence’s idea in case the meeting ends badly, “by Director Lawrence to inform you of your sister’s murderer.”

  “I could never read the file,” Jesse admits.

  “Why do you think that is?” Smith asks.

  “It was my sister.”

  “I’ve read it. More than once. If you still want to be an investigator sometimes you have to examine evidence that makes you sick. Personally, as mu
ch as I hate the sick feeling. It reminds me I’m human. If you didn’t get sick you’ve turned psychopath,” he says.

  “I’ll listen.”

  Agent Smith opens the file. “I don’t need to read it. Like I said, I’ve read it multiple times.”

  “Give me the highlights.”

  “This will be difficult. Director Lawrence has offered you the use of our therapists. Even though you are not an agent he finds your involvement and cooperation in this case has entitled you to a few sessions.”

  Jesse nods.

  “You were almost four. Your mother believed you were rummaging around in her closet for Christmas presents. No one spoke of children and gun safety much back then. Your father had not locked up his gun, nor was it up high. You found your father’s pistol and came out of the bedroom like you were John Wayne. You watched all those westerns with your dad. You just made bang-bang noises, so your sister got the bright idea to rush over and grab the gun before you got hurt.”

  Jesse’s brain processes the event in a quarter of a second. “Oh my God. Did I?”

  “When she grabbed for it the gun went off. It was an accident,” assures Agent Smith. He remains stoic allowing the information to sink in.

  “But there was all the talk.” Denial coats Jesse’s face.

  “Your mother took you to this hospital where they thought it best if they pretended something else happened. The doctor was sentenced to prison in some malpractice suit years later, but he wanted your family to treat it like a murder caused by someone else to stop your nightmares.”

  “Your mother told me after you grew out of the nightmares they tried to never speak of the incident. She had no idea you harbored any belief she had been murdered or the little lies spoken about your sister would lead you to chase down serial killers.”

  “I should have read the file.” Jesse shakes his head.

  “It was a terrible accident. If you find yourself washed in guilt over your sister remember you brought justice to her death when you helped bring down a group of serial killers. The lives you have prevented from being taken and those dead you have avenged have insured your heart is lighter than a feather.”

  “Is that your way of saying God has forgiven me?” Jesse asks.

  “Finish your degree. Report to the counselor. What you did on your own was impressive. The hours of trolling chat rooms to find Jane was remarkable. We’ve got trained agents who are not as patient as you,” Agent Smith says.

  “My resume highlight with have occurred before I had a law enforcement career. My life was driven by a lie.”

  BLUE EYES PEEK from the bedroom afraid to upset Al. He returned home and unshackled her leg, just leaving her free in the room, Something he’s never done before. The man always follows a routine with any of the women he keeps. She knows it by heart. Some girls are afforded a different routine, but each one has one and he never deviates from it.

  She hangs in the doorway of the bedroom as Al uses a pry bar to disassemble one of the homemade wooden boxes where he stored his women. He stacks the lumber in the fireplace. When he has enough wood for a nice roaring fire he lights it.

  With the flames burning he collapses on the couch. “Come here, baby.” He pats the cushion next to him.

  He’s never invited her. It’s always been commands.

  She hurries to his side. He’s always been gentle with her, treated her kinder and better than the other girls he kept in those boxes. He chokes her, but she knows it is with love. Yes, he has forced her to do horrible things, but he touches her with a kind hand like no other lover ever has. She cuddles next to him, pulling her legs up underneath her body, nuzzling her face against his chest.

  He strokes her hair as he explains, “I’ve been attending therapy, a special group which deals with people with similar tendencies.”

  Knowing there are other poor women trapped the way she is should terrify her, but in a manner, it comforts her knowing there is a strange sisterhood among them. The kind she felt when he had other girls here. She knows they are dead. When he removes one they go to die. She needs him to be happy with her. She desires her family, her old life back, but mostly she wishes to live.

  She only listens. He’ll let her know when she’s allowed to speak. She recalls before when she fought with him, he punished her. She should have never made him punish her. His touch is so gentle when she capitulates.

  “I don’t want you to worry, I released the other girls. They aren’t free, but they won’t be killed. I kept you because I love you.”

  His heart thumps faster in his chest. Somehow it gives her comfort, comfort she won’t die at his hand. She just won’t anger him.

  “I want to take our relationship to the next level of trust to show you how much I love you. No more locked boxes. I’ll burn them, and we’ll make love in the firelight. And no more leg chains. You’re free to go anywhere in the basement. If this works out, and I know your love and trust is genuine, maybe in a year or two I’ll bring you upstairs.”

  He moves her to the floor. She goes limp. She’s learned it’s better if he places her where he desires. His warm, wet lips on her neck match the heat of the fireplace. For the first moment in all the time he has kept and touched her, he makes love without wrapping the dog collar around her neck.

  William Schlichter is an award-winning author and screenwriter specializing in the phantasmagorical world of the undead and science fiction fantasy stories. His popular No Room in Hell and Silver Dragon Chronicles series are fan favorites, and he enjoys spending time on the convention circuit.

  His full-length feature script, Incinta, is a 2014 New Orleans Horror Film Festival finalist, a 2015 Beverly Hills Film Festival full-length feature finalist for a full-length feature, and an Official Selected finalist in the 2016 Irvine Film Festival. William also placed third in the 2013 Broadcast Education Association National Festival of Media Arts for writing a TV Spec Script episode of The Walking Dead.