Serial Killer Z : Infection
Philip Harris
Contents
1. Red Blood
2. Questions
3. Speeches
4. 289
5. The House
6. Intrusion
7. Spencer
8. Crime Scene
9. Cracks
10. 290
11. Free
12. Escape
13. Suspicions
14. Night
15. At the Edge of the End
A Sneak Peak at Serial Killer Z
About the Author
Also by Philip Harris
Chapter 1
Red Blood
The man strapped to the table in front of me was guilty. He was guilty of cheating on his wife. Or guilty of beating his children. Or of stealing. Or of any one of a thousand things that humans feel they can get away with.
I tugged on the chains holding him in place. They rattled slightly, but they’d hold firm. I tightened his gag, not that he really needed one. We were in an abandoned house deep in the city’s lower east side. The only people who would hear him if he cried out would be drug addicts and hookers, and they would leave well enough alone. Screams in the middle of the night would send them scurrying for cover, not calling for help.
I could have chosen one of those lost souls as my subject, but I didn’t. This man, Derek Hinkler, just felt right. He was middle-aged and middle class, married with two teenage children. He lived a banal, uneventful life. But he was guilty.
The shadow that lives inside me could see that guilt. It coated him—an oil-slick blackness that left its stain on everything and everyone he touched. And because the shadow could see it, so could I. Every man, woman, and child has that shadow somewhere inside them, but I’m one of the few that accepts and embraces that side of me—one of the only honest people in the world.
Hinkler’s eyes were closed, but I knew he was awake. His breathing was too self-consciously even.
The plastic sheeting on the floor crackled as I turned to the metal cart I’d found in the house’s basement. My tool kit lay on top. The brown leather case was old and scuffed, and the logo on the oval of metal attached to the lid had long since worn smooth. The latch was new, however. I’d replaced that to keep my tools safe.
“I know you’re awake.”
The breathing hitched then resumed its deceitful rhythm.
Hinkler’s eyes were still closed. I slapped him lightly on the cheek a couple of times. His eyes flicked open. He stared at me with the open defiance of someone who doesn’t know their position is hopeless yet.
“Thank you. My name is Edward Taylor.”
Hinkler replied, but the gag and the tape holding it in place muffled the words. He struggled, pulling at the chains.
I reached up and grabbed the edge of the tape. Slowly, I pulled it away from his mouth until it was hanging from his cheek. He spat out the gag.
“Ah! You sick son of a bitch! What the—”
I pressed my finger against his lips. “Shhhh. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
He pulled his head away. “You need to let me go. My brother-in-law is a cop.”
He could have been telling the truth. The way he’d jumped to brother-in-law rather than just brother lent his threat an air of legitimacy.
I didn’t care. I’ve heard that all serial killers want to get caught, but I haven’t reached that point. Not yet. I’d followed Hinkler for weeks. I’d tracked his movements, the people he met and the places he went. Every moment of his last night on earth had been planned to the most minute detail. His police officer brother-in-law wouldn’t find anything that would lead him to me.
When I didn’t acknowledge his threat, he pulled at the chains. He was bigger than me, probably forty pounds heavier, and most of that was muscle. I had a bruise on my right side where he’d elbowed me when I grabbed him in the car park of his favorite bar. Despite his strength, the chains stayed in place.
“I mean it. He’ll be looking for me already!”
I turned back to the cart holding my tools. I rested my hands on top of the case and counted to four, then unclipped it and raised the lid. Inside, there were six scalpels and six spare blades nestled in a bed of black velvet. Their blades glinted in the light from the bare bulb hanging overhead. I ran my fingers across the handles, savoring the moment.
I made four passes before the shadow made its selection. My fingers stopped on the third scalpel. Like my subject chained to the table behind me, that particular blade just felt right. I pulled it from the case and closed the lid.
Hinkler tried again. “Hey, look!” His voice was still angry, but there were the beginnings of fear there, too. “I can give you money; my wife is loaded. She’ll give you however much you want.”
He was probably lying, but it didn’t matter either way. I kept my gaze focused on the scalpel. I turned my hand slightly, and light bounced off the blade.
“Come on, buddy. Why are you doing this?”
I looked at him. “You’re the only one who can answer that.”
“What! Look, buddy, I haven’t done anything wrong.”
I took a step forward and placed the scalpel against the man’s chest. The chains rattled as he tried to pull away.
Black tendrils of guilt rose from around his body. They crawled across his chest and wrapped themselves around the scalpel. They pressed on it, urging me to make the cut.
“Please, don’t! I’ll give you whatever you want. I promise.”
I pulled the gag back across Hinkler’s mouth.
His eyes widened, and he bucked and twisted in one final attempt to free himself. The chain around his right wrist slipped. For a moment, there was a brief flicker of relief in his eyes, then he realized he still wasn’t free, and terror took its place.
My shadow self, the part I keep hidden behind a mask, shifted. I could feel it flowing through my body like smoke. Eager. Hungry. Gradually, the shadow erased the rest of the world until all that was left was the scalpel and the man lying on the table.
I pressed the blade into Hinkler’s bare chest and began to cut.
The shadow consumed me.
By the time the shadow receded again, Hinkler was dead.
Thick rivers of blood ran down his chest, arms and legs. A dark pool lay on the table around him. The edges were already beginning to dry. His head was tipped back, and more blood soaked his throat. Slashes crisscrossed his chest and revealed the pink meat beneath his pale skin. Looking at him, I felt nothing. The energy that had driven me to hunt was gone.
The shadow was gone, too. For now, it was sated. My emotions were mixed. The shadow was undeniably a part of me and something that I’d shared my life with since I was a child, but with each kill the shadow grew stronger. How much longer before it consumed me completely?
I wiped my hands on a piece of cloth and then used a second piece to remove the blood from the scalpel. When it was clean, I clipped it back into the case with its brothers. I closed the lid and pressed the catch back into place. It made a tiny clicking sound. The kill was over.
I clicked the pause icon on the video player. The image on the computer screen froze with me standing beside the cart, my fingers resting on the case. The camera had been placed in the corner of the room and positioned so that it captured the entirety of my work perfectly. The image was crystal clear. Both my identity and that of the man I’d just watched the shadow kill would be easy to establish.
But who had put the camera there, and why had they sent me the video?
Chapter 2
Questions
My car’s back wheel caught the edge of the cu
rb as I turned in to the car park of Hunter Neurologics Research. Plastic scraped against concrete. I was distracted, tired.
The video had kept me awake. Watching the kill, reliving it, had reawoken the shadow. I could feel it, even as I showered, ate breakfast and brushed my teeth. Everyone I saw in the thirty minutes it took me to drive across the city to work had been a potential subject. I’d need to find a way to address the shadow’s needs soon, or they’d overwhelm me.
The video’s existence was a problem in itself. Someone had recorded me at my most intimate moment. It was the serial killer’s equivalent of a celebrity sex tape.
When I unleash the shadow, it consumes me completely. All I care about is the subject beneath my scalpel. The entire world could catch fire around me, and I wouldn’t notice. Giving in to the shadow leaves me exposed—to the police, to a random passerby, to whoever made that video.
I tried to clear my mind as I rolled the car through the underground parking lot, looking for an empty space. I was late, and most of the spots were already full. Finally, I pulled in to an awkwardly shaped slot on the far side of the garage. I was about as far from the elevator as I could get, but that suited me fine.
The elevator doors were open when I arrived, but there was no one inside. I pressed the button for the ground level. Another car drove past as the doors slid closed. The elevator whined softly as it rose before depositing me just outside the main building.
There was a man standing near the entrance. He was wearing a bulky jacket, and he had his hands stuffed into his pockets. His face was covered with a thin coating of stubble, and at first I thought it was some homeless guy looking for a handout. At the sight of me, he started walking in my direction.
I was about to tell him I didn’t have any change when he said, “Doctor Taylor, can I talk to you for a moment?”
The question caught me off guard. I slowed.
The man moved into my path. “My name is Doug Spencer, I’m from the Sun.”
I increased my speed again and brushed past him. “I have no interest in talking to the press.”
“Is it true that Hunter Neurologics is experimenting on coma patients?”
The door was only a few feet away. I raised my hand, waving him away. “No comment.”
“Do you think the work you do is ethical, Doctor Taylor?”
“I’m just a lab assistant.” It was a lie, but I regretted engaging with him immediately.
“But still, you must have an opinion. Performing drug trials on human be—”
“No comment.”
Spencer dodged around me, trying to prevent me from getting inside the lab. I could see the security guard just inside the building, but he was focused entirely on his phone.
I moved to get past Spencer, but he stepped in front of me again. “Putting aside the ethical questions, is the research Hunter Neurologics is doing even legal?”
“I have nothing to say to you. Now, if you could let me past before I call security.”
He held my gaze for a few seconds. I thought he was going to continue interrogating me, then he stepped to one side.
“Thank you.”
I pulled the door open and went inside.
Spencer called out to me. “How do you sleep at night, Edward?”
I let the door slam behind me.
The journalist pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear. He started talking, but I couldn’t make out the words or read his lips. A breeze cut across the car park, and he raised his hand and covered his other ear. He looked up at the lab as he spoke to his editor or whoever was on the line.
What had he meant by that last question? Was he still talking about Hunter Neurologics?
Outside, Doctor Cali Hart had just walked out of the elevator from the parking garage and was heading toward the lab. Spencer wasn’t taking any notice of her.
“Everything okay, Doctor Taylor?”
The voice made me jump. I spun around to find the security guard peering at me.
I took a deep breath and tried to slow my heart. “There’s a journalist hanging around outside.”
The guard, Barker according to his name badge, harrumphed. “You wanna I should go talk to him?”
“No, there’s no need.”
“Okay, Doctor Taylor.”
The security guard sounded puzzled.
“Thank you.” I was trying to seem upbeat and relaxed, but after the video, Spencer’s questions had unsettled me. I hurried across the lobby and ducked into the restroom.
I groaned inwardly. Doctor Lewis Owen was standing at the sink, adjusting his slicked-back hair. He glanced at me as I came in.
“Good morning, Taylor. You just get here?” His tone was vaguely dismissive. Like most researchers at Hunter Neurologics, he looked down on me. Despite my doctorate, I was little more than vermin to him.
“Yes,” I said and walked directly toward the nearest stall. I hurried inside and locked the door before Owen could say anything else.
Carefully, I lowered the toilet lid and sat down.
My hands were shaking, and I could feel the shadow churning inside me. I tried to still it, but Spencer’s final question was lodged in my mind like a splinter. At face value, he’d just continued his previous line of questioning. He was digging into Hunter Neurologics. Surely, I just happened to be the next person to arrive at the lab? But if that was the case, why hadn’t he gone to talk to Doctor Hart? Was he singling me out?
The restroom’s hand dryer whirred into life.
“Don’t be late for the staff meeting, Taylor.”
It was Owen again.
“I won’t.”
A fresh fear hit me. What if it was the journalist that had sent me the video? Maybe he’d been following me?
The door to the washroom opened, and I heard Owen greet someone else on his way out. Water splashed into a sink, and the new arrival started whistling tunelessly.
The shadow rose up through my subconscious. My mind was churning, and the whistling only seemed to amplify my discomfort. I clenched my fists. There was a way to ease the pressure on my mind. Most people would be heading to our morning meeting now. I was alone with this other man. I could be on him before he knew what was happening.
I let out a grunt. “No!”
The whistling stopped. A pause. “Are you okay in there?”
I rubbed my hand over my face. “Er, yeah. I was just on the phone. Sorry.”
There was another pause, and the water stopped running. “You sure? You sound kinda—”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”
I waited for the man to say something else, but he didn’t. The hand dryer started up again. I checked my watch. The staff meeting would be starting any minute. Owen might be an asshole, but he was right. I didn’t want to be late.
My mind slipped back to the journalist, and a nervous feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.
The dryer stopped, and I heard the door open. As soon as it closed, I unlocked the cubicle and went out into the restroom. I washed my hands as quickly as I could then hurried to the staff meeting. I needed to find out if Spencer had been targeting me or if other people were being approached.
Chapter 3
Speeches
There are fourteen people working in my department at Hunter Neurologics, and every one of them was in the meeting room when I arrived. The lead researcher and company founder, Jack Hunter, had already started talking. He stopped when I opened the door. I muttered an apology, but he stared pointedly at me as I shuffled past a couple of people to an empty space. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Owen. He was watching me with a slight smile on his lips.
Off to my right, one of the lab assistants was looking at the front page of a newspaper. She glanced at me then handed the paper to the man standing next to her. He flicked it to straighten out the fold then frowned.
Hunter had started talking again. It was a familiar speech—a call to arms that was supposed to inspire us for the rest of the
day. He gave some variation of the same monologue every day, and it had gotten old very quickly.
The woman I’d seen in the car park, Doctor Hart, was standing next to me.
I leaned closer to her. “Doctor Hart, did that journalist talk to you on the way in today?”
She frowned and shook her head.
“So…” Hunter said.
His voice was suddenly loud, and when I looked toward him, he was staring directly at me. I tried to look as though I was focused on his words.
Once it was clear I was paying attention, he continued. “Now is a critical time in the company’s research.”
The newspaper had been passed on to someone else. Their lips were moving slightly as they read. They lowered the paper and looked around. It was one of the lab technicians, and her gaze caught mine for a second. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she frowned at me. Then the man standing next to her, the IT guy Miles Patterley, nudged her shoulder, and she gave him the paper.
I tried to look at the headline as she handed it over, but the angle was wrong. What was so interesting that everyone needed to see that particular newspaper? It had been two days since I’d killed Hinkler. I’d disposed of the body in the forest far outside the city, but what if the police had found it?
Hunter’s words were lost on me again as I watched the newspaper work its way across the room. What were the chances that the police would find Hinkler’s body the day after I was sent a video of the shadow killing him? Had they sent the police a copy?
The newspaper reached Doctor Hart, and I craned my neck to read the headline.
I caught sight of the word KILLER before she saw me and pulled it close to her chest, smiling. “Sharesies, Edward.”
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