Trail of knives
The sound of her blood dripping is like music to me. Drip… Drip. it's echo resonating across the empty apartment. A symphony of drips, drops, and echos. Her name was Michelle Ruby.
She was a detective in the NYPD, a good one too, almost caught that school shooter. Her Manhattan apartment sits bloodstained and empty now.
I open my duffel bag and remove my hunter’s knife from it, the familiar handlebar feels comfortable in my hand.
After running through the procedure in my head, I remind myself that my objective is to conceal her identity. Now I have only two teeth left to work on.
I hear a creak and the sound of keys clinking together. Poking my head out the door, I see the door ajar and muddy footprints leading to the kitchen. Uh oh.
Dropping the hunting knife on the floor, I zip up the duffel bag and quickly, but silently make my way to the window in the back of the apartment.
Opening the window I look down, it's about a one-story drop. Looking back I can see that their shadow is approaching the room with the body. I drop the duffel bag below and look up for a second.
The cool night breeze brushes up against my face. Gathering all my will, I crawl out of the window and begin my descent. It isn't that hard to climb down, I just need to avoid windows.
I drop down to the ground after my ¨perilous” climb and start looking for my duffel bag. From my view at the window, it should´ve landed somewhere near these bushes. Ah, there it is.
Grabbing it I begin my way towards the safehouse.
¨ The victim's name was Michelle Ruby,” the autopsy tech stated eagerly, “stabbed in the spine, the knife was found at the scene, still bloody.
Andrews dusted for prints, belonged to an Amanda Logan. ¨
¨Alright, thank you, Mr. Powell.¨ I acknowledged, still flipping through the case file, ¨anything else?¨
¨Yes, the vic`s mandible and all the teeth were removed.¨ he added, adjusting his lab coat, ¨thank you agent Mackenzie.¨
¨No problem.¨ I concluded. Walking out of the room.
Okay, so the prints found at this scene are the same as the ones found at the other scenes.
The other scenes also had the same style as this one, except at the others the knife was in the victim's eye socket. Something must´ve spooked her.
I'll talk to the victim`s daughter, see if she knows anything.
“So, Grace. What time did you get home?¨ I inquired, leaning forward.
¨Around midnight, um I was with my friends and we were watching a movie.
After that I went to pick up some chips and dip, then I came home, put them in the kitchen and went to find my mom,¨ she managed. ¨then...then I..¨ she added, her eyes brimming with tears.
¨ That is all I need, thank you for your time, and I´m very sorry for your loss.¨ I concluded.
That was close. I shouldn't have left the knife behind.
This safehouse is the definition of redneck. Stuffed heads of deer, wolves, and various fauna lined the wood log walls.
You would think that a hunter with a southern accent would walk in and ask, ¨whats cookin,¨ with an animal carcass slung across his shoulder.
That isn't who walks in though. To be exact, the ones who walk in are twenty officers with guns, twelve fully armed FBI men, one detective, and a partridge in a pear tree. Literally.
They have a bomb labeled, ¨partridge in a pear tree.¨ Five bucks say that I can´t get out of this.
They are taking me to the main FBI building, for a ¨proper investigation,¨ which means they are going to get ahold on every piece of ID, DNA, and prints they can get without killing me,
interview me, and then lock me in a high-security prison with a plush cat for the rest of my days.
I have been sitting in this interrogation room for three hours, thirty-two minutes, and forty seconds according to the clock above the one-way glass, where some agent is looking at me.
May as well entertain them.
Why is she making faces at me? This woman is wanted in all fifty states, under two names in a few.
In fifteen years she will sit in the electric chair and be shocked to death, and yet she is smiling at me. No wonder the other agents on her case say she is insane.
Three and a half hours is enough time to stew. Time to interview, hey, that rhymes!
“You were found in a safe house less than a mile from the scene where your prints were on the hunter's knife that killed Michelle ruby, a detective in the NYPD.
” I accused, “Michelle Ruby also fit the general description of all of your past victims, she was slaughtered in a similar fashion as all of your past victims.
We have all the evidence we need, if you confess, it’ll look better and you might get a slightly reduced sentence.”
“No. No, I won’t confess,” Amanda states firmly, “because if I do I will leave this building in a prison outfit and shackles, if I don’t, then I will leave either in a body bag or a free woman.”
“ Oh, and how will you leave this building a ‘free woman’?” I sarcastically inquired, using air quotes.
“ With your help of course, silly!” She giggled, “also I have about twenty agents working for me in this building, two of them are in that room behind you.”
“ Sure, and how exactly do you know that?”
“Because, they showed themselves about four minutes ago, also this interview isn’t being filmed.”
“Oh.” I finished. So, if this isn’t filmed, and what she said is true, then screw it, she's cute, and the system is corrupted anyway. “How do you want to get out of here?”
“You have access to all the floors in this building. Correct?” she asked
“Yes,” I replied
To get out of this building we need to first get to the back entrance, from where we need to commandeer a van, meander around the city until every corner of it has seen the car we steal,
” she instructed. “can you do that?”
“Yes, I’m Louise by the way.”
“Alright Louise lets go,” she added with a smile.
Holy guacamole she is pretty. And she is joining me in the serial killer business. Awesome! Still, we need to actually escape. Let’s do this.
Opening the door she holds my hands behind my back and pushes me through the hall to the elevator, once we got to the elevator and the door closed…
“ This elevator will take us to the second floor, from here we’ll take the emergency exit stairs to the back entrance” she updated, loosening her grip on my wrists.
“Okay, do you have a van lined up?” I asked, turning around to face her.
“Yes,” she responded, “ I talked to my buddy in equipment, he has one lined up for us.”
“Okay,” I concluded turning around and putting my hands behind my back.
Amanda takes them and we turn to face the door. Walking out a man bumps into us, he is on my side, but Louise doesn’t know that.
“Agent, where are you going?” he inquires.
“The suspect has to be taken to a high-security prison ASAP,” Louise replied sharply
“I can take her off your hands if you want?” he pressed
“No, I am the primary on this case, I will do it.” Louise insisted. I shook my head at him, letting him know he can leave it alone.
“Alright,” he sighed, admitting defeat and walking away.
With the exit right in front of us, we make a beam line towards it, pushing through people as fast as we can. Finally, we reach the exit.
Opening the door we step outside to see a van waiting for us.
She guides me towards the door and opens it for me, I climb in. the van is covered in FBI logos, merchandise, and fake weaponry. Sure. totally discreet. Oh well, better than nothing.
“Is this thirty-sixth street?” Louise asked me impatiently.
“No, this is thirty-fifth, the next one is thirty-sixth,” I informed, leaning back in my seat and putting my feet up on the dash.
“Why do have to go through the whole city?” Louise asked
“ So the cameras have a hard time tracking our route,” I reminded her, “ and after this, we head for the border, Towards British Columbia.”
“Psst, hey! We’re here, we’re at the border!” I whisper-shouted to Amanda, who lay sleeping in the passenger seat.
“Huh, what?” she asked groggily, sitting up in her seat
“We’re here, we’re at the border,” I repeated, leaning over towards Amanda.
“Oh, okay, I’ll get the fake passports,” she stated absentmindedly, ruffling through the duffel bag.
“You brought fake passports?” I asked.
So it turns out that Canada is huge. Getting from Ontario to Manitoba took an entire day. Only stopping for gas and bathroom breaks. At least the other states, no, provinces are smaller.
We finally made it. The safehouse in BC. the entire trip from the Ontario borders to this safehouse took three.freaking.days, I don’t think I’ll ever sit down again.
Louise and I have lived here for six months, we are settled in and have become bored. I think its time to start choosing a victim with her.
“So I was thinking, Tamera Kelly, forty-three years old, blonde, dirty cop.” I proposed, showing Louise a picture.
“How about Monica Jones, thirty-two, brunette, convicted felon” she offered, handing the file back to me.
“How about those jerks that wouldn’t stop playing their horrible rap music at the gas station in Winnipeg?” I suggested jokingly.
“Actually yeah, that would be nice,” she affirmed
“I’ll get my gun, you grab the garbage bags and the bleach?” I offered
“Sure. don’t forget the knives and ammo too.” she reminded
“Will do. Meet back in twenty?”
“Yep,” I affirmed