 
## Spells Murder

A Todd Williams Story

by

Maxwell Cunningham

Todd Williams' retirement is cut short when he discovers a mutilated corpse near his beachside home in Myrtle Beach. In a note left on the body, the killer vows to strike again each day. As the bodies pile up and body parts go missing, Todd teams up with a local detective to put together the pieces of a puzzle that will lead them to a shocking discovery about the killer's true intentions.

Copyright © 2013 by Maxwell Cunningham

www.maxwellcunningham.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

WARNING: This book contains adult language and situations that are not suitable for children.

* * *

Day 1

Todd Williams wiped the sweat from his face and listened to the squawking of the seagulls that flew overhead. His body baked in the sun, and the smell of the salt water filled his nostrils. He looked out at the crashing waves that glistened in the afternoon sun. It was the end of March, and North Myrtle Beach was still relatively void of vacationers.

As he looked out at the ocean, only a few people blocked his view as they strolled past, mostly people who owned the few houses that were not rental properties. Even some of the owners of the beachside rental houses would occupy their houses before the offseason had concluded and peak season hit. Even with the lower rates they offered, most people chose to vacation over the summer. As a beach-side homeowner, Todd did not plan to rent his house out during peak season. He wanted to stay there all year long, regardless of the astronomical rents that such houses commanded during peak season. Besides, it was his only residence, and he couldn't imagine himself being anywhere else.

Todd left out a great sigh and turned to face his wife, Melinda, who sat to his left in a blue and white striped beach chair identical to his. "I know I say this every day, but moving down here was a fantastic idea," he said.

Melinda smiled. Her brown eyes matched her wavy hair that flowed down past her shoulders. "It sure was."

Todd returned his gaze to the Atlantic and could practically feel the stress drip from his body. He had learned from his most recent visit to his new doctor that his blood pressure was much lower since he arrived to the area. Though memories of his past lingered, he found solace in his new life.

They lay in their reclined chairs until their beachside home behind them hid the sun and they were left in the shadows.

"Let's pack it in," Todd said.

Todd folded up his chair, stepped into his sandals, and secured the straps around his ankles. Melinda did the same, and they walked the seventy-odd paces to their back doorstep. The warm sand tickled his toes as he walked towards the two-story house that they had recently purchased. A single flight of wooden steps led to the back porch that sat about nine feet above the rocks below. The wood of the porch was cracked from years of sun exposure. Todd knew the house was a fixer-upper, but now that he was in retirement, he was able to tackle one project at a time. He told himself that the back porch was the first thing to fix. He knew a coat of sealant would do the trick, but every time he was ready to start the job, he looked out at the calming scene, and every time, decided that the project could wait another day.

As they walked towards the sliding screen door that led to the kitchen, he saw Melinda's hand point towards the chipping wood. "When are you going to—"

"—Tomorrow," Todd said, smiling. "I'll get to it tomorrow." He was unsure if he would actually do what he had promised. In his mind, he was in retirement, so it can always wait till tomorrow. He had spent years doing today what could be pushed off until tomorrow. Now he would revel in the fact that he could do the opposite. He could procrastinate if he wanted to and nobody would die as a result. Nobody's lives were in his hands, and he was glad.

Once unlocked, he slid the door to the left.

"After you," he said.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," she said.

"Go get started," he said. "Maybe I'll join you..."

Melinda giggled. "Todd, you're so bad."

He smiled and looked into her eyes before she turned around and entered the kitchen.

"I try," he said.

He heard her sandals clap against the Pergo flooring in the kitchen as she walked to the refrigerator. Outside, he heard the occasional gust of wind and the chatter of seagulls. He took a deep breath and thought for a moment of how happy he was.

His thoughts of happiness were stopped cold by a horrifying scream. Todd raced to the edge of his porch and peered down the beach in the direction from which the scream came. His heart raced at the sound that reminded him of the horrors of his old life, the one he had left back in Edinboro.

For a moment, he thought his symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder were reemerging. Perhaps the scream was a figment of his imagination. He had come so far in his treatments and meditation, but perhaps a small sliver of his past had come back into his mind in the form of a sickening scream.

Then he heard Melinda's voice behind him. "What was that noise?" she asked. "Is someone in trouble?"

The fact that she heard the same sound confirmed that it wasn't an auditory hallucination. Someone was in danger.

Todd turned around and looked at Melinda, who had a concerned look on her face. "Lock the door," he said. "I'll be right back."

Her voice was quelled with fear. "Be careful, Todd."

Todd returned to the warm sand and surveyed his surroundings. His arm instinctively moved towards his side where he normally holstered his beloved .38 Smith and Wesson Special though it was not there. He reached into his pocket, but all he found was his cell phone. He knew there was no time to waste in running up to their bedroom and grabbing his gun from the lockbox. No time when someone was in trouble.

The beach was empty since most beach-goers were fixing dinner after a long day of uninterrupted sunshine. Before he could move, he heard a second scream, this one more blood-curdling than the first. He ran in the direction of wretched sound, unsure of what he'd discover. In his mind, he thought of all of the possibilities. He prepared himself for an atrocious scene, one out of the nightmares he used to have on a nightly basis. The nightmares that had been becoming more rare.

He expected to hear a third scream, but it did not come. As he ran, he looked for any sign of life, but there was none. A few people ran onto their back porches and looked around, but none joined Todd to search for the source of the terrible screaming.

On his left, large dunes separated the beach from the sandy street. He alternated his gaze between the vacant beach and the dunes. The beachgrass swayed in the increasingly hostile wind. Perhaps a wicked storm was brewing, appropriate for the storm in his mind that had been pacified for so long. Part of him hoped the scream would be from a couple who was fooling around, maybe from a day of drinking too many martinis on the beach. He knew that was wishful thinking. He knew that it wasn't as innocent as that.

He continued to scan the dunes, and noticed something dark in the sand. He ran closer and saw a dark human form lying amongst a plethora of beachgrass. A body.

He ran towards the body and, in seconds, realized it was that of a woman facedown in the sand. Her right foot was buried in the sand, with only the top of her pale ankle visible.

Todd spoke with caution. "Ma'am. Are you okay?"

No response.

He stepped closer.

"Ma'am?"

Still no response. He crouched down next to her and saw blood dripping from a gash in her throat. Drop by drop, it reddened the sand below.

He studied her face and saw something sticking out from her closed mouth.

His voice was quiet. "What in the world?"

He stood up, retrieved his cell phone from his shorts pocket, and dialed 911.

After a single ring, the operator answered. "Is this an emergency?"

Todd looked at the woman who lay motionless on the sand. Then he quickly turned his gaze to the dark clouds near the horizon. "I found a dead woman along the dunes," Todd said.

"Are you sure she is dead? Please use your—"

"Yes, I'm sure," Todd said. "Her throat is slashed. Blood is everywhere."

"We'll send someone right away. Please stay where you are."

Todd pocketed his cell phone and waited. He looked at the body, hoping to see any sign of life from her. No movement from her torso from breathing. No twitching from her extremities. She was motionless, and he knew she would remain that way. There was no doubt in his mind.

Five minutes elapsed before he heard distant sirens growing in volume. A minute after he heard the first sign of help, an ambulance and an unmarked cop car arrived at the scene.

A single medic, wearing all white, rushed from the ambulance and crouched down next to the woman. Todd looked at the thin, blond-haired man who looked no more than thirty-five as he viewed the gaping wound in her neck. The medic moved towards the woman's feet and brushed the sand from her right foot. Todd stepped back in horror when he saw the stump where her foot used to be and the fresh blood that flowed from it. "Looks like her foot was cut off recently. How long ago did you find her?" the man asked.

"Less than ten minutes ago," Todd said. "I was at my house when I heard a scream. Then I rushed over and found her like this."

Todd heard a car door slam and moments later heard a deep voice from behind. "I'm Detective John Markley and this is Officer Sam Riley. We need to ask you a few questions."

Todd turned around and his mouth opened slowly, but before he could speak, the detective's voice began: "Please state your name."

"Todd Williams."

The detective's eyes squinted and he cocked his head slightly. He wore thick-framed glasses and donned a bristly mustache. He scratched the top of his balding head and left out a great sigh. "Todd Williams, where do I know that name?"

"I was an officer in Edinboro—"

"That's right. Remember that, Riley? That was a mess up there," John said.

"Yeah, a big mess," Todd said. "I'm retired now."

"I don't blame you after that charade," Riley said, his voice a bit higher than John's. Unlike the detective, his head was covered with thick, blond hair that flowed over his tanned forehead. His bright blue eyes looked out of place.

"So tell me, Mr. Williams," John continued, "did you see anyone other than this woman? Perhaps someone running from the scene."

"Only a few people on their porches on the way here," Todd said. "I heard her scream twice and found her just the way you're seeing her now."

The detective crouched down and viewed the body. "The foot was cut off post mortem," John said. "No way she would only scream twice while being cut apart."

The medic lifted the leg. "This isn't a hack-job," he said. "This guy knew what he was doing. The cut is very clean."

"How long did it take you to find the body after you heard the first scream?" John asked.

"Not long. Five minutes at most."

"That's quite a quick amputation," the medic said.

"Premeditated," John said. "Like the perp targeted his victim and knew that he wanted to take her foot...but why?"

Todd heard another vehicle arrive at the scene. Riley looked at the medic. "The coroner is here," he said.

The medic stood up and walked towards the arriving coroner. Todd looked back at the detective while the coroner pronounced the woman deceased. Riley walked away and began securing the scene and ensured that anyone on the site was properly logged and finger and shoe-printed. Todd heard the clicking of cameras and saw more people arriving on the scene.

Todd saw John walk towards the woman's head. In moments, he heard his voice. "Well what do we have here? Riley, come check this out."

Riley ran over to the detective and wringed his gloved hands together. "What's up, sir?"

"Fish this...whatever it is...out of her mouth."

Todd watched as Riley pried the woman's mouth open and retrieved a soggy slip of paper.

"What does it say?" John asked.

Riley stared at the note for a minute and then let out sigh. "I haven't seen anything like this before." He cleared his throat and read the letter out loud.

Todd listened carefully as the officer spoke.

"It says 'And so here begins the bloody game, the one I was destined to start. Blood will spill once daily until you stop me, if you can. Let the games begin.'"

"Good lord," John said. "We have a sick bastard on our hands."

John, Riley, and Todd stood in silence as several men and women continued to comb the scene for clues. Todd heard the waves crashing down in the distance as the seagulls continued their rant. He thought about the letter and felt his stomach turn. His new life of serenity and calmness would be no more. Not with a killer on the loose.

Finally, with a somber tone, John repeated the last line of the note: "Let the games begin."

* * *

Shortly after sunset, the crime scene was cleared. The body was transported to the coroner's office to undergo a thorough autopsy, and any miscellaneous evidence was taken to the lab for DNA and other testing.

Todd walked along the empty beach back to his house and felt the cooling sand tickle his feet.

"Let the games begin," he said under his breath. "So much for retirement."

The lights from the seaside houses did little to illuminate the shore. Along the way, he often looked over his shoulder, unsure of whether or not he would be victim number two. Can't be, he thought. Only one victim a day. But he had no way of knowing if the killer would cap the body count to only one a day. Perhaps he would make an exception. Todd didn't want to be the exception.

Back at his house, he locked the door behind him. He double checked the deadbolt before greeting Melinda with a solemn nod.

"What happened?" Melinda asked. "Was someone hurt?"

"More than hurt," Todd said. "Killed."

Melinda's eyes widened. "Killed?"

Todd walked to the kitchen island, pulled a stool out, and sat down. "Just when I thought we were somewhere safe for a change," he said. "Now there's some lunatic roaming around..."

"How were they—"

"Slit throat. I found the woman face down in a sand dune. Poor thing didn't know what hit her. Her foot was cut off."

Melinda's expression reflected extreme disgust.

Todd continued: "It's horrible, I know. And they found a note in her mouth—"

"A note?"

Todd nodded. "They need to catch this guy, Melinda. Whoever it is wrote something about killing one person a day...until they catch him. I'm not sure how good the authorities are here, but they have their work cut out for them."

"Oh my," Melinda said.

"Yeah. And I was the first on scene, so they don't have any witnesses. There will be more blood spilled, I'm sure. This guy knew what he was doing. Times like this I'm glad we have an alarm system."

"So what are we going to do, Todd?"

Todd looked at Melinda with a look of concern. "Hunker down and let them do their job, I suppose. What else can we do?"

"Maybe you can help them. You have a lot of experience with—"

"I can't get involved. I'm not a cop anymore. I'm retired and want to stay that way. Besides, citizens shouldn't interfere with a criminal investigation, and that's exactly what I'd be doing. I'd be interfering."

"I suppose you are right."

Todd stood up and meandered to the refrigerator. He opened the door and felt the cool air rush towards him. "So what's for dinner?"

"So you're just going to pretend like nothing is going on?" Melinda asked. "We need to figure out what to do."

"Nothing we can do but lock our doors and be aware of our surroundings," Todd said, leaning his head into the refrigerator. "We aren't pretending that nothing is going on. We're simply going to let the police do their jobs."

"Assuming they know how..."

"That's all we can do," Todd said.

Melinda sighed.

Todd closed the door to the refrigerator and walked towards Melinda. He wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear. "Baby, you know I'd never let anything happen to you. I'm here to protect you."

Melinda's soft voice made its way into Todd's ear. "I know." She took a deep breath and when she exhaled, it tickled his ear. "I know."

Following dinner, which consisted of two microwave entrees, they put on their pajamas and, like normal, nestled on the couch. The only thing that was different was the fact that Todd had his .38 sitting on his lap.

The sun had set an hour prior and their house was shrouded in darkness. Todd stroked his gun nervously as he looked at the front door. Every so often, Todd saw the glow from their motion detection lights at the front of the house, between two garage doors. Perhaps it was set off by the small tree they had in the front yard. When the winds picked up, the branches would sway and sometimes set off the detectors. Todd hoped it was something as simple as that. He stared into the foyer and saw the light pour through a small window near the top of the front door. Maybe it's the tree again, he thought. Or maybe that crazy bastard is on my front lawn, plotting his entry.

Todd clenched his fists and pursed his lips. No, he thought. Can't be. Only trees in the wind. Trees in the wind. Several minutes later, the lights turned off and darkness consumed the front porch.

"What are you staring at?" Melinda asked. "Do you think someone is out there?"

Todd shook his head. "Nobody's out there. Just trees in the wind. Or a passing car. Besides, I'm sure with word spreading about a killer on the loose, nobody will be out tonight...until the killer is caught anyway."

"How do you know everyone knows already?" Melinda asked. "It's the beginning of the peak season, Todd. People from out of town don't sit around and watch the local news. They'll be out and about, enjoying their vacation."

Todd turned on the television. "Let's just relax and watch a movie. A comedy would be appropriate."

He knew he needed to get his mind off of the killing. He needed to escape.

Melinda got up and walked into the foyer. There, she swiped her hand along the wall and flipped the switch to the front porch light. By the sound of the familiar pattern of beeps emanating from the wall mount keypad, he knew that she set the alarm.

Todd set his gun on the coffee table and exhaled. "What do you want to watch? Weekend at Bernie's?" he asked.

Melinda walked back towards the couch and giggled softly. "That might be the worst movie I've ever seen."

"You can't be serious," Todd said. "It's a masterpiece."

"I'd sooner read a mystery novel or something."

"Do you think reading another one of your books, where there is a mysterious murder is really the best thing for you right now?" Todd asked. "You're already scared out of your mind. Let's just watch a funny movie." Todd walked over to a rack containing his collection of DVDs and looked through them. He heard the wind pick up outside as he stared at the spines of his favorite titles. Finally, he turned around and smiled at Melinda. "How about Spaceballs?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's better than the Bernie movie, but not by much."

"Now that," Todd said, his pointer finger in the air, "is a masterpiece!"

"Sold," Melinda said plainly.

Todd loaded the DVD and returned to the couch. The wind picked up even more and in moments, he heard the sound of heavy rain pelting against the roof.

"How many times have you seen this movie?" Melinda asked.

"I lost count years ago," he said.

Todd saw lightning flash outside their house and heard the resulting thunder a few seconds later. A few more flashes lit up the windows and each resulted in a crescendo of thunder. Melinda grabbed his hand and squeezed tight. He pressed a button on the controller to start the movie, but before the opening credits appeared on the screen, the power went out.

"Oh, Todd," Melinda said.

"Just the storm," Todd said.

Before Melinda could reply, the lights came back on and flickered several times before staying on.

"See. Nothing to worry about," Todd said.

They watched the movie while the storm passed through. In the back of Todd's mind, he knew there was something to worry about. He knew a killer was on the loose and could be anywhere, though the likelihood of the methodical, homicidal maniac being on their property during a thunderstorm was slim. Todd enjoyed the movie with the love of his life and tried to keep those horrible thoughts in the back of his mind. Tomorrow was another day and Todd didn't know what would come. If the note were written by the hand of a person who kept their word, he knew horror would descend upon the community he had come to love.

Day 2

Todd and Melinda woke to the sun on Tuesday morning, but unlike their normal routine of drinking a smoothie and strolling along the beach, they opted for just the smoothie. A stroll was far too dangerous with a maniac on the loose.

"We're staying in today," Melinda said, sipping her smoothie. "No point in risking it."

"How long will we be hermits?" Todd asked. "Until they find this creep?"

"That sounds like the best plan," Melinda said.

"What if they never find the killer," Todd said. "There are cases that go unsolved for years. There are some that are still unsolved. We can't just hide in our house forever."

"We'll see," she said. She took another sip and smiled. "Good job on this smoothie. Perfect blend of yogurt, bananas, strawberries..."

"And spinach," Todd said with a grin.

"I can't taste it," Melinda said. "That's a good thing. I hate spinach."

When Todd reached the last drop of his smoothie, a loud slurp sound echoed off of the wood cabinets. He smacked his lips together to signal that he was satiated. "I know you hate it, but it's good for you. That's why I slip a little in every morning. I want to make sure you're healthy."

"That's why I love you, Todd. You're so good to me." Melinda finished her smoothie and stood up from the kitchen table. "I'll take your cup," she said.

She walked over to the dishwasher and placed the cups inside.

They loafed around for hours that morning, leaving the house only to get the newspaper and eventually the mail.

Todd sat at the kitchen table with Melinda across from him. He looked at the front cover and saw the story about the murder the day before. "They published the note. Damn fools. The killer is probably getting off on the publicity. That's why they leave notes in the first place. They seek all the attention they can, and since they can't get it any other way..."

"I think it's good they published it," Melinda said. "The public needs to know the intent of the killer. They need to know he intends to kill again. It's right there in black and white."

Todd shook his head. "You don't think the fact a killer is loose is enough to get people on edge? They know he killed once and people are skittish, you know?"

"I know. I'm one of the skittish ones. And so are you."

"I'm sure if they are like us, they figure he's going to do it again," Todd said. "Killers love the rush they get. It's addictive."

Melinda stood up from the kitchen table and walked slowly towards the refrigerator. "I suppose so. I'm just so worried about what today may bring."

"Only time will tell," Todd said. He folded the paper in half and placed it in the middle of the table. "Let's watch another movie or something. We can't sit around and talk about this all day. We'll go crazy."

"If I have to watch another stupid movie, I might actually go crazy," Melinda said.

Todd walked over to his collection of movies. He pulled out another favorite title and smiled. "I guess that's just a risk we'll have to take."

* * *

Detective John Markley stood over a man's body as the sun set in the west. The waves crashed nearby, and the winds from an offshore storm whipped the little bit of hair that remained on his head.

Riley stood beside him with his slender arms crossed.

"Another one bites the dust," Riley said calmly.

John adjusted his thick glasses and stared at the bloody corpse. "Just as promised, I suppose."

"No slit throat this time. Strangled. Look at these marks on his neck."

John walked around the corpse and crouched down to take a better look. "There seems to be no sign of a struggle. Maybe chloroformed from behind." He parted the thick hair on the man's head to check for a bruise. "Or maybe he was hit over the head to disorient him before he was strangled. No witnesses again, almost like the killer only targets loners."

Riley walked towards the man's feet. "Left foot is gone from this one. His blood was draining into the sand just like yesterday's victim, so it's clear that he did his little surgery here. Do you remember which foot was missing from the woman's body? Was it the left?"

"No. It was the right foot," John said.

"And another note," Riley said.

John nodded. "Attention hog." He looked out at the ocean and its vastness, and thought about the killings. Why was the killer taking the body parts? Why was he leaving notes behind?

"What do you think of the note, sir?" Riley asked.

John reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed bag that contained the second note from the killer in the same font as the first. "I think it's written by a lunatic, but that's quite obvious."

"Read it to me again," Riley said.

John cleared his throat and read the note aloud. "'Day two has come and it's obvious who is winning the game. Two to nothing is the score and what must be so maddening for you is that you only need to score a single point to win. Until tomorrow...'"

Both men stood in silence. John thought about how accurately the note portrayed their situation. They only needed one point in the game, the point they'd earn from taking down the killer.

"Any leads?" Riley asked.

"None."

Riley shook his head. "Nothing? This guy didn't leave a single piece of usable evidence besides the notes?"

"Zilch," John said. "We're dealing with someone who is very methodical. Very precise. But one slip up, and we have him."

"What if he doesn't slip up, sir? A once-and-done killer who was sloppy would be a piece of cake to catch, but I don't remember ever dealing with such a methodic killer. We need to make sure everyone knows about this guy. Get the latest note all over the place and make sure people know that this guy hunts those who walk alone."

John stepped away from the corpse and lit a cigarette. "I agree, Riley," he said, smoke now lofting up his tired face. "We need more officers on the streets to show we are not going to sit on our asses and let the bodies pile up."

Later, once the coroner and other crew members did their work, John and Riley were preparing to leave the scene.

"I need to get some rest," Riley said. "It's almost midnight and I'm running on no sleep."

"You better get used to no sleep," John said. "I'm happy with the four hours I get a night as it is. With this guy running around, I'll probably get less."

"I don't know how you do it."

"When you get to my age and have been doing this for so long, you'll know how it's done." John smirked. "Now go get some rest and I'll see you in the morning."

"Until tomorrow..." Riley said, repeating the last line from the note.

John's voice was soft as he echoed Riley. "Until tomorrow."

Day 3

Todd Williams awoke in the warm bed he shared with his wife, Melinda. They had spent the previous evening watching some of his favorite movies, including Weekend At Bernie's. Todd tried to forget about the body he found on the beach on Monday night and the fact that a killer was running free. He tried to forget about it, but his wife seemed determined to ensure it was always on his mind.

"I wonder if they caught the killer?" she asked as her eyes creaked open after seven hours of slumber.

Todd sighed and sat up in bed. "Maybe, but I'm sure they're hot on the case and will catch him soon if they didn't already."

"I hope they caught him," she said.

Todd rolled on his side to face her. "Me too. I don't want to be holed up in here like a caged animal."

"So sitting around watching your stupid movies with me is that horrible?"

"I never said that, honey bunny."

"Don't ever call me that again, Todd."

"Sorry, cutie patutie."

Melinda sat up. "I'm getting a shower before you make me sick with all of these silly pet names."

Todd laughed. "Oh, you love it. Admit it."

He watched her rise from bed, her bathrobe sliding down to meet her calves. She turned around and he saw her look at him the same way she always did before she wanted him in the worst way.

"Want to join me in the shower, Todd?" she asked.

Todd didn't have to think too long about the offer. "Count me in," he said, rising from bed quicker than normal. "I could use a pick-me-up."

Todd grabbed her hand and they rushed into the bathroom like a couple of college kids sneaking into the communal shower late in the evening. He shut the door and turned on the shower. He looked at her as she let her robe fall to the tile flooring. Todd closed his eyes and pinched his arm. His eyes sprung back open and he smiled even wider. "Good thing I'm not dreaming," he said. "This is where I normally wake up."

* * *

Following their shower, they descended the steps and sat down in their respective chairs at the kitchen table. "Looks like a nice day out there," Todd said. "Let's relax on the beach."

"Not before we get the paper and watch some of the news, Todd. What if the killer is still at large?"

The killer is not going to spoil my day, Todd thought as he dipped his toast into his egg yolks. He did not talk, just chewed his food and thought of a way to get his wife to enjoy the day with him.

"Get the paper," Melinda said.

"Let me finish breakfast first," he said.

"This is very unlike you, not having the newspaper at the table while you eat your dippy eggs."

Todd took another bite of yolk-covered toast. He didn't want to see the paper and the headline of another murder. He knew in the back of his mind that the killer hadn't been caught. There was no evidence to bring the sicko to justice. Nevertheless, he did not know for sure. The killer could have not killed again and it could have been a single homicide. The note could have been written in haste and there could have been no intention for a second kill, just the desire to be a media sensation once the note had been published.

"I'll get it in a bit," Todd said.

Todd finished his breakfast and wiped the crumbs and yolk residue from his lips. His chair screeched as he pushed it backwards and stood up. He walked to the front door, opened it, and felt the warm, humid air against his face. As he walked to the mailbox, he thought about what the paper might say. He hoped that the killer was caught and the residents of Myrtle Beach could return to some kind of normal existence. He reached his hand into the mailbox and pulled out the plastic-covered newspaper. On his way back to his house, he removed the plastic and pulled the rubber band from the tri-folded paper. He opened the paper, barely looking up, and saw the headline: "Killer Strikes Again."

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

He read the subtitle of the front-page article: "Methodical killer taunts the police with a second note."

"Those bastards don't know what they are up against," Todd said.

Back in the house, he looked at Melinda. She wore a look of anticipation on her face. He wore the same look he always wore, in an attempt to hide the horrors from her.

Her voice was soft. "Well?"

"Why don't we go just watch another movie?" Todd asked.

"No, Todd. I want to know if there was another murder. Tell me."

Todd hesitated, then spoke softly. "Victim number two was found last night. One killed a day, just as promised." While walking towards the kitchen, Todd read more of the article. "Now here we are on day three and according to this, the police don't have any suspects. Detective Markley has a few quotes in here. He's got his hands full, I'm sure."

"Oh, dear. What should we do, Todd? Do you want to leave the area for a while?"

Todd placed the paper on the kitchen table and looked at Melinda. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to let some creep scare me out of my new home, that's for sure. I'd sooner hunt the killer myself than leave."

"I thought you couldn't get involved since you were a citizen and would be—"

"I can't get involved...technically. But I can be like any other citizen and keep an eye out."

"And leave me here?" Melinda asked.

"I'm not sure. The killer hasn't broken into any houses yet..."

"Yet..."

"We do have the alarm system and all of the decals on our windows proclaiming that this house is protected."

"Todd, please. I know that the alarm system only does so much. He could scoop me up before the police arrived," Melinda said.

Todd continued to read the article. He looked up at Melinda before turning the page to read the rest. "Nothing in here about a break-in at this victim's house."

"Doesn't mean the killer won't start with the third victim," Melinda said.

"We'll be fine. We have guns here and an alarm. That's more than most people around here have. Just be glad I'm a paranoid bastard. Plus, you know how to shoot. Remember when I took you to the shooting range after Edinboro? That was just a few months ago."

"I do," she said. "But I still don't feel safe. Even with the alarm and the guns..."

"This guy will slip up soon," Todd said, looking at the paper. "He just has to."

* * *

Shadows fell across the day's newspaper over the dilapidated workbench in a sweltering garage. The man breathed deeply as he stared at the front page article. He smiled wickedly to display dark yellow teeth between his scraggly beard and moustache. His long hair fell beyond his thick neck and covered his torn tee shirt.

The man's voice came out deep and slow as his finger pointed to Detective Markley's name in the front-page article. "Markley...are you enjoying the game yet?"

Sweat dripped down his brow as he reached for a pair of scissors and cut the article from the paper. He walked a few steps to a wall that contained several large pegboards and placed the clipping next to yesterday's front page article describing the first murder and the killer's note.

His eyes peered at the articles, like a child admiring his latest drawing displayed on the refrigerator door.

"Wait till you see who will be next, Markley. You won't believe your eyes."

* * *

Later that day, after the sun set, Detective John Markley sat in his home office, as he did every evening, to think. His wife and son were already in bed and had been for an hour. He looked at the clock on the wood-paneled wall. The minute hand on the clock was closing in on the hour hand, which pointed towards the ceiling.

Almost midnight. The perfect time for him to meditate on the day's events, though the day's events were filled with horrors he was not used to. As a law enforcement officer in Myrtle Beach, most of his days were filled with helping out his colleagues with domestic complaints, damaged or stolen property, and hurricane recovery efforts in the region and surrounding communities. Two murders in two days by the hands of a serial killer was something that he had never seen before in his time as a detective in Myrtle Beach. He found it hard to believe. This kind of thing might happen in New York City or Houston, but not in Myrtle Beach.

Only fifteen minutes left in day three, John thought, and still no report of a murder. The day might conclude without the promised third corpse. Perhaps the body had not yet been found. But then again, the killer wanted the bodies to be found. John knew that the killer wanted the attention. The first two murders were conducted in such a way that it was obvious. The bodies lying where they'd easily be found. The notes. The—

The ringing of his cell phone broke his thought.

He looked at the caller ID and saw that Officer Riley was calling him.

"Any word of another murder, Riley?'

There was silence on the line, then heavy breathing.

"Riley?"

Silence loomed.

Then he heard a man screaming in the background. "Help me! Oh God, help me!"

The few words turned into incomprehensible screaming, like something out of nightmares. A gurgle joined the scream and soon the wretched sound of liquid washed it away.

The line fell silent.

Moments later, John heard heavy breathing and the call ended.

He pocketed his phone and hunched over at his desk. He stared at the newspaper clippings on his desk, but did not focus on the text. A tear dropped from his eye onto the newsprint. For the first time in as long as he could remember, John Markley wept.

Day 4

Thursday's morning sun shone into the sliding glass window of Todd and Melinda's beachside home. The clanking of spoons against the inside of nearly empty bowls of oatmeal joined the intermittent crashing of waves. Todd hunched over the newspaper and scoured it for clues of a third murder, but none could be found. Only articles regarding the first two victims and the lack of evidence that still plagued the investigation were included.

"See," Todd said, scraping the bottom of his bowl for the last remnants of oatmeal. "Nobody died yesterday. There's nothing at all in the paper about another killing."

"Good," Melinda said. "Hopefully they caught the killer."

"Either that or he fled the area," Todd said. "He would have killed again if he was still in the area."

"That's true."

"So," Todd said, "do you want to laze around on the beach?" He tugged at his short-sleeve Hawaiian shirt and grinned. "I'm all ready to go. We could lay out and work on our tans...then later come back and take a nice hot shower together...then—"

"—what if they didn't catch him, though?" Melinda asked. "It would be in the paper if they did."

"They could have caught him over night and the news didn't make it to press." Todd stood up and walked towards the living room. "We'll check the news. I'm sure if they caught him, it'll be all over the news."

Todd turned on the TV as he stood between the coffee table and the couch. He felt Melinda's hand softly rubbing his shoulder as he flipped through the channels.

"Ooh, Gilligan's Island," he said.

"Todd, please," Melinda said. "Get to the news channel already."

He continued to flip channels and in several moments, came upon the local news channel.

"Oh my God," Todd said before his jaw dropped.

In a small box in the right hand corner of the screen was Officer Riley's photograph. The anchor spoke in a monotone voice. "...found dead on the front porch of one of his neighbor's homes, his right arm removed from his body. Police ask that anyone with details call the number below..."

Todd bent over and picked up a pen and a pad of paper that lay on the coffee table and jotted down the number.

"Are you going to call them?" Melinda asked.

Todd didn't answer. He sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands.

"You should," she said. "Didn't you help catch a few serial killers in Edinboro way back?"

Todd looked up at Melinda. "Yeah, I did," he said, "though nothing quite like this."

Melinda sat next to Todd. "Call them, Todd," she said. "See if you can speak to the detective."

"I don't have any information. What am I going to say?"

"Tell him about your background, your experience. Sure you're retired, but..."

"...but they might need me."

"Exactly."

"No," Todd said. "I can't."

Then he looked into her eyes. He saw pure terror in her sweet, brown eyes. A look he hadn't seen since Edinboro. And that's when he decided he couldn't say no to her. He couldn't sit around and wait for the bodies to pile up when he could help capture the killer. He looked back at the paper with the number scribbled on it. He knew what he had to do. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number. "Okay," he said under his breath as the he heard the first ring.

* * *

Todd sat in a small, wooden chair, across from Detective John Markley, who sat nervously in his leather office chair. John tapped his fingers on his cherry wood desk and looked down at a few papers that were scattered about.

"Thanks for calling me, Mr. Williams," John said.

Todd thought about Melinda who was holed up in their house. He knew how scared she was and was surprised that she would suggest he leave her alone, but it was the only way. He was glad she didn't insist on tagging along. She would be at greater risk if she did.

"No problem, Detective," Todd said.

"Please, call me John."

"John, I'm so sorry about what happened to Officer Riley," Todd said. "It's terrible. Just terrible."

John supported his head with his right hand, like it weighed a hundred pounds and could tumble to the floor at any time. "It's quite a blow to us here at the station. We lost a good man. I feel bad for his wife and son. It's a damn shame."

"We need to do whatever we can to catch this guy," Todd said. "What clues do you have so far?"

"Besides the notes...not much, Todd," John said. "We know the first victim bled to death from a blade slicing her jugular. Her right foot was removed, probably after he killed her. The second was apparently strangled to death, but it seems that she was chloroformed before being strangled."

John rustled through a few papers, then continued: "No elevated endorphin levels were found when the lab ran the peptide profile, so the amputation of his left foot occurred after he was dead. We found no signs of a struggle with either victim, so we didn't find any skin from the killer under the victims' fingernails. Riley's throat was slashed, just like the first victim, though there was no blood anywhere near where his body was found, so he was killed earlier in the day yesterday and then dumped on his neighbor's lawn. Most of his right arm was removed, cut a few inches from the shoulder. We didn't run the peptide on Riley yet, so it's not certain if he was alive during his amputation."

"I'm assuming there was a third note on Riley's body."

The detective moved his hand from his head and found the plastic baggie that contained the third typed note. "Of course. At this point, I would be surprised if there wasn't a note." He handed it to Todd.

Todd read the note aloud: "Now the score is three to zero. What this town needs is a hero. With this hack dead at your door. Alone you'll go into day four."

Todd looked at the detective, then back at the note. In his mind, it sounded like a demented nursery rhyme, and he read it again in his head, this time placing the proper meter on each word. He continued to stare at the note. "When was the last time you saw Officer Riley?"

"Around eight o'clock last night. He went home, and I came back to the station. Then I finally got home about quarter after ten."

"And when did you find his body?" Todd asked.

"I heard him die a few minutes before midnight. The killer left the phone on..."

The two men sat in silence.

Todd hung his head low. "My God."

John nodded solemnly.

"He's taunting you, sir," Todd said.

"I know."

"He's enjoying the game," Todd said. "He wants nothing more than to be in control. And right now, he's in control, and he knows it."

"So, in your professional opinion...how do we catch this monster without any evidence?" John asked.

"The way to catch him is to think from his prospective. You need to get inside his mind. Like I said, he wants to be in control and the notes make it obvious that he seeks attention."

"So what are you saying?"

Todd looked past the detective and saw a large window behind him. He stared at the partly cloudy sky while he took a moment to think. "Well, for starters," he said, "I would stop publishing his notes. All that's doing is creating a media frenzy and giving him the attention he wants."

The detective furrowed his brows as he looked at the papers on his desk. After several moments of contemplation, he looked at Todd and grinned. "I agree with you, but that would mean we would need to wait until he strikes again and again..."

"That's only one thing we need to do," Todd said. "I have some other ideas I am working on at the moment. The main thing is to keep his notes out of the papers and to make sure the public is aware that the killer tends to strike loners. The main reason I can see him targeting loners, particularly ones who are outdoors, is that it reduces the amount of evidence and eliminates the risk of witnesses so long as he does it in an area with less pedestrians. Around my house, for example, there are few people since it's the more remote section of North Myrtle Beach."

"We are getting word out to the community," John said. "We have more police officers on patrol than ever before. We even have a lot of volunteers who are serving as neighborhood watch teams."

"Good," Todd said. He looked at the pile of papers on the detective's desk. "So what do you know about the victims?"

"Well, the first one, Deborah Miller, is a housewife who was out for a walk along the beach. We spoke with her husband, and she was only out for less than an hour."

"I remember her name from the first article," Todd said. "How old was she?"

"Forty-two. Has a young son who goes to the same elementary school as my boy."

"What about the man who was found the next day?" Todd asked.

"Joshua Adler. He's in his late forties."

"Does he have any children?"

"No. He's single without any children."

Todd scratched his chin. "I don't see any connection between those two victims so far."

"Do you think he kills at random?" John asked. "Maybe he waits for the right opportunity. Or is there a certain set of criteria he looks for, like how some killers hunt women because of something that traumatized them in their childhood. I've heard of killers whose mothers were promiscuous..."

"And some had alcoholic fathers," Todd said. "Others were exposed to pornography at an early age. The three victims may be linked somehow, or maybe they aren't and they represent something to the killer. Or maybe, like you said, he waits for the right opportunity and strikes at random. If more bodies pile up, we'll have more to work with, but now, nothing is really sticking out at me."

"More bodies," John said. He hung his head down and sighed. "Great. Any idea why he's taking body parts?"

Todd shook his head. The natural light that flooded the office diminished quickly. He looked out the window again, this time to see a cloud blocking the sun. "No idea. All I know is this is one twisted individual. Who knows what to expect next?"

* * *

Not more than twenty minutes after their meeting, while driving home, Todd received a call from John.

The detective was breathing heavily, like he had just run a mile. "We found victim number four, Todd."

"Where?" Todd asked.

"You know where Frederick Street is?"

"I do."

"Take that street east. You can't miss us. We blocked the road off so you'll literally run right into our roadblock. Come quick."

"I'll be right there."

Todd pocketed his phone and turned left on the next street he saw. Within ten minutes, he was on Frederick Street and moments later, saw the road block.

He rushed from his car and saw a few men in the street near several police cruisers. He approached a taller man in uniform who stared at him with curiosity.

"Excuse me," the officer said. "This is a crime scene. Unless you own this home, you need to leave immediately."

"Where is Detective Markley?" Todd asked.

"Behind that house," the officer said, pointing to a two story house that sat back from the sandy road. "Who are you?"

"I'm Todd Williams. I received a call from him a few minutes ago. He requested my presence on the scene."

The officer looked at the shorter man standing next to him. "What do you think, Dean?"

Dean nodded and his sweat glistened in the sun.

"Head on back," the taller officer said.

Todd turned and looked at the house, with its boarded up windows and overgrown shrubbery. The stucco exterior was worn from years of disrepair, faded from the oppressing sun that abused it daily. He ran along the side of the neglected house and saw John standing with a few other men. On the ground, a body lay behind the men, though Todd could only see the cleanly shaven legs.

John turned to look at Todd. His face displayed pure dread and his voice stuttered as he spoke. "This is the most...most horrific of all, Todd."

Todd walked around the men and saw that, though the head, arms, and legs of the woman were there, her entire torso was missing.

"Who the hell does something like this?" Todd asked, though no reply came from any of the men.

Finally after a few moments of silence, John spoke up. "There's not a lot of blood near the body, Todd. We think he must have killed her somewhere else and moved her body parts here. This one took a lot of time. I think he picked this house since it's more secluded and he didn't have to worry about being seen."

"Who found the body?"

"One of the neighbors lost his German Shepherd and found the dog here, sniffing at the body parts," John said.

"Lord," Todd said. "Was there another note?"

John held up the plastic baggie that contained the latest note. "We found this in her mouth. He certainly has a way with words."

Todd stepped closer and tried to keep his eyes from viewing the atrocious scene at his feet. "What does it say?"

John stuttered as he spoke. "It says 'Four to nothing and this game is only getting easier for me. Tomorrow will be here before you know it and I know you're wondering who will be next...looking into the past can tell you the future.'"

Todd looked at the dismembered corpse. "Do you have an ID of the victim?"

"The man who found her said she lives in this neighborhood. He said her name is Cindy Keller. Thirty-five years old. A registered nurse. Very involved in the community."

"I don't see anything in common with the others, besides them all being in the same age range. Thirties and forties."

"The thing I'm having trouble understanding is why he would go through the trouble of dismembering her and staging her body this way? Why take any parts at all?"

"Each part must mean something to him. Must represent something."

"Or maybe it's just part of the game," John said.

"Maybe."

Todd crouched down and looked at the severed legs. "The bastard takes pride in every detail. Look at how precise these cuts are. This was no sloppy job. He knew what he was doing." He stood and looked all around him. "Somewhere out there, he's already hunting tomorrow's victim. The first victim, the one I found, was killed where she was found. Now, he's killing them, then moving their bodies to where he wants them to be found."

"But why here?" John asked. "Why dump the body here behind this abandoned—"

"I think you just answered your own question. It's abandoned. No witnesses to see him when he's making his drop."

Todd walked towards John and looked at the house. Abandoned, he thought. Most serial killers feel alone and abandoned and want to punish society as a whole for wronging them. Perhaps the lack of witnesses has something to do with this location, though the house itself might be just as much a symbol as the body parts he retains.

Todd turned to John. "I wonder what he meant with that last line...looking into the past can tell you the future..."

The detective wore a puzzled look on his face. "No idea."

"I understand that history often repeats itself," Todd said, "but maybe he means that everything up to this point is significant to what will follow. That there actually is some sort of pattern."

"So you think there's a master plan after all."

"Exactly," Todd said, looking down at the body parts. He looked up at John again and winced. "I think I'm going to hold off on lunch for a while."

* * *

Angela Littleton arrived at her beachside condo moments before the sun set. She did not notice the van parked in front of the condo next door until she parked her car in the driveway and stepped out to retrieve her groceries from the trunk.

Maybe someone is finally moving in next door, she thought.

Her next door neighbors had foreclosed on their mortgage and moved out the previous year. She missed having neighbors. She was the last house on the street and since construction hadn't begun on condos that would occupy the opposite side of the street, she was all by herself at the end of the cul-de-sac. She also missed her family and partially regretted moving down south. She thought often of selling her condo and moving back north to be closer to her family. In Myrtle Beach, there was nothing for her. She enjoyed the sunshine and the calming sound of the waves, but she was alone. At thirty-one years old, she yearned to start a family of her own, but not here. Not in this town. Especially not with killers on the loose.

She felt the weight of the half gallon carton of skim milk, low-fat yogurt, and several TV dinners as she held the plastic bag in her right hand. In her left hand, she held a bag which contained a variety of fruits and vegetables. She closed the trunk and rushed along the winding path to her front door. She placed the heavier bag on the warm concrete of the front porch to free her hand to retrieve her keys. She opened the door quickly and stepped into her condo. Once in, she closed the door and locked it. Even in the middle of the day, she was at unease. Like most of the members of the community, she no longer felt safe.

She strode into the kitchen to put her groceries away. Once all of the groceries were put in their proper places, she walked towards the back of the condo, where her bedroom was. She walked between her queen-sized bed and dresser and into the master bathroom.

She closed the bathroom door partway and stood at the sink. In the mirror, she lost herself in her blue eyes. She thought of her last boyfriend who always complimented her eyes. She missed him, though he was back north, just like everything else in her life.

She saw the sweat drip from her face, though in the air-conditioned space, it felt cool against her warm skin. She removed her tank top and squirmed out of her tight shorts. She unhooked her white bra and slid her panties down to her ankles and flung them off of her toes towards the hamper in the corner opposite the toilet.

Angela turned on the shower and checked the water temperature to ensure that it was neither scolding nor frigid. When the perfect temperature was achieved, she stepped in and felt the water all over her body.

Beneath the steady stream of hot water, she thought about the fact that she didn't feel like working the following day. She didn't feel like working any day. Back north, she held a steady job in advertising. Now, she worked at a gas station part time dealing with cranky customers and men who were persistent in their passes. It seemed like most men, whether young lads or old geezers, wanted a piece of her, but she wouldn't give a single sliver of herself to anyone for any reason. She longed to reunite with her ex. The day she woke up and decided to break up with him and move away to really live life was the last day she was truly happy. Here, she was not happy.

Halfway through her shower, she heard a noise from the bedroom.

What the hell was that? she thought.

She thought her mind was playing tricks on her when she heard the door creak, like it was being opened slowly. Moments later, the shower curtain slide open and a large fist came down upon her head. Darkness came immediately, but the sound of the running water took a little more than a second to diminish into nothingness.

When she awoke, she didn't know where she was or what time it was. She was unable to scream, duct tape covering her mouth. She was lying naked on top of a large table, her wrists and ankles strapped down so she could barely move a centimeter. Sweat covered her body in this sweltering hell.

Her vision was blurred but she still made an effort to look around. She turned her head to the right and realized she was in a small garage. She made out a workbench, a pegboard on the wall with newspaper articles she could barely see, and several tools on a tray near where she lay. She saw a glistening paring knife amongst a neatly organized array of other objects.

She turned to her left and saw another table. Her eyes widened when she realized what it contained. A female torso, pale white with dried blood, lay a few feet from the one end of the table. She saw a long object next to the torso: a human arm. Its skin was a completely different shade than the torso's. She saw two objects at the other end and within seconds realized what they were: human feet. One was pale, it's nails painted a bright red. The other was tanned and hairy.

She screamed but the sound was muted by her sealed mouth. She didn't want to die. Not now, not like this. Time stood still as she lay helpless on the table. Then she heard footsteps approach her.

"Almost time," the low voice said. "We'll have a little fun first."

She screamed again when she felt his warm, sweaty hands on her forehead and the cold blade of a knife against her left bicep. She could not move away from him. She was stuck. She closed her eyes and prayed, though she knew it wouldn't help her one bit.

* * *

Todd heard Melinda breathing heavily next to him. He felt his heart race at the anticipation of what tomorrow would bring. He knew another victim was inevitable, though he hoped they would find something, anything, that would lead them to the killer.

He turned his head slightly and saw the glowing red numbers on the digital clock on his bed stand. Eleven fifty-five.

He closed his eyes and heard the wind pick up outside, like there was a storm brewing off the coast. He knew an even bigger storm was intensifying. A man-made storm of intense ferocity.

Looking into the past can tell you the future...

Those words flashed across his mind again and again. In the back of his mind, he knew each victim was a piece of a terrible puzzle. The future victims would eventually become past victims, and help him solve the conundrum. But more blood would have to be shed.

Looking into the past can tell you the future...

He tossed and turned as he thought about the last line of the letter. More blood would have to be spilled. More suffering. Of course. The killer wouldn't have it any other way, for this was a game he enjoyed playing. An abhorrent game, yes, but a game nonetheless.

Todd turned his head again and looked at the clock a second time. Quarter after midnight.

He closed his eyes and tried to not think of anything. But his mind wouldn't stop. It raced and raced. He needed his rest, but thoughts swirled in his head.

Eventually, he did fall asleep, but he didn't know if it was mere minutes or hours before he finally fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

He held the book under a dim lamp near a worn recliner in the corner of the garage. His sweat-covered hand turned the page as he continued reading the nearly two-century-old story that he had read countless times before. When he was not doing his work, he lived within its pages, and after the thirtieth reading years prior, he began to feel an attachment to the novel's main character: Victor Frankenstein.

He lowered the book and looked off into the center of the room at two tables. One was used to harvest body parts from his unwilling donors while the other was used to ensure that each part would line up as he had planned. Both makeshift operating tables were now empty. He had already wrapped the arms, complete with hands, and both feet in several layers of plastic wrap for storage in the meat freezer in the other corner of the garage. He had already disposed of the victim's body and composed his own literary masterpiece in the form of a note that would be sure to make headlines the following day.

The humming of the freezer was the only sound he could hear besides the pounding of his heart. Sweat continued to drip down his forehead, though the sweltering heat was beginning to escape the garage as the night marched on. He thought of his new-found fame, though he was happy to remain an anonymous artist. The thought of his notoriety as the scribe of the infamous notes made his heart pound even faster, and when he thought about the day when they would find his first creation, he could barely contain himself.

Though he had no plausible way to bring his eventual creations to life, in his mind, they would be as real as any living man or woman that roamed the earth. They would be spoken of more often than any celebrity and go down in the history books. And he, as an anonymous artist, would also go down in history.

He looked back down at his book and read the remaining words of the chapter. Once finished, he slid the bookmark between the pages and placed the paperback book on a small wooden table next to his chair. He remained in his chair for sometime and, while in a deep sleep, dreamt of the face that would one day complete his work in progress. But he had other work to do first and, even while unconscious, his body quivered in anticipation.

Day 5

Todd awoke to his cell phone ringing. His eyes opened slowly, like a Venus fly trap, as he reached towards his bed stand and picked up his phone.

Todd's first word of the day came out in a deep and raspy tone. "Hello?"

He heard Detective John Markley's voice on the line. "Todd. We found another one. Victim five, Angela Littleton, was found on her front lawn early this morning. Single. Early thirties. No children. This guy doesn't seem to have a type, Todd. Victims are all across the board."

Todd's second word came out just as raspy. "Jesus."

Though he sounded alarmed, he knew sooner or later a body would be found. He knew more than ever that more blood would spill.

"Any missing body parts?" Todd asked.

"Left arm. Appears to have been hacked off. Probably while she was alive. There are signs of a struggle. We will know for sure once we get the results from the peptide."

"And a note?" Todd asked.

"Of course, though it's a very short note. Two words: 'Having fun?'"

"I'm sure he's having fun," Todd said, shifting around in bed. "Did you find any clues at the scene, John?"

"Actually, we did find something that might help. We found skid marks outside of Ms. Littleton home. Not sure if they are from this morning, but at some point someone was trying to leave rather quickly."

"Maybe we can figure out what this creep drives. We need something, anything. Or else innocent people will keep dying."

"I'll let you know if we find out, Todd. We need your help but—"

"—you're not giving me anything to work with. All I have are a list of names and what body parts are missing."

"And the notes."

"Of course," Todd said. "But I'm still trying to figure out what it all means."

Todd heard Melinda move around in their bed. He turned around and saw her looking at him.

"Give me a call if you have any ideas, Todd. We need all the help we can get at this point."

"I will, John. Hang in there."

Todd ended the call and stared at Melinda. He saw the look of fear on her face.

"Another one?" she asked.

Todd nodded.

They remained in the warm bed for three minutes before Todd broke the silence. "I am going to go to my office. I need to see what I can piece together."

He rose from bed and dressed in a hurry. In less than a minute, he was in his home office. He looked at his desk and saw the notes he scribbled down. Below the notes, on a piece of paper, were the names of all of the victims. Deborah Miller. Right foot taken. Cindy Keller. Torso taken. Todd's stomach turned at the thought. Joshua Adler. Left foot. Officer Riley. Right arm.

He picked up a pen and put it to paper to scribble down the name of the latest victim and which body part was taken: Angela Littleton. Left arm.

"You sick bastard," Todd muttered. "What are you doing with these body parts?"

Todd sat at his desk and pored over the few details he had. He turned on his computer and accessed the internet to look up whatever he could on each victim. What did they have in common? The answer to that question could help Todd figure out how the killer picked the victims which might help in figuring out who was next.

After an hour of research, Todd returned his gaze to the papers on his desk. His eyes were tired from staring into the twenty-seven inch computer monitor that hogged part of his desk.

He looked at the names again. He realized that the names were not in order of when they were found, that he scribbled them anywhere he could on the paper.

He took a fresh sheet of paper from the printer that sat on the left corner of his desk, and rewrote all of the names, this time in order of when they were found.

Deborah Miller.

Joshua Adler.

Sam Riley.

Cindy Keller.

Angela Littleton.

He thought about gender. Female, male, male, female, female. Not much of a pattern there. Perhaps the next victim would be male, he thought.

Then he thought about other possible connections. Some had children, some didn't, so that couldn't be a common denominator.

The only thing they had in common was that they were residents of Myrtle Beach.

Todd rose from his chair and walked away from his desk. He heard the floorboards creak as he walked on the thin layer of carpeting beneath his feet. Out in the kitchen, he found Melinda eating a bowl of ice cream.

"I'm going out," Todd said. "Stay here. And keep the doors locked and alarm set. Call my cell if you need me."

"Okay, dear," Melinda said. A dribble of chocolate ice cream dripped down her chin. She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "Be careful."

Todd felt his .38 Special in his side holster and smiled. "I will."

The warm outside air smacked him square in the face the moment he stepped outside. The humidity made him gasp. It was a few hours until noon, and the heat was already repressive, unusual for this time of year.

His car was parked on the street. He missed the days of having a garage, but even with this lunatic on the loose, he didn't miss Edinboro one bit. He longed to help rid Myrtle Beach of this vermin and continue his retirement in peace. Sitting in his tan Toyota Camry, he rolled all four windows down, allowing the hot air to escape as he rode off.

He turned the volume on the stereo up and heard the soothing sound of a male voice reading Stephen King's The Shining. He no longer listened to the radio. Too much bad news on the radio. He preferred to listen to audio books to escape the day-to-day, but his life had become just as terrifying as the fiction he enjoyed.

He drove around town and noticed something peculiar. Though the temperature was warm and the sky was mostly cloudless, there was nobody out, not even in groups.

"Word must be spreading quickly," he said to himself.

He knew that the serial killer might be making national news by this point and any families that had a vacation planned were likely canceling. There were other beaches in the country they could visit. A lunatic serial killer that vowed to kill every day until caught was not a selling point for Myrtle Beach. He knew most people were wise to wait.

But he was here, and he couldn't leave. It was his home now, and he wasn't about to leave on account of a killer on the loose.

After this son of a bitch is caught, he thought, I'm going to retire.

He continued driving along various roads, not seeing so much as a mailman out and about. No boys with boogie boards. No young women in bikinis. No old married couples wearing straw hats and fanny packs. Desolate. Completely desolate.

Todd saw an ice cream stand that was open, though there were no patrons. He pulled over, rolled his windows up until they were cracked about an inch, and exited his car.

At the counter of the walk-up window, he saw the nervous look of a young man.

"Can I help you?" the man asked.

Todd reached into his pocket and pulled out two dollars. "I'll take a small vanilla cone."

"Soft or hard?"

"Soft, please."

The man's voice was high, like a tenor in a youth choir. "You got it." He grabbed a cone and turned around to dispense the soft vanilla ice cream. Moments later, he held it out and smiled. "A dollar fifty, please."

Todd placed the two dollars on the counter and accepted the cone. The man gave him his change.

Todd saw an empty tip jar near the register. He dropped the two coins in and heard them clap against the bottom.

"How's business?" Todd asked, already knowing the answer.

"Very slow for this time of year," the man said. "Usually we are hopping, but..."

Todd nodded his head and wore a sympathetic look on his face. "Everyone's terrified."

"Exactly," the man said. "Staying alive is much more important than eating ice cream."

Todd lifted the ice cream to his mouth and felt the cold, creamy texture against his lips. He smacked his lips together and smiled. "I guess I'm the only one who feels ice cream is more important than life itself."

"Ice cream is important," the man said. "But...I don't even think we should be open."

Todd wasn't sure if he agreed with the man. He knew that the killer would enjoy crippling the area to the point where even the businesses closed. Fear was rampant, for sure, but he wasn't sure if closing shops and restaurants and other establishments around Myrtle Beach would send the right message.

"Hang in there," Todd said. "We'll get 'em soon."

"What are you, a cop?"

"A retired police officer," Todd said.

"So you're not trying to find this maniac?"

"Not officially, but..." Todd hesitated. "...let's just say I'm helping the police in any way I can. Everyone should be helping. Suppose you saw something suspicious while you were working here..."

"I'd call the cops," the man said.

"Good," Todd said.

"So what's your name?"

"Todd. Todd Williams. You?"

"Nick Eyer."

Todd smiled and shook Nick's hand. "Be safe. And call the police if you see anything suspicious."

"Will do."

Todd licked his ice cream and walked back towards his car. He turned the ignition and continued his tour of the panicked town in an attempt to piece together the puzzle. One thing was certain: there would be another bloody piece of the puzzle the following day. That's what he was afraid of the most.

* * *

Nick Eyer looked at his watch. Ten of seven. Only ten minutes to go before he could close up shop for the night. He knew that when he counted the drawer, there wouldn't be much to run to the night deposit box at the local bank. For a Friday, during peak season, sales were abysmal.

We should be closed, he thought. I could be home playing video games, or better yet, taking a nap. The long week at school wore him out and he couldn't fathom working the entire weekend. Who knows, he thought, maybe we'll close tomorrow.

At five minutes to seven, he saw a white van pass by the ice cream stand. The red brake lights lit and he got a glimpse of the driver. Nick saw the man step from the vehicle. The man wore a tan baseball cap, with long hair flowing from the back. He could see the man's skin through the holes of his black tee shirt, which had the arms cut off. He wore denim jeans that covered a pair of work boots that had seen better days. Some kind of creep, he thought. Someone who doesn't look scared to be out, even though the killer has promised to strike once again.

Though business was slow and the stand could use all the customers they could get, Nick didn't want this particular man to be a patron. There was something strange about the man.

Then he saw the man look at him. The nice smile on his face didn't match what was in his eyes. It's not craziness, Nick thought. Perhaps a look of hunger.

But the man was not hungry for ice cream. He was hungry for something else, though Nick had no idea what. He would soon find out.

* * *

Todd returned home from cruising around town. He only found one more person to talk to: an elderly woman out to get her mail. She was very short with him and claimed to have not seen or heard anything. For an old woman, he thought, she walked back to her house rather quickly.

Upon entering the foyer to his home, he saw Melinda at the kitchen table.

"Want to order Chinese food?" she asked.

"Sure," Todd said. "Same place as last time?"

"No," she said. "That place had terrible food. Let's try another place." She rose from her chair and walked towards the counter. Under the countertop, she pulled a drawer open and retrieved a small, yellow phone book.

"That's old school," Todd said. "Why don't you just look it up on your phone?"

"It's in the bedroom, and I don't feel like getting it. I don't mind paging through this. Plus they might have a coupon or something."

"Okay, sound good," Todd said.

Forty minutes later, the door bell rang. Todd walked to the door and looked out the peep hole. He saw a man holding a brown bag. He opened the door and smiled at the man.

"Delivery for Williams."

"Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

"Fifteen eighty-five."

Todd handed the man a twenty dollar bill. "Keep the change."

Todd and Melinda ate dinner in silence that night. There wasn't much to say. It was certain that another victim would be found. Every day would be the same. Death would greet them each and every day until the perpetrator was caught.

In bed that night, Todd smiled at his wife. He felt her warmth beneath the cotton sheets that were soft to the touch, though not as soft as her skin. He rubbed her arm and saw that her eyes grew heavy. He leaned towards her and kissed her on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, dear," he said.

Melinda closed her eyes and spoke softly. "I hope."

Day 6

On Saturday morning, Todd awoke in the same fashion as usual. His eyes opened slowly and he saw the time: Twenty of seven. He looked at Melinda and saw that she was in a partially-unconscious state. He wanted to lay with her all morning, but he had a lot of work to do. A new victim would surely be found, and perhaps any clue could help Todd figure out how all of the victims were connected.

Todd swung his legs out and stood. His back cracked as he stretched and as he walked, his ankles popped slightly.

"I'm getting old," he muttered.

Todd took a quick shower and dressed before making his way to the kitchen for a bite to eat. He saw the phone book still lying on the kitchen table from last night. Todd's eyes lit up.

He grabbed the phone book from the table, ran to his office, and shut the door behind him. He hurried to his desk and sat down.

"The phone book is organized by last name," he said to himself. "Maybe he used the phone book somehow."

He reviewed the victim's names again. He had written them the previous day in the order they were found.

Deborah Miller.

Joshua Adler.

Sam Riley.

Cindy Keller.

Angela Littleton.

"Maybe the order has something to do with it," he said.

He wrote out the first letter of each other their first names: DJSCA.

"That's not it," he said. Then he paged through the phone book and remembered the relic was organized by each resident's last name.

He wrote each letter of each victim's last name in order they were found: MARKL.

"You son of a bitch," he muttered.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Detective Markley.

"John, listen to me. Look at the last names of the victims in order of when they were found. I think the next victim will have a last name beginning with E. I think he's spelling out your name."

There was silence on the line. Then John spoke: "Oh my god."

"I'm not certain," Todd said. "But I think he's picking names at random from the phone book and stalking his victims. He gets their name and their address right from the goddamn phone book."

Todd hesitated. "John, is your name and information in the phone book?"

"No," John said. "I'm not listed in the phone book, Todd. I got my name and information pulled from there years ago, when we had Carter."

"Good."

"So why do you think he'd spell my name out?"

"I think he's taunting you. This is fun for him. But you have to keep this idea of mine to yourself. This can't get printed in the paper. John, are you at home?"

"Todd, hold on, I'm getting another call."

Moments later, Todd heard John's voice. "Todd, they found victim number six."

"Do they know the identity of the victim yet?" Todd asked.

"Not yet. But I'll give you the address. Meet me over there."

Todd wrote down the address. "I'll see you soon."

* * *

Upon arriving at the address John had given him over the phone, Todd saw a man he did not know standing over the body, face down near a sand dune. The body was missing the left leg, though peculiarly enough, the left foot was in the sand, almost as if the leg were invisible.

"Where's John?" Todd asked. "He told me to meet him here. I'm Todd Williams."

"Emergency," the man said.

Todd looked at the body, then back at the man. "Emergency?"

The man handed Todd a sealed bag with the sixth note. Todd saw that the note only contained an address.

"Whose address is this?" Todd asked.

"Detective Markley's."

Todd couldn't believe his eyes. How had the killer known John's address if it wasn't in the phone book? Todd had many questions swirling around in his mind, though the only one he could think to ask the man was: "Do you have an ID on the victim?"

"Nicholas Eyer."

Todd stepped back in horror. He stared at the body of the man he met the prior day at the ice cream stand. Then he thought about the fact that his last name began with the letter E. Why didn't I think of this yesterday? he thought. I could have warned him. Anyone with a last name beginning with the letter E was fair game to be victim number six.

Todd knew the detective was now rushing back to his house, unsure of what to expect when he arrived. He was sure that John's wife and son were home. It was a Saturday morning, so the boy didn't have school.

Todd looked at the address a second time and memorized it. He handed the note back to the man. "Thanks."

He turned around and raced to his car. Once in, he punched the detective's address into his GPS and sped off. There was little traffic on the road, especially for a sunny Saturday. Todd saw less than a dozen pedestrians during his journey to John's house. They scurried to and fro on the sidewalks, always in at least pairs, obsessively looking over their shoulders as they went. Tension was running high in Myrtle Beach as the residents prepared for word of another victim, and soon they would learn about Nicholas Eyer. Tomorrow they would learn about another victim. Todd knew the next day's victim would have a last name starting with a Y, and would be missing their right foot. Though he wasn't certain of that. It could just as easily be John's son or wife...or John himself.

* * *

Ten minutes after leaving the crime scene, Todd arrived at the address in the note. He saw John's car parked outside a two story house two blocks from the beach. He stepped from his car and felt his shoe sink into the curbside sand. Up north, that was where grass normally grew. Here in Myrtle Beach, sand often took the place of soil and grass was sparse.

Todd walked to the front door of the house, which was left slightly ajar. He peered into the house, but nobody was in sight. He pressed his hand against the door and heard it creak as it opened.

"John?"

He stepped into John's house and saw a figure standing in the center of the living room, looking at something on the ground.

Todd reached for his holstered .38, but relaxed when the man turned around and he saw it was John.

"Are you okay?" Todd asked.

"I'm fine," John said. "I'm just thanking God that Samantha and Carter were not home this morning." He bent over and picked up a piece of paper on the floor. "The bastard was in my house, Todd. He was here, and he left this."

John turned around and showed Todd the note. The handwritten note simply said: "Enjoying the game, Markley?"

"I'm not sure what he would have done if they were home," John said.

"I'm not sure," Todd said. Nothing good, I'm sure." Todd knew that John would never have seen them again, or if he did, he knew they would be found as corpses with one of their body parts hacked off. Of course, that was better left unsaid. The detective already had enough on his mind.

"I just called Samantha," John said. "Told her not to come home until I said it was safe."

"Good idea," Todd said. "It'll only be safe once this guy is arrested or killed. I'd prefer the latter, of course."

John nodded. "Me too."

"You can stay with me if you want to," Todd said. "I wouldn't want to stay here if I were you."

John turned around and walked past Todd. He stood in the open front door and stared out into the street. "I appreciate that, Todd, I really do, but I think I should stay here. If he comes back I'll be ready for him."

"I hope you're right," Todd said, walking towards the door.

The two men stepped onto the front porch. Todd looked for signs of life, but none could be seen. No cars. No pedestrians. It was the quietest Saturday Todd had ever seen. Either the residents of Myrtle Beach locked themselves in their houses or they fled the region altogether.

"You better go home and take care of your wife, Todd."

"Keep in touch," Todd said, walking down the few steps of the porch. Todd saw the sun low in the western sky and wished the day would last a bit longer. He knew what tomorrow would bring. More blood. More terror. And with the killer now stalking Detective Markley, he knew things would become even more intense.

When Todd reached the sidewalk before the sandy curbside where his car was parked, he turned around and looked at John one last time. For all he knew, it could have been the last time he saw John.

"We'll get this guy," John said.

Todd hoped he was right.

* * *

John Markley sat in his living room, staring at the locked front door. His head turned slightly to his left and he viewed the tall grandfather clock. He heard the subtle ticking of the clock. At half the speed of his own heartbeat, the clock did not calm him. It was twenty minutes till midnight and he was scared out of his mind.

After finding the note in his home earlier, he spent the rest of the day trying to come up with something to point him in the right direction. He thought of the countless houses he visited. Only a few people answered the doors. Most were not home or were too afraid to even answer their door. Of those who did answer their door, they could offer nothing in terms of eye-witness accounts or anything strange they had seen.

The clock announced that there were fifteen minutes remaining until witching hour. On the final tone of the chimes, John rose from the couch and walked to the front door. He peered out the peep hole and saw the light on his front porch. Beyond that light was an eerie twilight from the full moon that hung in the sky.

The killer knew where he lived. Perhaps he would return.

Or perhaps John would go mad from the paranoia he was now developing.

* * *

Todd used his fingers to move the hair from Melinda's face as she lay in bed. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. Her eyes opened slightly.

"I'll be right back," he whispered. "I need to go check something really quick."

"Okay, Todd," Melinda said, half awake. "Hurry back."

Todd stood up and walked from the bed. Out the door and down the hallway, he walked quickly. He descended the steps and once at the bottom, checked his holstered gun. He pressed two buttons on the alarm key pad and exited his house.

After he shut the front door he triple-checked the lock. The cool, night air splashed against his face as he ran to his car. Once in, he set the GPS to lead him to Markley's house.

As he drove, he realized that the town looked the same at night. No cars, no pedestrians. Nothing. The only difference was that it was night and the street lamps took over where the sun left off. Todd thought of the citizens of Myrtle Beach, likely hiding in their houses still, losing sleep over the horror that descended upon their once relaxing town. No more boogie boarding, or strolling along the boardwalk. No more laying on the beach, getting the perfect tan. No more of the life that they knew.

At about three blocks from Markley's house, he parked his car.

It was almost midnight and the streets were completely vacant, which didn't surprise Todd. Markley's street was devoid of the street lamps, but the full moon above was sufficient in lighting Todd's way.

A vehicle rounded a corner up ahead and Todd saw its headlights light up a few houses before it would eventually shine in his direction. He rushed to the side of the street and flung himself behind a large shrub, avoiding detection by whoever was driving the vehicle. Between the branches, he could see that the headlights belonged to a white cargo van. He expected the van to continue on its way, but it slowed, eventually coming to a stop in front of John's house.

Todd muttered under his breath: "Who do we have here?"

He moved behind a row of bushes, closer to the side of John's house, yet still out of sight from the road. He saw a figure in the driver's seat, but could not make out what the person looked like. Then the driver's side door swung open and a man stepped out of the van. The engine puttered softly and broke the silence of the neighborhood.

The man wore black pants, a long-sleeve black shirt, white gloves, and a black cap that cloaked his face from the bright moonlight. Todd saw his scraggly hair as he turned around and opened the sliding side door of the van.

Todd's eyes opened wide when he saw the man lift something from the van. "What the hell?"

Todd pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed John after he saw the one-legged body being carried onto the detective's lawn.

"John," Todd whispered into the phone. "He's on your lawn. With a body. Hurry, we need to nab him."

Todd pocketed his phone and reached for his pistol. He rushed from the bushes and saw the man throw a severed foot near the body. A sheet of paper fell from the killer's hand and was blown in the breeze slightly before landing several feet from the victim. The man walked to the paper and bent over to pick it up when Todd screamed at the top of his lungs. "Freeze!"

The killer did the opposite. He ran to the open driver's door and jumped in before Todd fired his first shot. The bullet hit the side door of the van as the man slammed on the accelerator in time to avoid a bullet to his side.

Out of the corner of his eye, Todd saw John run from his house. Todd sprinted into the street but it was too late. There was no way he could see the license plate, though he now knew the vehicle the man drove and a few characteristics, though everything he knew could easily be changed. A change in vehicle. A change in clothes. A much-needed haircut.

"Did you see his face, Todd?" John asked.

"No," Todd said. "I couldn't see him."

Todd walked to the sheet of paper the man dropped. He bent over and picked it up. "It just says 'Can you guess who is next?'"

Todd looked at the body of the woman. He was certain that her last name began with a Y and he was just as certain that Detective John Markley was next on the list.

Day 7

With the seventh victim identified as Kelly Yates, thus completing the puzzle Todd figured out, it was now obvious who the next victim would be. John Markley would be the next to die.

Todd sat in John's living room while the crime scene investigators finished combing the scene. The last few investigators lingered as the sun rose and abated the darkness.

"We need to get you out of here," Todd said. "He'll be coming for you next."

"I'm not leaving," John said. "I'm not letting that bastard push me out of my home, my town. I'm going to stay no matter what happens."

"You're going to get yourself killed if you stay here," Todd said.

"That's just a risk I'll have to take."

"Where are your wife and son?"

"They are somewhere safe," John said. "Somewhere a little off the beaten trail."

"Good," Todd said.

"Yeah, but I'm still afraid that something will go wrong. I can handle this creep, but I can't let him get near my family. He can come for me all he wants, but—"

Todd heard John's phone vibrate loudly.

"Excuse me," John said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. John's face went from a look of distress to a look of extreme terror.

"What's the matter?" Todd asked.

"Just went from bad to worse."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone just texted me..." John started. He gasped for air before continuing. "...the address of where my family is hiding."

John ran into the kitchen and opened the door to the garage. Todd followed behind, unsure if the detective wanted him to follow or not.

"Should I come along?" Todd asked.

John pulled the driver's side car door open in haste. The words flew from his mouth: "Yeah, hurry!"

Todd rushed through the door and ran to the car. They both got in the car and John opened the garage door before starting the car. He didn't wait for the garage door to go up fully before he put the car in reverse and began to back out. Once out, he closed the garage door.

Todd looked out the window and saw the men still working on the detective's yard. John rolled down his windows and yelled out. "Emergency. I need to go. Call me if you need anything."

Once in the street, John turned the wheel to his left and sped down the street past Todd's parked car.

"How far away is this place?" Todd asked.

"Forty-five minutes," John said. "I'm so stupid to think they would be safe there."

Todd flew back in his seat as John slammed on the accelerator. From Route 17, Todd saw the familiar signs for the Conway Bypass, also known as Route 22. Once on 22, they weaved in and out of traffic and Todd lost track of where they were. He took a different route to travel north via Interstate 95, though he hadn't had the desire to return to Edinboro since they arrived to Myrtle Beach. The highways were no longer necessary for him. With each exit sign, he became even more lost, though he did not want to ask where they were. He was just along for the ride.

Todd looked over and saw John's knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. He knew the feeling. He remembered feeling the horrible emptiness when Melinda and their daughter, Cadance, were abducted in Edinboro. John did not know for certain if his wife and son were safe, but Todd figured that he probably assumed the worst, though with a shimmer of hope always present. It was that shimmer of hope and optimism that allowed men like John and Todd to persevere in the face of evil. Without that mindset, they would not be able to forge on. It was vital.

They took an exit Todd didn't know and continued down a road that he was equally unfamiliar with. A left turn, then eventually a right. With each turn, the roads contained less traffic and far fewer structures.

Then John slowed about fifty yards from what looked like a large shanty house.

"Is this it?"

"Yeah, this is where my grandmother lived during the Great Depression. Not much to look at, but it's been handed down, though not legally. The deed is not in my name. I don't know how he—"

John stopped talking abruptly and pulled his gun from its holster. "Follow me. And don't slam your door."

They exited the car and cautiously approached the structure. Todd felt his boots sink into the sand patches between the gravel of the broken road. He saw the boarded up windows and the cracked paint on the front door. Todd wondered where the wife's car was. Perhaps it was hidden somewhere nearby, as a nice car near a dilapidated shanty would be a dead giveaway someone was hiding there. Or maybe John had dropped them off. Todd wasn't sure, though now wasn't the time to gather information from John. He had enough on his mind.

Both men drew their guns and stepped towards the door, which Todd could see was open slightly. John reached out with his left hand and pushed the door open slowly. The sun poured into the small shanty and Todd could see the contents of the structure. A wooden table, beat and worn to hell. Two chairs sat near the table and matched the look of the table. A recliner that appeared to be decades old, was discarded in the corner, covered partially by a beige sheet.

Todd followed John into the shanty. Nobody was there.

In the center of the only room of the structure lay a small photograph accompanied by a small slip of paper. John ignored them and continued on towards the back of the shanty. He bent over and pulled on a small rug on the ground. It wouldn't budge. Then he spoke in a loud voice.

"Samantha? It's me. Are you okay?"

Todd heard a soft click from under the floorboards. Moments later, the rug bent in half and Todd saw that it was attached to a trap door. The trap door opened and a blonde-haired woman emerged. She wore a yellow and red summer dress, though her attire did not match the horror on her face. Tears flowed down her pale face as she reached down and lifted a boy from underneath the floorboards. Then Todd heard her soft voice: "We're fine."

Todd looked at the boy, who was half the height of Samantha. He shared her blonde hair, though his was only long enough to cover a portion of his forehead. His skin was tanned, probably from copious amounts of time playing outside. He wore blue jeans and a GI Joe tee shirt. He looked at Todd and then quickly looked at the ground.

Samantha put her hand on the boy's shoulder. "Thank God Carter heard a vehicle approaching," she said. "We peered out between the cracks in the boarded up windows thinking we'd see your car, but it was a big van. We weren't sure who it was so we figured it would be best to hide."

"Good thing you did," John said.

"I'll say," she said. "I could hear the creep walking around, checking things out. He was here for a while."

"When did he leave?' Todd asked.

"Must have been a half hour ago. It's been quiet since then."

Todd saw Carter look up at his father. His eyes displayed intense fear, like he had just seen the boogeyman. Perhaps, through a crack in the floorboards, he had.

John walked towards his son, crouched down slightly so his face lined up with his son's, and spoke in a soothing voice. "Are you alright, Cart?"

Carter nodded his head, though Todd could tell it was a forced nod. It was obvious the boy was shaken up quite a bit. Though young, Todd knew he was aware of the grave danger his family was in.

Todd walked over to the photo that lay on the ground. He crouched down and looked at it while John spoke quietly to his son. Todd's eyes squinted as he saw what was in the photo. A headless body lay on a table, and though small in the picture, he could see the feet of two different skin colors stitched to legs of two other shades of tan. One foot had red nail polish, the other had clearly belonged to a man. From there, Todd scanned the two legs. One leg contained dark hair, the other was freshly shaven. The top of the thighs of each leg was stitched to the pelvic area of a woman's torso. Todd's eyes looked up the body and he saw the arms stitched to the torso. One arm was dark and contained a few tattoos near the biceps. The other was of farer skin and contained no tattoos. Todd nearly gagged when he saw the stump of the neck that clearly belonged to the torso.

He looked away from the picture and saw the note. In large font, he read the single sentence that was on the page: "Complete my first creation."

Todd looked back at the photo but could not quite believe his eyes. It was something so distant, like something in a movie that seemed so surreal, that he couldn't quite comprehend it. He hoped that he never saw the monstrosity in the flesh, but if he were to catch the killer, it would be inevitable.

The note boggled Todd's mind just as much as the photo. How could it be possible for the detective, or any other person of decency, to aid in completing the embodiment of death? The composite of body parts was a symbol so sinister and evil, that even the worst of the worst psychopaths would be weak at the knees at the mere thought of it.

Todd turned around and saw John approach the note with aplomb. His wife and son stayed near the trap door, a good thing considering the horrible photo that lay a dozen feet from their innocence.

John studied the photo then read the brief note. "Good God," he said.

He turned to his wife and said, "I'll call my buddy down at the station and get you somewhere safe."

After John got on the phone and arranged protection for his wife and son, they all loaded into his car and headed to the police station.

To Todd, the fifteen minute ride seemed to take forever. Not much was said during the ride. Fear and panic filled the air and squelched any chance at a normal conversation. John spoke only to soothe Samantha and Carter. Todd stared out the window most of the way, in deep thought.

At the police station, John said his goodbye to his family.

"I'll call you," John said to his wife. He crouched down and hugged his son.

"Daddy, please don't leave us," Carter said, wiping away the tears.

"I have to help people, Carter," John said. "You'll see me again before you know it."

John stood up and shook the hand of his friend, James Malloy. "Take good care of them."

James was a mountain of a man. At six foot five, he towered over the detective. He smiled sincerely and spoke in a soft voice that didn't match his intimidating appearance. "I will, John. They'll be safe."

Samantha and Carter walked with James into the police station. Carter looked over his shoulder as he walked. Tears continued to pour down his face.

John waved at him. "See you soon, Cart."

Back in the car, Todd saw several tears meander down the detective's face. For a brief moment, he saw a very sensitive man. Hard as a rock on the outside, yet tender as a marshmallow on the inside. At that moment, the detective reminded him of himself.

Both men did not speak as John put the car into drive and sped away. Soon they would return to John's house and the game of cat and mouse would begin. Todd hoped John was the cat, but feared he would instead become the mouse.

* * *

John pulled into the garage of his house. Once the garage door closed, they got out of the car and went into the house.

In the kitchen, Todd's phone rang.

When he answered the call, he heard Melinda's voice. "Todd, when will you be home?"

"I'll be there soon," he said. "Maybe in twenty minutes. Sit tight."

Todd hung up the phone and as he was placing the phone in his pocket, he heard the chime that indicated a text message. He pulled the phone back out and looked at the message.

It was from his daughter and simply said, "I miss you, Dad."

He placed the phone on the counter and smiled. He thought about how much he missed her, though he didn't miss living up north. He would visit her soon, most likely on campus of the university she was attending not more than an hour from Edinboro.

John walked over to the kitchen table and picked up the newspaper.

"Look at this, Todd."

He handed Todd the newspaper, who put it down on the counter and studied the front page article. "The more they keep this on the front page, the more he's winning. He's becoming a sensation with these notes and missing body parts."

"We have to keep that photo to ourselves for now," John said. "If that gets in the paper, then it will go national."

"It hasn't already?"

"Word is getting out, but I think it will go viral on the internet and be on front pages all over the country if the press finds out about this wannabe Frankenstein we have on our hands."

Todd stepped away from the paper. "I have to go, John. I need to make sure my wife is okay. She's scared out of her mind."

"I don't blame her. I think most people are."

Todd walked towards the foyer. "I'll be back in a bit."

"I'll be here."

"We'll get this guy," Todd said.

"I hope so."

Todd opened the front door and walked out into the heat. The sound of emptiness filled his ears as he walked down the street towards his car. Moments after turning the ignition, he lowered all four windows and the steam from the interior lofted out. He drove down the lifeless street, wishing things would go back to normal and the sound of children playing would fill the air, rather than the sound of silence that was now the norm.

* * *

John heard his footsteps echo off the walls as his shoes clapped against the hard floor of the kitchen. He walked around the house to check to make sure all of the doors were locked. One after another he checked them. Once they were all secure, he double checked.

Once he was satisfied with the doors, he checked all of the windows twice.

Though he never displayed symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder, he felt it was better to be sure that there was no way the killer could enter through an unlocked door or window. John normally was consistent regarding security, but Samantha was more lax when it came to locking doors and windows. She grew up on a farm and it was practically tradition to leave everything unlocked. John did his best to explain that there were threats out there, and it was better to assume that said threats could migrate into their home. As a detective, John knew what people were capable of, so he checked in case she returned to her roots and left something unlocked.

Once he knew all the doors and windows were locked, John returned to the kitchen.

He walked towards the refrigerator, intent on getting a drink, when his cell phone ringtone blared out.

"You heard what?" John asked the man on the other end.

"A man's scream. Next door."

At first John wondered why the man had called him instead of 911. Then he remembered that his number was in nearly every article regarding the investigation. Perhaps the man had the paper nearby and remembered the last line of "if you have any information please call..."

"What's your neighbor's address?" John asked.

As the man relayed his address in haste, John wrote it down on a slip of paper on the kitchen table. Then he realized that the house was on the other block. With the house number fresh in his mind, he raced towards the door to the garage.

Then he thought he should call Todd.

He dialed Todd's number and heard a sixties rock and roll tune playing from under the newspaper on the kitchen counter. He moved the paper and found Todd's cell phone lying on the counter.

"Crap," John said.

He had no time to waste. He hopped into his car and raced towards the house where the man heard a scream. He hoped that the tip led to the capture of the monster that was threatening the safety of everyone around him.

* * *

Todd was halfway home when he realized that he forgot his cell phone at John's place. He pulled a U turn and rushed back.

At John's house, he rang the door bell and waited.

No answer.

Then he rang again and again.

Still no answer.

He remembered that John said he would be home. The what-ifs swirled through his mind. What if the killer was somewhere in the house and they didn't see him? What if John was in trouble and needed help? What if John was already dead?

Todd ran around to the back door. Locked.

He checked a few windows, but all of those were locked too.

Finally, after a minute of deliberation, he broke in through one of the kitchen windows. He pulled his gun and checked through the house, but nobody was there. There wasn't any indication of a struggle either. No evidence whatsoever that John had been snatched from his home.

Back in the kitchen, Todd found his cell phone. Out in the garage, he found a small piece of wood to use as a dowel in the window, so nobody else could enter the house.

Once the dowel was in place, he saw a piece of paper with a scribbled address on the kitchen table.

"I don't remember this being here before," he said aloud.

Todd picked up the piece of paper and walked towards the front door. He locked the door before closing it.

Todd had a hunch that the detective needed help. His hunches were rarely wrong.

* * *

John slowed his car and saw the one-story dwelling that bore the house number given to him by the neighbor who called him. He lowered his window and listened for screaming, but all was silent.

He parked down the street and approached the house on foot, to avoid being seen by anyone inside the house. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket to call the station for some backup. Looking at the screen, he saw that he had no signal. He held his cell phone up into the air, as if it would help retain the several bars of signal that it usually had. No luck.

He pocketed his cell phone and walked cautiously towards the house.

Then he heard a scream.

As he raced towards the house, he heard a second scream. His heart raced even faster as he ran around the back and viewed a large garage behind the house. He stopped dead as a third scream emanated from the garage.

He pressed on, creeping up to the door. He knew there could be anything behind that door, and from the screams he just heard, he had an inkling of what he might discover.

Silence overtook the area as he placed his hand on the door knob. With his gun drawn, he held his breath and turned the knob.

John pushed the door open and aimed his gun into the poorly lit garage. The smell of death overtook him. His eyes watered at the smell of rotting flesh. He gagged and wanted to turn back, but he couldn't. He had to keep going.

Each step took him further into what looked like a laboratory. Two tables lay in the middle of the room, both contained a body.

The table on the left held a large man, with a bloody knife by his neck. Blood dripped from his neck onto the plastic sheet that acted as a barrier between the man and the wooden table. Other than the bloody neck, the man appeared to be unscathed.

Before John could give the naked man a second thought, he saw what lay on the second table. His jaw dropped as he viewed the atrocity. He stepped closer to get a better look and stood with his back facing the naked man with the slit throat. On the table, he saw body parts from various people, the victims from the past week, that were stitched together. He remembered the photo and how distant he felt to the horrors on the glossy paper. Now that he stood in front of it, seeing the bruised flesh and the flaps of skin stitched together, it was all too real to him. John thought of the other body and figured the man would be harvested to provide this "creation" with the last piece of its heinous puzzle: the head.

With his back facing the body that would likely provide the monstrosity before him its final touch, he stared at the torso and its connected arms.

As John stared at the patchwork of flesh before him, he heard a faint noise from behind him. John was mesmerized and dismissed the noise as plastic.

John's realization of the threat behind him occurred when he felt the blade of a knife puncture his back. It was too late when the arm of the naked man who he thought was dead wrapped around his neck and pressed hard into throat. He struggled for half a minute with the man until he collapsed to the ground, and everything around him disappeared into a murky darkness.

* * *

Todd called John several times on his way to the address that he found on the detective's kitchen table. Each time, the call went straight to voice mail. On his forth attempt, Todd noticed that the call failed. Moments later, he rounded the corner and saw John's empty car.

He parked behind his car and looked at his phone.

"Damn it. No service." he said in low voice.

He exited his car, drew his gun, and ran towards the ranch house with the address that was listed on the paper. He rushed to the front door of the house and listened.

Silence.

The door was of low quality, almost like a piece of driftwood shaped into a door. Todd turned around and mule kicked the door, opening it with ease. Inside, the air was several degrees warmer than the air outside. Todd breathed heavily, though it did little good. He felt suffocated by the warm, stale air. Nevertheless, Todd continued on.

Thick drapes covered the few windows in the house, and a sickening hue sprayed across the walls that were so filthy, they looked like they belonged in a neglected monkey cage. The furniture looked like it had been picked up curbside after a long night of rain. The couch and love seat looked damp, but so did everything else. The air felt like it contained a lot of moisture, like there was a steam room nearby that had been left open.

To the right he saw part of the kitchen in another section. To the left a hallway that likely led to the bedrooms. He chose to go right first.

Into the kitchen, Todd saw a yellow refrigerator that looked like it was from the fifties. Its motor was loud and abrasive. Todd wondered what might be in such a disgusting looking contraption. Discovering body parts would not surprise him and though he was curious, he continued on. Finding John was the first objective.

Todd looked at the countertops and saw that they were covered in particles of food that seemed to now be stuck permanently to them. Water dripped from the faucet into a bowl in the sink and almost matched the rhythm of the cuckoo clock that hung innocently on the wall. He peered towards the end of the room and saw a door that led to the back yard. He walked to the door and looked out through the dust-covered window. The grass in the yard was overgrown and filled with weeds that seemed to be as high as sunflower plants. It was obvious that the owner of the property did little in terms of upkeep. Something else consumed their time to the point where they neglected everything else.

In the yard, to the left, Todd saw a large building that resembled an over-sized garage. Though curious about the contents of the garage, he decided to turn around and search the rest of the house first.

He rushed back into the living room, lifted his gun, and pointed it at the hallway that likely led to the bedrooms and bathroom. He continued through the darkness of the hallway and saw the outline of a doorframe to his right. The door was closed, though he heard no sounds from behind it.

Todd grasped the knob, turned it slowly, and entered the room with a slight hesitation. With this gun pointed into the room, he stepped into the unknown.

Light found its way through the horizontal blinds that covered the small windows of the room. Todd saw a bed to his left, a dresser to his right, and a basket filled to the top with dirty clothes straight ahead. He walked to a thin door past the dresser and opened it. A few torn shirts hung from metal hangers. Nothing else was in the closet.

Back out in the hallway, he found another door. Through the door, he found a second bedroom, though this one only contained a small bed and a desk filled with newspaper clippings. Todd walked to the desk and looked at the clippings. He saw the headlines of several articles: "Markley Vs. Miller: Decision For New Detective At A Stalemate" and "Cy Miller Resigns From Force Following Controversy." Red pen slashed through a black and white photo of John beneath another article detailing his rise to the top. Scribbled beneath the photo were the words: "My face will be the last you see before you die."

"Oh my God," Todd said as he dropped the clippings back onto the desk.

Though uncertain before about whose house he had entered, he was certain he was standing in the killer's house. He took a deep breath and stepped back from the clippings. The pounding of his heart overtook the silence in the house.

He raced into the hallway and approached the last door. With more hesitation than ever, he turned the knob and entered the room. The smell of bleach filled the air, though it was mixed with a menagerie of smells, urine and feces among the most prominent. He also smelled decay, not like the smell of food that had gone bad, but the smell of rotten flesh. Todd gagged upon smelling the putrid odor and he turned around, lunged into the hallway, and shut the door. Though the air in the hallway was musky and disgusting in its own right, compared to the air that lingered behind the bathroom door, it was like fresh mountain air.

Back out in the living room, Todd struggled to find breathable air. Air that was not tainted. When he realized that there was no basement in the house, at least no basement that was accessible from inside the house, he exited the same way he entered. Back outside, he stared at the large garage that sat not more than thirty yards from the house and wondered what other surprises he might find within its walls.

The neighborhood was silent. The only sound Todd heard was the occasional squawk of seagulls passing overhead. It's like the entire world suddenly disappeared and he was alone. Complete silence now overtook the property.

Todd stepped closer to the garage and listened, but nothing could be heard. Nothing at all.

He saw a small door that was flanked by two large garage bay doors. Once at the smaller door, he tried to turn the knob but it was locked. He figured a mule kick was his best option, though it would break the silence that lingered over the property.

He turned around and with a swift motion, mule-kicked the door open.

The door to the garage creaked open and the smell of disinfectants wafted out. He raised his gun and entered the dark garage.

A small window on the left allowed some light to enter, and with the small amount of light, he saw a pegboard to his left. It was filled with clipped articles that Todd recognized once he stepped close enough to it. He listened intently, but heard no movement within the garage except for the soft sound of his shoes against the floor. At the pegboard, he also saw photos of all of the victims while they were alive. Polaroid photos of the unknowing victims, almost like pictures snapped by hidden paparazzi.

Todd scanned the photos. He saw Deborah's photo to the far left. Then Joshua's, Officer Riley's, Cindy, Angela, and Nicholas, the young man he remembered meeting at the ice cream stand. To the far right was Kelly Yates. Above their photos were the words: ROUND ONE. Under all of their photos, he saw a lone photo of Detective John Markley.

To the right, he saw the words ROUND TWO, and though no line of photos of victims existed there, he did see a single photo near the bottom. His eyes widened when he saw the photo was of him.

* * *

Melinda Williams sat at the kitchen table and looked at the clock. She wondered where Todd was and why he hadn't called to let her know when he would be home.

On a typical Sunday night, they would sit on the beach and stare out into the distance. On this particular Sunday night, she wasn't sure if he would even return at a reasonable hour. As time passed, she worried more and more about her husband. Before he was retired, it wasn't out of the ordinary for Todd to call Melinda just to tell her he loved her. If a call wasn't possible, he would at least send her a three word text, usually "I love you," or "I miss you," or some other variation of how much he loved her or missed her.

She knew that he was up against an incomprehensible monster, but still, she needed that assurance that he was okay.

She stared at her cell phone on the kitchen table, like she was expecting a call or a message at that very second. When neither a call nor a text came, she grabbed her phone and texted Todd: "Will you be home soon?"

She placed the phone back on the table and stood up. Walking over to the refrigerator, she thought of what would become of her if something happened to Todd. She had such thoughts before, but not since moving to Myrtle Beach. In her new life, Todd was a constant. He would always be there. Besides, he was supposed to be retired. What could possibly happen in retirement? In their new life, they would grow old together, while sipping mixed drinks on the beach until they were old and gray and could no longer make the short trip to the beach, in which case, they would simply enjoy the view from their back porch.

As the thoughts raced through her mind, she opened the freezer and placed two ice cubes in a glass. Then she opened the refrigerator and reached for the pitcher of lemonade she made earlier that day. She poured a glass and returned the pitcher to the refrigerator.

Back at the kitchen table, she looked at her phone.

No reply.

She sat and sipped the lemonade for what felt like twenty minutes. The ice cubes clanked around on the inside of the glass as they slowly melted. She looked at the paper a bit, but it contained nothing but bad news, or so it seemed. She flipped to the comics near the back, but they did little to lift her spirits.

Melinda looked at the clock again. Words came from her mouth in a whisper. "Where are you?"

She decided to call him. The call went straight to voice mail and she left a message.

"Honey, it's almost six. Where are you? Call me back when you get this. I love you."

She sipped her now watered-down lemonade, looked at the clock again, and wondered how much longer she'd have to wait.

* * *

At the pegboard in the large garage, Todd felt the sweat drip down his forehead. He turned around and looked into the darkness. He saw two tables that were covered with dark sheets.

His eyes squinted as he stepped towards the end of the tables. He walked between them and looked at the one on his right. His eyes adjusted gradually, and he saw more and more of the outline of what looked like a body beneath the sheet. Holding his breath, Todd lifted the one side of the sheet and saw a pale white foot. He moved the sheet further up and saw stitching at the ankle of the body that lay motionless beneath the cloth. Without uncovering it further, he knew now what lay under the cover. He knew it was the body he saw in the photo, the body that was so abstract then, but so awfully real now.

He replaced the sheet and turned to look at the other table. From the shape of the protrusion, he knew there was another body, though he wasn't sure if it was a patchwork of body parts like the one he partially examined. Todd reached his right hand out and lifted the sheet near the head of what he figured was a second body. His hand shook slightly as he lifted the sheet and moved it down. He saw hair, then a forehead, then two closed eyes. It wasn't until he moved the sheet below the man's nose that he discovered the identity: Detective John Markley.

With one swift motion, Todd lowered the sheet below John's bare chest. Todd saw blood trickle from a gash in John's throat.

"John? Wake up," Todd said.

John did not move at the sound of Todd's voice, though Todd could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed intermittently.

"John, we need to get out of here."

John grimaced as his eyes opened slowly. His voice came out low as he struggled to speak. "Todd...help...me..."

At that moment, the back door of the garage flew open and Todd saw the silhouette of a large man in a robe. The figure lunged at Todd and before he could lift his gun, he was tackled to the ground. He hit the concrete floor with enough force that he lost the grip on his gun. He heard it slide across the floor, towards the door in which he entered.

The robed man walked towards him, and he saw the robe opened slightly. He could see the naked chest of the man who stood over him. He could also see that the man did not wear any pants or underwear.

Todd saw a stream of light glean off of the knife the man lifted into the air.

On his back, Todd rolled over seconds before the man ran towards him with the knife held high. Todd rotated his body and used his legs to knock the man to the ground. The man fell with a loud thud and smacked his back against the concrete. Todd got to his feet, but the man recovered quickly and slammed into him with the side of his shoulder. Todd flew back into the pegboard that contained the photos and newspaper articles.

Todd remained standing after hitting his back against the pegboard, but before he could get his bearings, the man in the robe opened the same door that Todd entered through, and fled down the driveway.

On his way out, Todd bent down to pick up his gun. He saw the man in the street, running across the street towards another house.

While running, Todd reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He hoped he could get service soon to call for backup and an ambulance. In the street, there was no service.

He looked up and saw the robed man run between two houses. He gripped his gun harder and sprinted across the grass and between the houses. By the time he reached the back of the houses, he did not see the man. He surveyed his surroundings for a few seconds and saw the man running behind a line of trees at the back of the property.

Todd ran towards the back of the yard of the one of house, and followed the tree line. He lifted his gun when he saw the robed man in the distance.

He fired two shots.

The first was a miss.

He scored with the second, and saw the man fall to the ground. Moments later, he saw the man stand up and stagger to the left, behind the large trunk of a tree.

Todd ran to the place where the man was hit, but slowed to a near-halt before walking the few steps necessary to see around the trunk of the tree. He took a single step and saw a bare foot sticking out from behind the tree. After another step, the bottom of the robe could be seen. Finally, he saw the man facedown in the grass. He stepped over to him, placed his foot on the back of the man's neck, and pressed down firmly.

He looked at his cell phone and sighed when he saw that he had one bar of signal. He hastily called 911 and gave them the address where he found the detective. He ended the call, pocketed his phone, and crouched down over the killer with his gun pressed firmly against the back of his head.

Todd did not bother to read the man his Miranda Rights. He knew the responding officers would take care of that. Instead he continued to hold the man down and saw a red spot on the back of the man's robe increase in size.

"This town will be safe now with you out of the picture," Todd said under his breath.

He looked in the distance at the top of the structure that held John. Seconds later, he heard the wailing of sirens grow closer and closer. Help was on the way.

A Week After...

For the next week, Todd visited John, spending hours with him in a small room on the second floor of the area hospital's east wing. The first day after the killer had been caught and the detective had been rushed to the hospital, John was in and out of consciousness. Over several days, John became stronger and recovery was swift.

The day before John's discharge, they sat and chatted near a window overlooking the parking lot.

"I want to thank you again for everything," John said, his voice strained.

Out of the corner of his eye, Todd saw the menagerie of balloons that were slowly losing their helium. He saw the one that he and Melinda delivered to John the day after he had been admitted. He saw a few others, likely from friends, family, and colleagues.

"You're welcome," Todd said.

Todd knew that he not only saved John, but many more people, and even himself. Fro evidence that was gathered at the killer's garage, a spreadsheet listing the future victims was found. Todd was on that list after each victim that would make up the monstrosity his head would be stitched to. He often shivered at the though of such a horrible thing.

"So Cy confessed?" John asked.

"Yeah, at the first hearing," Todd said. "What do you remember about him?"

"I remember him from years ago. He was a creeper, but I never thought he would do what he did."

"Yeah, major creeper," Todd said. "He even went into detail about how he killed each victim. I couldn't believe the look of pride on his face as he described everything. It was like it was his art. He wanted a cop's head for each of his creations, starting with..." Todd looked down and hesitated. "Sorry."

John turned away from Todd and looked out the window. Todd looked at John's neck and saw the large taped bandage on his throat.

Todd thought of the pictures shown at the trial and how his stomach turned at the recollection of the stitched-together composite. Dubbed the "Frankenstein Killer" by the media, Cy Miller, the former police officer, had nearly finished his creation. Now he would likely be executed for the horrors he created.

Todd tried to clear his mind of the awful images. He looked out the window and focused on the cars that were entering the hospital parking lot for a moment before looking at John.

"How's your neck?"

John groaned softly. "Can't complain," he said. "I'm alive."

"You'll be back to normal in no time."

"I can't wait. It's boring as hell in here. Can't wait to get back to work."

Todd smiled at the detective. "Amen."

"So are you still retired?" John asked. "Because if you aren't..."

Todd moved slightly in his chair and heard it make a noise against the linoleum floor. "I'm still retired. What are you trying to ask?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to come out of retirement and be my partner. I think we'd make a great team. I know the commissioner is very impressed with you, and I'm sure he'd hire you on in a heartbeat."

Todd looked back out at the traffic. He thought for a moment about what Melinda would think about him getting back into the business of fighting crime.

John cleared his throat. "You don't have to decide now."

"I'm flattered," Todd said, looking back at John. "I'll talk it over with the boss at home."

John nodded. "Just let me know."

They both looked out the window for a moment before Todd spoke: "So tomorrow is the big day?"

"Yeah, I'll finally get the hell out of here. Samantha and Carter are excited for me to be back home again."

"How's the little guy doing?" Todd asked.

"He is fine," John said. "Samantha is keeping him busy to keep his mind off of everything."

"Always a good idea."

After chatting for another fifteen minutes, Todd stood up and smiled. "I better get going. But I'll talk it over with Melinda and let you know."

"Thanks," John said, looking up at Todd. "Thanks for everything."

Todd took a few steps towards the door before turning around to look at John, who remained seated by the window. "Don't mention it."

* * *

On the empty beach, Todd held Melinda's hand as he stared off towards the horizon. The calamity had finally subsided, and he finally felt at ease.

"I'll support you in any decision you make," Melinda said, her voice soft and soothing. She was as relaxed as Todd, and he could tell by the way she lightly gripped his hand.

"But does that mean you really want me to get back into it?" Todd asked. "I kind of like being retired...but I have this burning desire to help make the world a safer place. It's hard to sit around when I could be out there making a difference."

Melinda's voice was barely audible over the crashing of the waves. "Then you need to call the detective later and confirm things."

"It's not one hundred percent," Todd said. "He has to clear it with the commissioner and all."

He saw Melinda give him a look, like the look of "everything will be okay."

"I know...I worry too much. Whatever happens, happens."

Todd looked to his left, away from Melinda. Nobody roamed the beach. He figured everyone was still afraid to come out. He didn't blame them. Word spread quickly that the killer had been caught, though for some reason, they still didn't seem to think it was safe. Todd returned his gaze to the Atlantic. A cool breeze whipped past his glistening forehead. He saw the shadow of his house creep past them and towards the tide slowly rolling in.

Todd closed his eyes and listened to the sounds. Waves crashing. Seagulls squawking.

Then a scream from down the beach.

Todd sprang up from his folding beach chair and looked in the direction from which the scream came. His heart raced as he contemplated the idea of a copycat killer. In a nanosecond, he squelched the thought and glanced at Melinda.

"Go to the house and lock the doors!"

He saw her stand up and run towards the house before he pressed his right foot into the sand to propel himself away from their chairs and towards the unknown. He nearly tripped as he went, running as fast as his legs would take him.

He scanned the beach.

No one in sight.

Though focused on finding the source of the scream, his mind drifted into recollection of the first body he found. He could picture the woman lying facedown in the sand, her throat slashed. Her right foot taken by a sick and demented killer who was starting to compile parts for his own creation, a sinister creation that haunted Todd every night since first seeing it, like the image was burned into the back of his eyelids. Todd tried to no avail to get the image from his mind as he ran.

Then he heard a second scream to his left, that of a woman.

He stopped abruptly and saw a man and a woman rolling around near the dunes. Racing towards them, he pulled his .38 from its holster. He was glad he continued to carry it, even while relaxing on the beach.

Then he noticed that the woman had a smile on her face. "Stop it, Sam! That tickles!"

Both the man and the woman looked up at Todd, who stopped over them with his pistol up and ready.

The woman shrieked and the man put his hands up in the air.

"Please," the man said. "Don't do it."

Todd lowered his gun and slid it back into its holster. "Sorry to bother you," Todd said.

He walked away from the man and the woman who remained lying on the dunes. He couldn't wait to get back to tell Melinda that there was nothing to worry about. That everything would be alright. And he looked forward to working with John, especially since the worst was over and the chances of them encountering anything so horrifying again was very unlikely.

* * *

Sam felt the warm sand beneath him as he lay in the sand with his girlfriend, Megan. Now that the wild-eyed man with the gun was walking away, they would have their privacy again.

On vacation, he wondered why the beaches we so vacant, though he couldn't complain. It meant more privacy and thus, more intimacy with Megan.

"Once that jerk is completely out of sight, I say we get busy," Sam said.

Megan giggled and played with her ponytail. "You're so bad. Let's do it back at the condo."

Sam leaned in, closed his eyes, and kissed Megan on the lips. He tasted the sand on her, but that was all a part of the experience in his mind.

Suddenly, he felt her lips move away quickly, and when he opened his eyes, a beastly man with a knife held Megan by her ponytail. The man was swift with the blade and cut her jugular before she could react to his presence. Sam heard a gurgled scream pour from her mouth as rapidly as the blood poured from her throat.

"Please," Sam said, scrambling to get to his feet.

It was obvious to Sam that the knife-wielding man would show no mercy. Sam turned around and scrambled away on all fours, but it was too late. He felt the blade penetrate his back, a few inches from his spine. His face slammed into the hot sand and he felt the man's boot pressed against the back of his head. The mixture of the sand stinging his eyes and the blade being pulled from his back was nothing compared to what came next. In his final moment alive, he felt the agonizing pain of the knife slamming into the nape of his neck and piercing all the way through until it reached the sand beneath his dead body.

# # #

About the author:

Maxwell Cunningham is a pen name used by Ryan M. Murphy. Ryan is a lifelong Pennsylvanian who has been obsessed with The Beatles for as long as he can remember. When he is not running his music store or playing shows with his band, he writes thriller, horror, and science fiction stories.

For more info on Ryan, please go to www.ryanmmurphy.com

For more Maxwell Cunningham releases, check out www.maxwellcunningham.com

A Note From The Author:

Thank you for reading Spells Murder! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Please consider writing a review! For information on current and upcoming releases, please visit my web site! ~MC

Check out these other releases by Maxwell Cunningham:

Without A Trial

When the police commissioner of Edinboro suddenly retires after a raid gone wrong, hardball cop, Todd Williams, finds himself in the middle of a dangerous game that threatens the safety of those he loves the most. His morals are put to the test when he must act as executioner to suspected criminals who are condemned to death without a trial.

Without A Trial 2

The stakes are raised in this sequel to Without A Trial when Todd Williams must rescue his wife and the entire city of Edinboro from a new police commissioner who has sinister plans of his own.

Trepidation (A Short Novel Of Terror)

They found the town dark, deserted. Then they found the first mutilated body. Abandoned in the remote town of Sun City, Pennsylvania, with the harsh winter night quickly approaching and no connection to the outside world, they were the only ones alive. Or so they thought.

The Twentieth Host

Thomas Peril, a good-looking man of unprecedented charm, realizes his role in the end of the humanity. Roger Bravel, a middle-aged artist, shelters the twentieth host of Peril and witnesses the birth of a rapid-growing offspring. Sam Kiltner, a cop nearing retirement, discovers that the mass suicides and disappearances plaguing Philadelphia are a part of something larger, more sinister. Vince Day, a doomsdayer, crosses paths with Thomas Bravel, the offspring of the twentieth host, who might be humanity's last chance at survival.

The Morality Game (A Short Story)

Travis Lynn discovers a strange letter on his front porch that makes him question his morality. His mission is to kill a teenage boy who lives across the street. The boy's innocent looks are deceiving: he will grow up to be the most sinister dictator in the history of the world, killing over eighty million people. Upon completing the mission, Travis will receive a one million dollar reward. The catch: he has only 24 hours.

One-Eighty (A Short Story)

Serial Killer, Sid Niles, is on the hunt again. His next target has all the desirable traits of his past victims: young, beautiful, and female. Little does he know that she is about to turn the tables on him and cause his world to come crumbling down.
