Andre's POV:
I stood behind the chairs, watching the pastor minster, Fenwick unlike most cities held the ceremonies after the deceased was buried. Today, I wore my favourite black suit, the Knight of the night, I called it. Truthfully, I never knew why I loved it. Maybe it was the mixture of inner red and the shiny black. I stood picturing myself staring into the mirror, finally, she died, maybe I was relieved of the stress of watching out for her, but again, if she was murdered, then my stalker definitely had her eyes on me now. Why are you so convinced she is the killer? Didn't she say someone broke into your house when she was tired?
My head began memories fixing, coupling each memory with its pair while I focused on letting the tears cloud my eyes.
“Let's give the loved one the opportunity to speak of their loss—Mister Andre?” The pastor beckoned on me.
Hi Andre, I’m sorry but I have to go. This is for both of us, and I know how cliche that sounds. I am even stupid thinking you will waste your time reading this but I will have to send it since I already typed them.Remember how I told you I am a lawyer? Yes, your late-night screams and nightmares haunting through the night and day. I decided to dig further and before you say I invaded, I know I did, but I did it so we can have a future.Yes, I found your demons, the death of all your exes and as much as I hate for that to happen to me, I have to find out about you, I sent a copy to you already.I get it now, the insecurity about your childhood and the secrecy about your life. I understand. As a boy, you had an acci
Jones POV: It was just five minutes to the end of our, I and Kara's, shift. No lies, she still had the same command she always did on me. I couldn't really place why she could manipulate my mood with just the way she twitched her head or the way she curled her lips. She would tease me till the end of work each day, only to continue the next day. She is quite a resource. An indispensable detective, first by me. Ninety percent of cases we walked separately on were cracked at great speed but together, our head was halfway out of the game.I tipped my phone, tossing it as my anxiousness whirled up inside me. I recalculated my plans again. It first started as a manhunt, the hatred piled up all those years wanting to unleash themselves in all the cruel means I had picked along the line. My work had brought me closer to psychopaths, one of which is the poetic killer. His works were the beauty of art and blood stained to
The wind was thick and cursing. The sun blazing hot as blaring sound of sirens and chaos filled the air. Reporters gathered around the crime scene with their microphones and operation vans alongside police vehicles driving in and out. The place he once called home, now a scene for strangers and reporters.“We are gathered here at the crime scene of more than one death as...”“It is no new news that our young ladies have been dying, with the help of certain detectives, the criminal was discovered unfortunately he fled before he could be apprehended.”“you are staring at the home of Mister Andre Green, in other words, the crime scene for numeric deaths.”Andre slowly escaped from the crowd
Andre stood in front of the wooden door, ringing the doorbell for the fifth time. His heart raced as the million and one thoughts bombarded him. He only hoped she would open the door, she would be alive after all these years. But that was the least of his troubles.The door creaked and a young beautiful lady stood in front of him, too young to ever be Miss Barton. Her eyes pierced into him with a harsh stern as she spoke,"quién eres tú 'Who are you?' " Something about her rode the man in him. Maybe it was the strong Spanish accent that followed her voice when she speaks or the brownness of her eyes piercing into him."Hi..." He struggled to speak. He gulped, clearing the blockage that prevented him from speaking clearly but it was quickly replaced with another. His eyes trailed down her brown skin, automatically halted on her cleavage almost clearly visible except for the thin white fabric s
“Come here, Paul,” her tony voice would have deceived anyone into believing she wouldn't hurt a puppy but Paul knew better, he knew all the darkness that hid behind her sweet touches. Sad to say, he grew too familiar with them and feeding his demons the darkness, it only grew. He only wanted more of her, more of her tender-wickedness. She pulled him close to herself, letting is tiny lips close to hers. “Go on, tell me you want me,” she kissed his lip just enough to get a reaction from him. He had played this game thousand times over, even in his head, he has refused to let her win, but she always did. Miss Barton, the beautiful young Mistress of young Paul, but the best caretaker as the world perceived.Jones shook his head, letting the memories pass. He steadied the car wheel, scanning the road to make for certain he hadn't missed his
Knock! knock! Christy heard the soft pounding on her me door which pulled her back from her thoughts.She had stared into oblivion so long she lost sight of what troubled her, only that she had more than enough to keep her in such position.She turned the knob of the door,“Delivery for Miss Christiana,” Andre stood there holding a television with both hands. She stood jaw-dropped, staring at him dressed almost completely as a delivery man.“Sshh... We need to talk,” he forced himself inside. he dropped the object on the table, he closed rushed to the windows, took a peek outside before dropping the curtain for each one of them.He stopped to calm the rising tension inside him. He took a deep breath, turned towards her, almost as calm as he could possibly be.“Where we in love?” as awkward as it had sounded coming fr
Andre stood in front of the what was supposed to be Miss Barton's house but now ashes. He stepped on its debris, trying to figure out what he had no idea of.Pow! Pow!The sound of a gun fired at him. He dived to the ground, covering both ears as Maria walked towards him.“pedazo de mierda, mataste a mi madre (you piece of shit, you killed my mother),” she spat.“What, what are you saying,” Andre pleaded, still facing the ground.“You killed my mother asshole,” she screamed, pulling out the empty cartridge again.“No, no, no, I didn't,” he screamed, turning to face her this time.“I didn't know she was dead. I came to ask about this man,” he said, pulling out a picture from his top pocket.She let took the picture, paying close attention to it as the imag
Whispers!What else could drive a man to do things so inhuman?Whispers!The same voice that tells you to have breakfast in the morning. The same voice that tells you to kiss your wife before going to work each day.Whispers—it’s the same voice that tells you to read bedtime stories to your love ones and kiss their forehead goodnight, it's the same voice that tells you to stalk your ex-lover.The voice had ask Jones to take the final step to his plan. The plan crafted inside him. Jones, Paul, was the vessel and his head—the voice resided.Jones stood outside, hidden in the darkness of the streets. They would shield him perfectly with no figures, only if they were as dark as his heart.He placed his hand on his chest, feeling the carved name, Rebecca. Indeed there was a voice, the voice could only exist when one
It was just a month since he had done it. A month since he had locked up the man who he supposedly spent his teenage with. The poetic killer. He was the poetic killer and he lived with him. He was the poetic killer, he had killed men, women and scribbled poems on them. Poems like the one he was staring at. Port Harcourt was a big city and also known for its notoriety. Jones is pacing around his room, his hand arched above his head as he stared at the screen.Breaking News!Rising Model found dead in her apartment.It was not possible. He was sure he had the right man in jail. His father. He called the prison immediately, it was late, but he didn't care. It was more than just any crime. It was a reputable killer. The killer the world hid from and some had called the face of death. It was the face of death again, hopefully not death itself.He pulled his reports from
It was just a month since he had done it. A month since he had locked up the man who he supposedly spent his teenage with. The poetic killer. He was the poetic killer and he lived with him. He was the poetic killer, he had killed men, women and scribbled poems on them. Poems like the one he was staring at. Port Harcourt was a big city and also known for its notoriety. Jones is pacing around his room, his hand arched above his head as he stared at the screen.Breaking News!Rising Model found dead in her apartment.It was not possible. He was sure he had the right man in jail. His father. He called the prison immediately, it was late, but he didn't care. It was more than just any crime. It was a reputable killer. The killer the world hid from and some had called the face of death. It was the face of death again, hopefully not death itself.He pulled his reports from the pre
“Do you swear to tell nothing but the truth?”“Yes, I swear.”“proceed.”“My name is Paul Marshall, also known as Jones Brandon. I am the poetic killer but I was never alone. I had a partner, Andre Green, real name, Benjamin Miller. I am responsible for for the death of thirty young girls including Sarah Martins and Becky Gibson and my parents Mr and Mrs Green.Benjamin and I grew up in the same orphanage know and we had promised to get to each other no matter what separated us not even adoption. We had sworn an oath to stick with each other till death did us part and my only regret is death came too soon.”“Why did you kill those girls?”“In a staged accident to get away from his adopters, Benjamin lost a part of him which later became Andre, with every girl I killed, he sent a response kill and that was how we found each other.”“How did you communicate?”
The wind was whistling and the leaves hanging above the trees danced to its hums but there was something sad about these sounds. They didn't feel like the normal wind in a forest, they were more like sad cries tainted with blaring sirens driving in and out. They were more like trampling feet against dead leaves and jamming of metals, clicking of cuffs and locking down of a crime scene.This was Kara's fourth point of view of a crime scene. First, she had appeared in crime scenes as police in uniforms, handling statements and reports, transporting suspects.Second, she had appeared in crime scenes as the detective in charge. These were her glorious moments, the moments she thought she read each scene as clearly as possible. The detective with states recognition and honours.Third, she appeared in the crime scenes as the victim. Unlike most of her victims, she had not turned dead. She was very much alive and able to na
The end was near and they knew it. The wind around them was heavy, who would blame it? Carrying the stench of betrayal and death. The thick woods was quiet, not the usual quiet—ghost silent. Only the approaching steps of Andre or should he be called Benjamin could be heard as they stepped away further, deeper, away from Maria in her own pull of blood.She had not put up a fight, she was not given the chance. Something betrayal would do. Shot in the back, and then her chest. Andre knew for sure she was dead. He picked the phone up, dialled a number and a similar phone rang somewhere inside a building. Jones picked the call, “Get the tickets ready, we will be leaving soon.” Jones put the phone back into his pocket, swiftly pulled a black gown with bright sparkles from a hanger. He made his way to the dungeon, “Put this on now, ” he tossed the piece of cloth to Christy, Christy briskly cladd
Kara was eighteen when she first felt this way. The rage, the guilt. She had this new feeling, betrayal. It was the kind only a person you have known intimately could do. A lover, a spouse, a partner with whom you shared your bed and his. She felt betrayed by her own instincts. She saw the signs, clearly visible in front of her eyes but she looked the other way. Was the sex worth it? She was on the verge of breaking. She had told Andre to hold off because she would not want Maria to spend the rest of her life in jail hit but she knew it was all false. She wanted him as much as Maria did, and maybe even more.Kara had hated herself all these years, getting drunk, becoming a stripper, suicide attempts. She had sent her sister to her death.Sarah always wanted to go to a different town but Kara had taken a job online to work in a restaurant—going against Sarah's wish for the first time—she had chosen herself over Sarah for the fir
“Another dead end. Another fucking dead-end, FUCK...” Maria screamed out all the frustration she held inside.“One week, one fucking week, we've asked the whole village—” she raised her hands completely, then let them fall freely to her side, flapping with her thighs before bouncing back freely into the air. “—one bloody fucking week, all for what?” she sighed.The sun did not help in their quandary or the wind sending savage dust to their whole body.Maria and Andre stood in the middle of nowhere, left with only a truck and an angry burning their skin without mercy.“I understand your frustration Maria, I do, ” Andre spoke, trying to sound as witty as possible but within, he could not help but feel he was responsible for it all. He had made them waste a complete week moving door to door of a small town, around in circles without results.
“Another dead end. Another fucking dead-end, FUCK...” Maria screamed out all the frustration she held inside.“One week, one fucking week, we've asked the whole village—” she raised her hands completely, then let them fall freely to her side, flapping with her thighs before bouncing back freely into the air. “—one bloody fucking week, all for what?” she sighed.The sun did not help in their quandary or the wind sending savage dust to their whole body.Maria and Andre stood in the middle of nowhere, left with only a truck and an angry burning their skin without mercy.“I understand your frustration Maria, I do, ” Andre spoke, trying to sound as witty as possible but within, he could not help but feel he was responsible for it all. He had made them waste a complete week moving door to door of a small town, around in circles without results.
Sarah was sixteen when she first appeared on the news. She was supposed to return from school, five days ago. According to the police, it must have happened on her way home considering they found her bag on the road leading to their house.Sarah was still in high school when she went missing. The police promised to do everything in their power to get her back, but the police never keep to their word.Sarah became the talk of the town in no time, and worst of all, the police had made the mistake of stating her address.***Kara laid cuffed on the cold floor, the anger and hatred for Jones coursing through her. He had deceived her, made her believe she had avenged her sister only to find out she had not only worked with her sister’s killer, but she had also slept with him. The only thoughts in her head were the ones where she held a gun against his head, no last words,