The trees were gently rustling in the easy midnight breeze. The sky was clear enough to see every star and the streets were quiet and still. The stability of life was hard in such destitute times. Anguish could be seen in the faces of the working because the hours were long and the money was void. These were the ingredients for mental illness in common men. Now, mind you, where there are mental men there are mental women. As the families slept in there nice warm homes, insanity grew, someone was building as though they were a bomb getting ready to explode. Only, this bomb was one of anger, rage and pain.
Marco Rivera came home from a normal day of work to his quaint suburban home. Wondering if his recently unemployed cousin and his wife had found a place to stay, Marco reached into the mailbox to grab the daily dose of junk mail and bills and in a relaxed stride walked to his front door. As he reached his front door he snuffed his half smoked cigarette on the soul of his shoe and put the rest back in his pack. Normally, when Marco arrived home the smell of his wife's wonderful cooking would lure him into the kitchen. Today however, the smells were non-existent. All Marco could smell was the apple cinnamon candle burning on the entryway table.
Marco, remembering it was his birthday, began to ponder whether a surprise was in store. Marco called out to her playfully without reply. He began to search the house starting in the living room, seeing nothing out of place he continued to the kitchen and on through the laundry room. Still seeing nothing out of place, Marco continued his search back towards the bedroom. The hall was lit only by the rays of sunlight beaming through the window in the living room. The shadows from the hanging ivy was cast across the walls in the hall like an eerie hand. A cold chill slithered up Marco's spine as he moved the long hallway.
"Jaxon, Katie, Elane... Is anybody here?" Marco called out with a bit less playful tone. Marco began to search the rest of the house, first stopping at the master bedroom. As he opened the door the smell of blood and sweat crawled into his nose like a maggot in rotten flesh. His wife was placed on the bed like a whore. Her body was ravished, lips a slight blue tint from the air being choked out of her. Her hair draped over her face like a bloody red cloth. As Marco called out to his cousin and his wife and received no answer, he could only fear the worst. Hopeful they were not home and just out and about, he called out to them once more. His heart began beating like native drums with the lack of reply. Moving faster towards the back room, the hall felt as if it were a mile long. As he wrapped his fingers around the door handle Marco froze, pulling his hand back slowly finding it to be laden with blood. Marco's heart fell to the pit of his stomach as he opened the door.
Knowing that the evidence had been contaminated by his touch, Marco reached for the soiled handle and slowly opened the door. As the door swung open Marco fell to his knees in horror. Marco cried out to the heavens asking "Why... How... could anyone do this." Katie, a woman of only 24, had been nailed to the wall with what looked like rail-road spikes. Her bosom precisely cut off, as if done by a surgeon, her head scalped and dressed in one of his suits. Jaxon, who had just turned 28, laid on the bed disrobed with his genitalia surgically removed and Katie’s bosom sewn on to his chest. His body had been slashed open and his intestines removed, strewn about his head like locks of blood red hair. "What the fuck, what the fuck!!!" Marco screamed in horror as he scrambled to his shaky feet and started down the hall.
As he moved down the hallway reaching into his pocket for his phone, a dark figure appeared from the unlit bathroom ahead of him. Frozen in his tracks, Marco began thinking of ways to get past the figure. Unable to see the figures face due to the shadow cast by the hood, Marco began to stagger back to put some defensive distance between them. A slight glimmer caught Marco's eye drawing his gaze briefly to the figures gloved hand. A large blood covered knife blade is all that he could see. To Marcos surprise the killer raised his other hand displaying a very large silenced gun. The last thing that Marco felt was the punch of a bullet to his neck. As Marco struggled to breathe and his body turned cold, all he could see was the outline of the person that took his life looking down on him as the darkness consumed him.
The hooded figure drug Marcos lifeless blood drowned corpse into the living room after drawing the curtains closed. As an artist would paint a picture, the figure artfully placed the corpse into the recliner, ensuring that it was placed with its back to the door and towards the television. As a final stroke the figure then placed an unlit cigarette into the corpses mouth and tied a piece of bloody intestine around the corpses neck in a full Windsor knot. After standing back and admiring the work, the figure took the bloody blade of the knife and wrote in blood on the wall "Chilling thought you could be next.” Before leaving, the figure turned on the television and tuned it to channel 13, CNTV, Chaos News television, which was just wrapping up an interview with John Delzin about a recent increase of murders.
John Delzin, Marco's longtime friend and fellow officer was becoming concerned after not hearing from or seeing Marco at work. Deciding he needed answers, John dialed Marco's mother Elizabeth. A spry, but older woman's voice answered the phone "Hello, Rivera residence," "Hi Mrs. Rivera, this is John Maple." "Well hello there John, are you still planning on coming to the pot-luck next Thursday?" " Why yes mam I am, I wouldn't miss your deserts for the world." John replied with a smile. John continued in a more serious tone, "Mrs. Rivera, have you heard from Marco in the past couple days? He hasn't been to work and no one has heard from him. I was concerned as I can't reach him and it just is not like him to not call or something." Elizabeth answered "Well, now that I think of it, I haven't heard from him either and this pot-luck was all he could talk about for the past week or so... He keeps going on and on about how he is going to outdo my cheesecake." she said chuckling. "I am going to be heading to the store later on this evening so I will stop by the house and check in on him for you, will that work John?" Elizabeth asked. "why don't I stop by and pick you up and we can both run by there to check in on him, that way you don't have to drive, besides I'll already be out and about and you won’t have to waste your gas" John replied. Elizabeth thought a moment and agreed. "I'll see you around 5 then John. Talk to you later." she said in a slightly concerned voice.
As the hands on the clock slowly moved forward, John grew more and more restless. Something was not right, something felt out of place. He’d had this feeling before and he didn’t like it then no more than he liked it now. The hair on the back of his neck seemed to stand on end and a shiver ran up his spine. The feeling of an icy hand with ling fingers wrapping around your shoulder in a dark room. John was scared.
Millions of thoughts seemed to run through Johns head every second. If Marco’s mother had not heard from him something was definitely wrong. If ever there was poster child for a momma’s boy, Marco was it. John, sick of waiting, clocked out for the day and headed towards Elizabeth’s house to pick her up and check on Marco. Already in a hurry, John decided to take the side streets knowing full well the freeway was packed. It always was.
“33 what’s your 20” John’s radio called out. John ignored the call and kept driving. “33 what’s your 20” John’s radio called out again. John reached over and shut it off, ignoring the call. “What if something happened to Katie or Elane? What if this case Marco was working came back to bite him? God, I hope everything is fine and Marco is just sick. He still owes me $150 for last week’s game, cheap bastard… God, what if that psyco Chiller fucker found him… Na couldn’t have, Marco was a damn ghost, nothing he had was published, he didn’t have internet at home so he couldn’t be found that way and his cell phone was a dedicated police line, hell he hasn’t even had an interview on television.” Johns head was swimming with contemplation.
As John pulled up to a red brick house with a 2 car garage attached to the side, he saw a small woman about 65 sitting on the porch. Silver blue wavy hair pulled back with a white ribbon, the wrinkles of time just barely showing on her kind face. After making sure Elizabeth was buckled in, John pulled away from the curb and headed to Marco’s. “Elizabeth,” John glanced over at her quickly as to not take his eyes off the road to long, “have you seen or heard anything strange around here recently?” he asked in a serious tone.
Elizabeth sighed, “You sound just like Marco you know that John? He was always asking me that same question whenever he’d call or stop by. He never told me why he asked that he just did.” Rounding the corner on to Marco’s street, John noticed that the flag in Marco’s front yard was still up and it was already dark. “Something’s not right here Elizabeth, it’s after dark and Marco never has the flag up after dark and unlit.” John said as he was pulling in front of the house “and why are the drapes closed? Those front drapes are always open. Elizabeth, would you mind waiting here? I want to go check it out first, to many inconsistencies ya know?” Elizabeth nodded as John got out of the car.
As John approached the door of the house an uneasy feeling overcame him, restlessness he had never felt. With his hand resting on the butt of his gun, John approached the front door constantly looking for abnormalities, listening for anything out of place. Reaching down to the door handle, John stopped, reached into his pocket and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves. After stretching the gloves over his rough hands John tried the door knob, slowly turning it with his left hand while with his right hand readying his sidearm.
The knob turned nice and easy with no restraint from a lock. As John pushed the door open the light from the street shined in through the door, barely lighting the entry way. John drew his flashlight and proceeded to scan the room. As he tactically scanned the entry way he spotted a light switch on the wall, reached down to turn it on with no results. He slowly moved through the entry way and into the kitchen then to the laundry room trying all the light switches he encountered with nothing. Returning through the kitchen and entering the back of the living room he spotted a switch to his right, flipping this switch turned on one light.
John was blinded by the bright spotlight that hit his eyes. “What the fuck!” John thought as he covered his eyes, allowing them to adjust. As his eyes adjusted to the bright light, John was frozen with what he saw. The air had gotten thick and it felt like he had just gotten hit in the stomach with a bat. John’s eyes were drawn to the writing on the wall “Chilling thought you could be next.”
John with his gun still drawn and aiming down the long dark hall, he reached up to the blue-tooth on his ear, pressed call and voiced “office.” The phone rang through to the station where Michelle Lewis had just taken shift.
Submitted November 17, 2019 at 02:07AM by Papa-KayOh https://ift.tt/2qaRqpv
No comments:
Post a Comment