It was Tuesday, it always happens on a Tuesday. If there is one thing you can expect from a psychopath, it’s discipline, they make it into an art form.
You spend the entire time waiting for an event to happen, or something similar. Even if that something is horrible, you get a release, like the orgasm you’ve been hoping to let go for so long. Fucked up, I know. We all are. Just as I expect it on Tuesdays, I get the same expected phone call.
“Alright. Who’d he kill this time…?”
Somehow, this was expected to everyone who lived in a country where everything was the same. Same clothes to wear, same schedule to follow, same types of jobs to aspire. It was no surprise that occasionally, some mad man or woman decided to do something stupid enough to make the system crumble. But this time it was different. An individual who had no criminal records had been making stupid decisions every Tuesday, giving me a pain in the ass in how to deal and report the case to my superiors. So, I walked out from the bakery store I usually go every morning to buy my cup of hot chocolate and a box of donuts, right before I got a phone call from one of my assistants. “….He did WHAT?!?!” was all I replied before going to my car and moving to the crime scene.
The Tuesday Slayer, as they had called him, had committed another crime, but this time was different than any other time. I was mortified with the news my assistant had given me over the phone, I arrived at the scene where all my teammates were. It happened at the 4th floor of an office building and as expected, the man’s crimes were creepily unique. “What do we have here?” I asked my assistant while taking off my glasses. “13 deaths. No witnesses or survivors.”
I uncovered the bodies to reveal the disfigured shapes of the murdered victims. The victims seemed to be chosen at random, the murderer didn’t discriminate between age, sex, or nationality, none of them had any similarities.
“It seems to be his work, it follows the same pattern as the other murders, but look at this” said my assistant, handing me a paper with the number 1453 written in blood. It was different than the other times, he always killed 1 person every other Tuesday. But this time he had killed 13, and he had left a message. What was he trying to tell us? What did it mean?
I grabbed the bloody letter and with a baffled expression I choked after reading the message.
I carefully shoved the letter inside a plastic bag for evidence. The other cop called me, and I walked towards him, “look, don’t you think that there is something strange about the bodies?” said the cop. I took a closer look, “yes, they have been cleansed”, I answered with a stern look.
To be continued…
By Boricua Beauty