Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Silent Hill. All locations and
people from the games is copyright Konami. All original characters are
copyright Kronos106 created for publication on Thank You.
Admirer
Chapter one: The Chase
"Sigh." Homicide Detective Richard Ericson of the F.B.I. let out as he took two of the motion sickness pills out of his carry – on bag and swallowed them with a sip of water.
The commercial flight he had boarded in Albany, New York, should be arriving in Brahms' airport in about forty - five minutes, give or take. Time enough for him to dig the case files out and go through them again to see if there's anything he missed the first time.
It was always the same, each time. Each murder committed in the same brutal, vicious, merciless style, just to give him an extra incentive to put all his wonderful "skills" to use as his quarry had so eloquently decided to put it.
The first victim was discovered about six months ago, a priest in a small church in rural Maine. The priest's throat had been slashed from left to right and he had then been crucified post – humously to the cross behind the main altar's podium.
Detective Ericson had been spending some leave time visiting relatives in Bangor, when he had received the call from the county sheriff. Racing as fast as he could to the church, he arrived to see that the forensics team had already sealed off the site and were swarming all over it looking for any scraps of evidence that could shine some light on the identity of the killer. Ericson then approached Doctor Williams, the lead forensic scientist on hand.
"Afternoon Doc, what do we have so far?" Ericson inquired.
"Well Rich, it seems that someone saw fit to sneak up behind the good reverend here and slice his throat from ear to ear. And if that wasn't enough he seemed to think it was a good idea to try to get him closer to his god by crucifying him afterward using what appear to be old railroad spikes, nice huh?" Williams answered
Detective Ericson had always liked doctor Williams. They had the pleasure of working together on several cases; unfortunately the doc had a tendency to get a little brash and callous concerning his work. Well that was probably the inevitable consequence of subjecting someone to the worst humanity had to offer time and time again. An experience Ericson had the unfortunate privilege of being through himself.
"Anything else?" Ericson asked.
"What about the murder weapon?" he then added.
"Well it was a very sharp bladed weapon, from the length and depth of the cut I'd say maybe five to six inches long, and slightly curved. And Rich when I say sharp I mean razor sharp, it definitely wasn't a piece of scrap metal of broken glass." Williams answered, anticipating Ericson's next question.
"What about physical evidence. Fibres, hair, tissue or blood samples?"
"Absolutely clean. Not a single spec to give us even the slightest lead on this guy's identity."
"Great, a psychopath with cleanliness issues." Ericson muttered under his breath.
"I think you may be jumping to premature conclusions Rich." Williams stated.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that the killer left us a letter."
"Excuse me!" Ericson exclaimed.
"So we have a killer with cleanliness issues, and a Jack the Ripper complex, leaving letters for the people who find the victims."
"Not quite Rich, you see the letter he left wasn't to some anonymous person. It was specifically addressed to you."
Detective Ericson took the envelope and looked it over. It was a plain white envelope with his name printed neatly on the front of it. A bloodstain was on the top right corner of it.
"Did you test the blood on the envelope to see who's it was?" Ericson asked.
"Please, Rich! I know my job! That was the very first thing I did. It matches the preacher's." Williams answered exasperatedly.
"Figures." Ericson stated as he opened the envelope and read the letter inside.
My Dear Detective Ericson
I wish first to humbly convey my deepest admiration and respect for you, as I have been following your career for the past several years, through newspapers and magazine articles.
That having been said, I must also say how disappointed I am in the selection of cases you have been receiving lately. Not a single one of them were worthy of your attention and exquisite skills. Oh... a wife murders her husband for cheating on her, that one took you what three minutes to solve. And how about the gang shootings? A wonderful example of a case for you. Let the animals kill each other, I mean, who really cares? I don't, do you? No challenge there.
Now I believe that someone must rectify this situation, and you, being the upstanding servant of the public trust that you are, would never refuse a case regardless of how beneath your talents it was. Therefore it seems that the task of righting this wrong falls to me.
The priest was only the first, I shall give you a general idea of the location where each of my consecutive murders will be, but it will be up to you to use your amazing skills to find me. Of course it wouldn't do for me to kill the dregs of society to showcase your skills, instead I will target the cream of the crop as it were. The people that others would actually care about if they were to leave us.
I look forward to working with you in the future, and I know with your skills you'll get to meet me face to face in no time.
Your Biggest Admirer
Marshall Brixton
P.S. – If you hurry to the airport, you should be able to make the next flight to Flint, Michigan.
Ericson handed the letter back to doctor Williams and simply stated
"I need to get to the airport, now!"
That was how it began, always the letters praising his skills, accompanying the horrible murders Brixton committed. Social – workers, free clinic doctors, philanthropists, nurses, even one case of a six year old child being savagely killed. That one still gave Ericson nightmares. A total of fourteen murders committed in all.
Ericson put the files back in his bag and took out his travel mirror and looked into it. He was still in pretty good shape for a forty – five year old man, clean-shaven, brown hair, although that was starting to go grey and needed a trim something awful. He kept healthy and fit, especially for his work, and would be considered attractive still, if it weren't for the obvious lack of sleep on his features.
At that point the captain's voice came on over the intercom.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are making our final approach to Brahms commercial airport. Please fasten your seatbelts, and return your tray tables to their upright, locked position. Thank you for flying with us and have a pleasant stay in Brahms.
"Brahms." Ericson thought. The town the last letter from Brixton had named as his next destination.
"Well, better get to work." Ericson said to himself as he exited the aircraft.
Admirer
Chapter one: The Chase
"Sigh." Homicide Detective Richard Ericson of the F.B.I. let out as he took two of the motion sickness pills out of his carry – on bag and swallowed them with a sip of water.
The commercial flight he had boarded in Albany, New York, should be arriving in Brahms' airport in about forty - five minutes, give or take. Time enough for him to dig the case files out and go through them again to see if there's anything he missed the first time.
It was always the same, each time. Each murder committed in the same brutal, vicious, merciless style, just to give him an extra incentive to put all his wonderful "skills" to use as his quarry had so eloquently decided to put it.
The first victim was discovered about six months ago, a priest in a small church in rural Maine. The priest's throat had been slashed from left to right and he had then been crucified post – humously to the cross behind the main altar's podium.
Detective Ericson had been spending some leave time visiting relatives in Bangor, when he had received the call from the county sheriff. Racing as fast as he could to the church, he arrived to see that the forensics team had already sealed off the site and were swarming all over it looking for any scraps of evidence that could shine some light on the identity of the killer. Ericson then approached Doctor Williams, the lead forensic scientist on hand.
"Afternoon Doc, what do we have so far?" Ericson inquired.
"Well Rich, it seems that someone saw fit to sneak up behind the good reverend here and slice his throat from ear to ear. And if that wasn't enough he seemed to think it was a good idea to try to get him closer to his god by crucifying him afterward using what appear to be old railroad spikes, nice huh?" Williams answered
Detective Ericson had always liked doctor Williams. They had the pleasure of working together on several cases; unfortunately the doc had a tendency to get a little brash and callous concerning his work. Well that was probably the inevitable consequence of subjecting someone to the worst humanity had to offer time and time again. An experience Ericson had the unfortunate privilege of being through himself.
"Anything else?" Ericson asked.
"What about the murder weapon?" he then added.
"Well it was a very sharp bladed weapon, from the length and depth of the cut I'd say maybe five to six inches long, and slightly curved. And Rich when I say sharp I mean razor sharp, it definitely wasn't a piece of scrap metal of broken glass." Williams answered, anticipating Ericson's next question.
"What about physical evidence. Fibres, hair, tissue or blood samples?"
"Absolutely clean. Not a single spec to give us even the slightest lead on this guy's identity."
"Great, a psychopath with cleanliness issues." Ericson muttered under his breath.
"I think you may be jumping to premature conclusions Rich." Williams stated.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that the killer left us a letter."
"Excuse me!" Ericson exclaimed.
"So we have a killer with cleanliness issues, and a Jack the Ripper complex, leaving letters for the people who find the victims."
"Not quite Rich, you see the letter he left wasn't to some anonymous person. It was specifically addressed to you."
Detective Ericson took the envelope and looked it over. It was a plain white envelope with his name printed neatly on the front of it. A bloodstain was on the top right corner of it.
"Did you test the blood on the envelope to see who's it was?" Ericson asked.
"Please, Rich! I know my job! That was the very first thing I did. It matches the preacher's." Williams answered exasperatedly.
"Figures." Ericson stated as he opened the envelope and read the letter inside.
My Dear Detective Ericson
I wish first to humbly convey my deepest admiration and respect for you, as I have been following your career for the past several years, through newspapers and magazine articles.
That having been said, I must also say how disappointed I am in the selection of cases you have been receiving lately. Not a single one of them were worthy of your attention and exquisite skills. Oh... a wife murders her husband for cheating on her, that one took you what three minutes to solve. And how about the gang shootings? A wonderful example of a case for you. Let the animals kill each other, I mean, who really cares? I don't, do you? No challenge there.
Now I believe that someone must rectify this situation, and you, being the upstanding servant of the public trust that you are, would never refuse a case regardless of how beneath your talents it was. Therefore it seems that the task of righting this wrong falls to me.
The priest was only the first, I shall give you a general idea of the location where each of my consecutive murders will be, but it will be up to you to use your amazing skills to find me. Of course it wouldn't do for me to kill the dregs of society to showcase your skills, instead I will target the cream of the crop as it were. The people that others would actually care about if they were to leave us.
I look forward to working with you in the future, and I know with your skills you'll get to meet me face to face in no time.
Your Biggest Admirer
Marshall Brixton
P.S. – If you hurry to the airport, you should be able to make the next flight to Flint, Michigan.
Ericson handed the letter back to doctor Williams and simply stated
"I need to get to the airport, now!"
That was how it began, always the letters praising his skills, accompanying the horrible murders Brixton committed. Social – workers, free clinic doctors, philanthropists, nurses, even one case of a six year old child being savagely killed. That one still gave Ericson nightmares. A total of fourteen murders committed in all.
Ericson put the files back in his bag and took out his travel mirror and looked into it. He was still in pretty good shape for a forty – five year old man, clean-shaven, brown hair, although that was starting to go grey and needed a trim something awful. He kept healthy and fit, especially for his work, and would be considered attractive still, if it weren't for the obvious lack of sleep on his features.
At that point the captain's voice came on over the intercom.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are making our final approach to Brahms commercial airport. Please fasten your seatbelts, and return your tray tables to their upright, locked position. Thank you for flying with us and have a pleasant stay in Brahms.
"Brahms." Ericson thought. The town the last letter from Brixton had named as his next destination.
"Well, better get to work." Ericson said to himself as he exited the aircraft.