Author's Note- This story is rated M for strong language, strong violence, strong gore, sexuality, rape/mutilation, and Character Death. It is very graphic at parts; if you are bothered by any of the above-mentioned themes, please do not read this! And no, none of the original characters are based on real people, they were created for an experiment in psychology. If you think I'm sick and twisted for writing something like this at age seventeen, oh, well. Not everybody lives a normal happy life.
Chapter 1- Last Chances Not Taken
8 murders
8 messages
3 months
0 leads
1 killer
"Yeah, thanks," Don Eppes ran his hand through his hair as he hung up the phone.
"Police found another Notebook victim, Terry," He called to his partner from his office. He saw Terry's usually bright eyes darken.
"That makes eight, Don," Terry said. "He has one more, and we lose all trace of him."
Don rose from his chair, and put on his jacket. He sighed deeply, knowing what awaited him.
"Come on. Let's go."
The Raleigh house was a small white house with light blue shutters in the quiet suburbs. It was hardly the place for the murder of a fifteen-year-old girl by the name of Nicole Raleigh. But, for Don, there was no place suitable for murder.
Don ducked under the police tape that surrounded the Raleigh property and glanced for a moment at the nearly hysterical man and woman just outside the tape.
"Nicole Raleigh's parents," Terry said, stating the obvious for Don. He nodded to her, indicating that she should attempt to speak with them. She glanced at him, and wondered if he was purposely trying to keep her out of the house. She knew what lay inside, and knew it was as much of a nightmare for him as it was for her, if not more.
Don entered the house, and began walking down a hall, where he could see the bright flashes of cameras photographing the scene of the crime. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was an FBI agent, and was trained to handle even the most horrible of situations.
Yet, every time he looked at the handiwork of the serial rapist and murderer known only as the Notebook Killer, he felt incredibly sick. He had seen many murdered rape victims before, some more mutilated than this corpse before, but something was different about this killer.
He stared at the naked body on the bed, surrounded by a pool of blood. He looked at holes in the girl's body, the knife wounds on her stomach, her thighs, and her breasts. Her wrists were raw from being handcuffed to her bedposts. He gazed at the pool of blood between her spread legs, and tried hard not to imagine the girl being raped with a knife. He watched as a CSI gently swabbed her stomach, which was covered with milky white seminal fluid.
"He raped her, killed her, and ejaculated on her," Terry said from behind him. "Just like the other seven victims. I tried talking with the parents. They aren't ready, Don."
"Has anyone checked for the note?" Don asked, and silence fell over the room.
"I'll check," a young CSI said. Don thanked him, already pitying the man.
The CSI got on his knees, kneeling in between the corpse's legs. He pulled a pair of tweezers from his kit, and Don could see he was trembling. Then, inching forward slowly, he inserted his tweezers into the girl's vagina. He tugged gently, and out came a rolled up laminated piece of paper, covered in fresh blood. The CSI put a hand to his mouth, obviously upset.
"Why don't you take a break?" Don suggested to the sickened CSI, who nodded in agreement. He handed Don the tweezers and left on shaky legs.
Don unrolled the piece of paper, and wiped away the blood with a gloved thumb. As he suspected, the note had been typed.
"Nine times FUCKED!
Nine times KILLED!
Bleeding virgins wail
Only one sacrifice remains…"
"Terry, will you take care of this?" Don asked, handing her the still bloodstained paper. Terry nodded.
"You alright, Don?" she asked.
"No. Why the hell would I be alright? This guy has killed eight women in three months, and we can't find a fucking thing on him." Don walked out of the Raleigh house, disgusted and frustrated.
Jenna Sanders, Krystal Olivine, Dana Klein, Angela Ramos, Molly Hill, Helene White, Flora Peterson, and now Nicole Raleigh. Don stared at the dead faces of eight women. The youngest was thirteen-year-old Flora Peterson, and the oldest was forty-five year old Helene White. What was the connection between them?
Twenty-four year old Jenna Sanders, a tall Caucasian female found dead in her bedroom on March 6, 2005. Don remembered how his stomach had turned as he had first seen the work of the Notebook Killer. In all his years of working at the FBI, he had never seen something so disturbing, so cruel.
When the murder of thirty-four year old Krystal Olivine came on March 15th, Don knew that this case would not end well. The killer was smart, as well as cold. Murder/Rapes were usually crimes of passion, but the Notebook Killer tortured and executed his victims with a meticulousness that passion could not achieve. Krystal Olivine's crime scene was identical to Jenna Sanders'.
Twenty-year-old Caucasian Dana Klein on March 30th and forty year old Hispanic Angela Ramos on April 6th only confirmed Don's fears. The Notebook Killer didn't use a gun to torture or kill, so even if he had one, it couldn't be traced; he used a simple hunting knife to object rape his victims. Though there was evidence he used handcuffs, he never left them at the crime scene. The DNA left behind in his semen was untraceable; he hadn't committed a crime until his Notebook killings. Even the laminated notebook paper from which his nickname was derived that he left inside his every one of his victims was untraceable. He always typed his messages, and they were always the same, except the last line, which was a count down from nine. There was nothing special about the tools he used; only the way he used them.
Seventeen-year-old Molly Hill's body had been mutilated just like all his other victims. Her breasts had been slashed, her thighs and vagina as well, and her stomach stabbed. Coroners said that the killing blow in all the murders had been the wound sustained to the stomach. Molly Hill had bled out on her bed slowly, unable to cry out for help. Her parents had been away the weekend of the 9th and 10th. Don had learned one new thing from that murder, that the Notebook Killer would stalk his victims and learn when they were most vulnerable. Helene White had lived alone, and Flora Peterson had been left home when her parents had gone to the movies. Don remembered Flora's parents when they had identified her only three days before, on the thirteenth of April. Her father had left the room, while her mother had collapsed to the floor, sobbing and screaming for her little girl.
There was no connection between any of them, save for the fact they were all women living in L.A. None of them knew each other. The only thing that linked them was that they had drawn the attention of a disturbed killer.
"I talked with the parents, Don," Terry said, sitting down in front of his desk. "They said they were out grocery shopping for about a half hour. They saw her door was closed, and assumed that she was asleep in bed. When she didn't come down for breakfast the next morning, they found out she was dead."
"That's the fastest he's ever done it before," Don commented.
"He's always done it fast; he's just never given himself such a short time limit before. A half hour isn't very long, considering all that he does."
"I still don't understand how he's able to subdue them so fast. It blows my mind how they allow him to cuff them so quickly."
"Maybe they're held at gunpoint," Terry suggested.
"Maybe. And where the hell's a pattern? It's almost as if he picks his victims at random."
"That doesn't make sense. Everything else is so well planned; choosing a random woman in the crowd would contradict the way he thinks." Terry, as a psychologist, had spent hours upon hours studying the case, analyzing the mind of the killer. She had determined that he was obsessive-compulsive, as his scrupulous planning and execution proved. He also had an especially strong obsession with sex, which Terry had drawn from the location of the wounds on the body. He had a strong desire to dominate, and ritualistic tendencies. Anything and everything he did had a purpose.
"So what is it?" Don asked, staring at the mutilated bodies of the eight women once again.
"Don, I don't know. No social connections, no race connections, no age connections… I can't tell you how they all are connected. The Notebook Killer sees something similar in all of them, though. Maybe it's something about their personality. He does stalk them, you know."
"Helene White was a quiet Christian woman living alone. Angela Ramos was living with another woman, and Dana Klein was a stripper. I don't think they had anything in common," Don countered sourly. Terry shook her head.
"You know, Don," she began slowly, "there might be a way to find a pattern. You might not like it, though."
"How? I'm open to anything right now," Don said.
"Hey, guys," a bright, youthful voice said just as Terry began to open her mouth. Terry turned and saw it was Don's younger brother, the mathematician Charlie Eppes. He smiled warmly at Terry and Don, not noticing their frustration.
"Hey, Charlie," Don said without much happiness in his voice. He quickly closed the folders, hiding the pictures of the Notebook Killer victims from him.
Charlie glanced at his brother, looking a little hurt. He was much younger than Don, and had grown up very sheltered. His naiveté blinded him to a lot, including Don's overprotection of him.
"Charlie! We were just talking about you," Terry began.
"We were?" Don looked up sharply.
"Yes. I was just going to suggest to you that we get Charlie involved in the case."
"Really?" Charlie said, his eyes lighting with excitement. Over the past few years, he had helped Don with several difficult cases, using his knowledge of math and logic to find patterns in criminal activity.
"Yes. We've been having a hard time finding any patterns in-"
"Terry," Don interrupted. Terry turned to look at him as he rose. "I don't think we need his expertise in this one."
"But, Don-" Terry began.
"Charlie, I'm sorry she brought it up. This case is a cinch; don't worry about it. What did you come down here for?" Don asked, hoping his brother would forget about the case. As he gazed in Charlie's brown eyes, he saw confusion.
"Alright. If you don't need me then…" Charlie turned around and began to walk away, his head hanging.
Don swore under his breath. He didn't want Charlie to think he didn't want him to help; to tell the truth, he could have really used Charlie's brilliant mind. Terry was right; if anyone could find a pattern in the murders, it was Charlie.
"Charlie, wait!" Don caught up with his brother and stopped him. "Charlie, I'm sorry."
"Oh, it's okay, Don," Charlie lied.
"No it's not. The reason I want you to stay off this case is not because I don't want you around. I love having you around here, little brother." Charlie glanced up, surprised.
"Why, then?" He asked.
Don stopped for a moment. He could lie to his brother.
"I don't think I'm comfortable showing you some of the evidence on this case. It's a murder and rape case." Don decided it was best to tell the truth. Charlie would be able to tell if he was lying anyway.
"Don, I can handle it. I've seen a lot here, you know," Charlie said defensively.
Oh, Charlie, you're so naïve, Don thought to himself.
"This one's different. Even Terry's struggling with it," Don lied. While Terry was saddened and disgusted with it, he knew she wasn't spending all her free time staring at the crime scene photographs like he was. He knew she wasn't thinking about it constantly, wasn't waiting for the next victim to appear, and wasn't having frequent nightmares about it like he was.
"Wow," Charlie said. "It must be a hard case."
Suddenly, his eyes were full of compassion. He knew it was Don, not Terry, who was struggling. Don hated to admit his weakness. Even as a boy, he would pretend that beestings or basketball injuries didn't really hurt. When their mother had died, Charlie had only seen Don cry once, and he had been the only witness to his brother's tears. He hadn't even cried at the funeral.
"Don't worry about it. We'll get him soon. Is that why you came here?" Don asked, desperate to change the subjects. He felt embarrassed that his brother had been able to sense his lie.
"Dad wanted to know if you were coming to dinner tonight."
"I don't know…" Don began.
Charlie's eyes dimmed with disappointment. "Right, I'll tell him. Say goodbye to Terry for me."
"See you, buddy," Don said, in a half attempt to apologize. He hadn't been over for dinner ever since the Notebook Killings had begun.
"Bye," Charlie said.
"Charlie," Don called after him.
"Yeah, Don?"
"Maybe tomorrow night. No, not maybe. I promise. Tomorrow night."
"Fine," Charlie walked away, sounding no more exuberant than he had before.
Why does he do this? Charlie asked himself. Why does he shut me out?
Chapter 2: The Shift should be up in a few days/weeks. Thanks for reading!