Summary:
Percy Jackson is Cain. The worst serial killer New York has seen in years. He can't help it. It's an itch he can't scratch unless he goes after others. It doesn't matter who the person is. All that matters is that they die and the itch goes away. He manages to push it down until it can't go anywhere but up and let's it out in the worse possible manner on any person he can get his hands on- even a petty purse thief. It doesn't help that he develops feelings for the lead detective against 'The Spotless Killer,' a name the media gave him for his lack of evidence.
Annabeth Chase is the lead detective and struggling with the case of the Spotless Killer. He never leaves any evidence but kills in the most vile and torturous ways imaginable. On top of that, she's struggling with a failing romance with her boyfriend and superior, Luke Castellan, and a rising new one with a person she hates: Blood Spatter Analyst, Percy Jackson, who is lazy, late to work almost everyday, and has a fascination with serial killers. Also, she's falling for the Spotless Killer for a reason she doesn't entirely understand.
This is their story.
It was a small house in Midtown, New York. Annabeth Chase stood at the doorway, appalled by the stench emanating from inside. It was the smell of copper and fecal matter. Or in better words: Blood and Shit.
They got the call around three in the afternoon telling them that the Spotless Killer struck again. Twenty-two year old woman murdered in her home in the last day or so. Forensics had just started up their equipment and wanted the cops to take a look around. Annabeth actually didn't want to.
The Spotless Killer was a man (more like monster, Annabeth thought) who killed people in the most horrible and bloodiest ways imaginable. He has raped, tortured, skinned, gutted, dismembered, strangled, suffocated, flayed, and butchered his victims. The only 'spotless' thing about him was that he didn't leave any evidence of himself. No hairs, semen, sweat, anything. He was the worst serial killer New York had seen in years and had murdered over a hundred people in two years since he started killing.
The FBI had sent profiler after profiler to help with the investigation but they could never put a personality to the killer. Some said he was a multiple personality, others that the Spotless Killer was a group, and most said he was just a man, killing because of pleasure.
"Chase!" Her partner yelled at her from inside the house. "You might want to see this!" Her partner was her boyfriend, Luke Castellan. Tall, short blond hair, blue eyes, and a scar that slid down his face. He'd gotten it from a dick with a knife who was trying to steal his briefcase. The fucker was locked up but Luke had to go to the hospital so he didn't lose his eye.
Yellow cones with numbers on them were everywhere. They stayed with the pieces of flesh and cartilage of the woman's body as though they were a protective cone. A marker to tell Annabeth where to step and where to avoid. A marker to tell the CSI guys where to put her in sandwich bags.
Annabeth took a deep breath and entered the house. It was small and quaint, the furniture soaked and caked with blood. A breast was hanging off the couch cushion and a tongue was hanging on the string of the fan in the living room. An eye was in the corner and blood led down the hallway to the bedroom and bathroom.
"Luke's in the bedroom," one of the officers near her told her. His name was Beckandorf. He was a large black man with muscles and an accent. He had been on the force a little bit shorter than Annabeth but he denied promotions or job offers. Charles Beckandorf seemed happy where he was.
Annabeth nodded her appreciation and followed the trail of blood. The bathroom door was open and she took a peak. She wished she hadn't. Hanging on the towel hanger was bloodied skin. Blood dripped off of it and it was starting to crack and flake.
She hurried to the bedroom to meet Luke. He was standing there, looking at something she couldn't see. Annabeth noticed the way he stood: rigid. As though he couldn't move. The woman on the bed was missing most of her skin. Her entire torso was skinned and her dead eyes were missing, only leaving behind dark sockets.
It all went away when she saw what Luke was looking at. It was dry with lines of blood trailing the wall down to earth. It wasn't sloppy or curved. It was structured and set. But there was a certain wave characteristic to it.
On the wall, written in blood was: CALL ME CAIN.
Line Break 1
Percy Jackson ran to the house in Midtown. He was so late. If he didn't get chewed out by Chase, it would be a miracle. Though, what did she expect? It was rush hour in New York and it took so long to get a taxi. Eventually he managed to hail one down and gave him enough cash to get him at least most of the way there.
The house wasn't that hard to find; he'd been there before. Last night, actually. Percy tightened his hand into a fist at the memory. Why did he have to do that? Why so soon? The last body he left was two days ago so he should've been good for at least a week. Why did the Itch come back early?
Percy tried not to think about what he'd done the night before. The way the woman felt... He shook himself out of it as he ran up the steps to the house. 'Jesus fucking Christ,' he thought as he walked into the open doorway. Blood was everywhere. He didn't remember there being this much blood.
But then again, he didn't always remain conscious when he was murdering people. He always got dreams. Ones that turned him on. Ones that he knew weren't just dreams but memories from when he blacked out.
Why did he have to be like this?
"Hey Beckandorf," Percy greeted as he stepped around the ear that was lying in his way. Percy didn't bother with the living room; he knew what was there by the memories over the night. Instead, he headed to the kitchen where everything was a little hazy.
Beckandorf followed him into the kitchen. "You wouldn't believe what happened," Beckandorf said to the serial killer. "There was a message from the Spotless Killer."
If Percy had a drink, he'd have done a spit take. He definitely didn't remember writing a message. "What did it say?" He managed to ask. Percy tried not to act interested and looked around the kitchen. It was pretty clean. Only a few drops of blood were around and an extra eye was on top of the counter. It was practically clean.
Percy opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer. He had taken plenty the night before. After he killed the girl- Miranda- and played with her body a few times, he came into the kitchen and drank a couple beers, went and left after making sure he hadn't left any evidence.
The Spotless Killer. It was the name the media had given him. It wasn't like he'd meant to not leave evidence. It just sort of happens. He finds anything that involves his DNA and destroys it. It's like he knows everything he's ever left behind.
"'CALL ME CAIN'," Beckandorf whispers to him. He grins a pearly white grin that could actually glow in the dark. His hair was buzzed and nearly shaven. He was a muscular man who had a crush on the station's receptionist. A blond beauty named Silena Beauregard.
"What?" Percy asked, opening the bottle and taking a sip.
"That's what the message said," Beckandorf explained. "'CALL ME CAIN.' Written in the blood of the girl."
It suddenly came back to Percy. Everything that Percy didn't remember came back like a truck. He'd gotten the girl's case file from Grover- one of the only two who knew what he does- and had went to the girl's house in a hurry. He'd barged in through the front door after he'd knocked and she opened. Dragging the girl by the throat into the living room. Using chains. A screwdriver.
Percy repressed a shiver. He felt himself growing hard and quickly put a stop to it. He thought about what would happen if he got caught. The press that he'd get. What his mom would look like and say...
"Perce?" Percy snapped his head up to meet Beckandorf's eyes. They were scrunched in confusion, looking at him with deep brown eyes. "You okay?"
"Hmm? Yeah, I'm fine," Percy said uneasily. "Where's Chase and why is she not ripping me a new one?"
"Staring at the message," he replied. "She and Castellan are in the bedroom."
Percy nodded and headed to the bedroom, ignoring the smells and visuals that reminded him that he was less than human. The hallway was a little more bloody than the living room, pools seeming to deepen into the wood.
The bedroom door was open and there stood Chase and Castellan, staring at the message that was written in the blood of the flayed woman Percy had enjoyed twelve hours ago. Annabeth Chase and Luke Castellan were the best two detectives on the force of the 11th precinct of the New York.
Detective Annabeth Chase was a girl around two inches shorter than Percy. She had honey blond hair that ran down her shoulders in princess curls. She usually wore this orange t-shirt with faded words on it and these jeans that looked so faded; like they'd been used for years. Annabeth had put her hair in a pony tail, as usual.
Sergeant Luke Castellan was sort of the opposite of Percy. Instead of raven black hair, he had sunshine blond. Instead of long that flew into his eyes, he had short cropped hair. Luke had sky blew eyes instead of Percy's sea green. He wore his usual leather jacket and jeans with a white t-shirt.
They were staring at the dry message on the wall. Percy remembered putting it there. The girl had died and Percy had drank a few bottled beers from the fridge. He got the idea of changing his name from Grover. He kept saying that the Spotless Killer was a mouthful. That's when he came up with he name Cain. The world's first killer. One no one could kill because God ordered them not to. There were some beliefs that he died and others that he just keeps wandering the world, trying to get his instincts under control.
Much like Percy himself.
Percy knocked lightly on the door. They whipped around to him, their hands on the butts of their guns. Percy felt very welcome, needless to say. He stopped the barrage of images of him smashing and chopping the two detectives to pieces. Beckandorf's in the next room... No, he couldn't do that. People would start looking. Harder than they had before.
"Easy guys," Percy said putting his hands in the air. He couldn't help but smirk. He found it... invigorating, to think that the police who've been chasing him for two years couldn't figure out that he was right there.
They relaxed, though Chase did so reluctantly. She never liked him. He was late to work (cleaning up the blood from his clothes and body), he was sarcastic (better than skinning her), and he was really good at his job (and no one can upstage Annabeth Chase).
"Sorry Perce," Luke said as he breathed a sigh. He waved off the open beer Percy gestured to him. Percy shrugged and took another gulp of the beer. It tasted weird.
"It's okay," Percy told him. "Don't worry about it. Anybody would be jumpy if the Spotless Killer sent them a message."
"Beckandorf?" Percy didn't answer.
"Where did you get that?" Chase asked. He rose an eyebrow and she pointed to the beer in his hand.
Percy shrugged. "The fridge," he replied. Luke stared at him with a weird look on his face and Chase looked absolutely appalled. "What?"
"You took a dead woman's beer?" Luke asked. Percy shrugged again. "And you're drinking it here?"
"It's still good," Percy replied. His sea green eyes glinted and Annabeth nearly lost it.
"You are drinking a woman's beer while she lies dead, skinned and mutilated on her bed!" Annabeth yelled. Her gray eyes flashed in a stormy way and she stomped towards him. She snatched the bottle from his hand. "How can you even drink this here?"
"I gulp it down."
"Oh ha ha ha," She yelled. "Just work the crime scene and get the CSU guys in here." Percy shrugged and left, trying not to laugh at the face she was making. He almost went back to Beckandorf when he remembered something.
Percy popped back in the doorway, making Luke and Annabeth turned back to him. "Can I have my beer back?" Her look nearly made him laugh out loud.
Line Break 2
The Spotless Killer's message spread like wild fire. Cops were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Percy grinned wider from inside his lab. There was a certain scent to it; the air. It was high with tension and a musky 'Oh my god what the hell are we going to do?' aroma.
It was addicting.
Percy could see the detectives and cops and the Lieutenant talking in the main room. There was a slide show showing the message as Lieutenant Brunner talked to his fellow cops. 'CALL ME CAIN'. Percy watched as Brunner listened to Chase and Luke give their verbal report in front of everyone. He stood, wanting to hear what they were saying. Stepping out of his lab and closer to the group.
"-a message that doesn't make any sense," Luke was saying.
"It's pretty obvious what the message means," Annabeth argued. "He's getting cocky. For two years he's been the silent BoogeyMan that no one could see or touch. Now that he got cocky, that makes him human. And humans make mistakes. We can catch him if he continues on this type of path."
"But 'Call me Cain'?" Luke said. "That's the first message he sends? Did he get tired of the name the press gave him two years ago? Bored? Why 'Cain'?"
"Cain was the first murderer in the Bible," Percy spoke. He knew it was dangerous to interrupt the two's verbal tennis match but it needed to be said. "Cain killed his brother, Abel, in jealousy and God gave Cain a mark. This mark was to signify that anyone who killed Cain would suffer seven fold that of Cain. Cain was also given immortality."
Everyone stared at him and he looked to the ground. Attention, attention. May I have your attention. He didn't want it; that was something for the Spotless Killer to deal with. Here, at the station, he was just Percy Jackson, Blood Spatter Analyst.
At least until the itch came back.
Yet they were the same person. The Spotless Killer and Percy. They had the same satisfaction in watching the police scramble around for someone right under their nose. They had the same anger which gets so hard to control the longer he goes with out scratching their Itch; the irritation that comes with it. And the peace that's given to them when he kills. When the itch is scratched.
Percy turned and walked back to his lab, ignoring the stares from the officers and homicide detectives. He felt himself grin. Something inside him relished in their attention. A darkness that seemed to want out, earlier and earlier. It never stops screaming unless it gets what it wants.
But for now... For now it was quiet. The peace that settled over Percy when he finished with Miranda's body was still there. It made him lax and easy. He felt like sleeping. Like he could sleep without any of the dreams the darkness gives to him.
He should probably get a case file from Grover down in Records. Percy's best friend. Percy didn't understand why Grover would still be friends with him. Percy was a killer- a monster- and the entire city of New York was on his tail. It was surprising the FBI hadn't caught him yet, but with the all the profilers getting his personality wrong, NYPD probably thought they could catch the Spotless Killer without their help.
"I need everyone's attention," Brunner called out. Percy turned, a little happy the cops weren't looking at him. "The FBI is sending another profiler." There were groans and protests to meet this statement. "The Director of the FBI swears on his job that she's good. She's caught every baddie that she's been assigned for the last three years."
"Then why didn't they send her to us?" Chase asked. Percy noted the way she cocked her hip and put a hand on it. She looked... appetizing.
'No!' Percy reprimanded his darkness. 'Cop, remember? No cops. Kill a cop and you'll be expected to help catch yourself with new vigor in your heart. That's a no no.'
"They thought the Spotless Killer would have been caught by now," the Lieutenant replied. "Serial killers are usually caught within the first few years and they don't kill as often as The Spotless Killer does. Especially when they don't move around. Now that we've reached victim two-oh-eight, the FBI want this to end. The Spotless Killer has just achieved Wanted #1 on the FBI's most wanted."
Percy almost smiled but then Brunner's eyes turned to him. His eyes had always seemed thousands of years old; like he'd seen everything there is to see. He'd fought in Afghanistan and Iran, then he retired an became the Lieutenant of the 11th precinct. Brunner could have become Captain but he said no. "Want to be closer to my officers," he had said.
'How close are we Lieutenant?' Percy thought.
The Itch was back again and the screaming had started. It wanted blood. But Percy had a few weeks. He could push it back. Just a few weeks...