Nine.

The body count.

The number that had taken to haunting his mind as it steadily rose while the months passed by.

Detective C.C. Tinsley sighed, dropping his head in his hands after going over his clues. For the… millionth time. It was expected really, considering that almost a year had passed with absolutely no suspects. The town had lost faith in his ability long ago, after the two- and three-year-old's died.

They were the first of many. Too many. Such young souls, not even given the chance to truly live before their threads had been cut.

It was already November. Close to his only friend's birthday, now that he thought about it. Ryan had seemed more skittish than usual; he'd have to check up on him soon. Tinsley wished he could solve the cases before the birthday arrived, if only so he could actually celebrate with nothing weighing him down.

He sighed again, this time rolling his long-since empty glass around his hand at the reminder of what he was supposed to have figured out almost eleven months ago. It was jarring, going from the quiet routine of a small place, to the terror of knowing a murderer is on the loose. The calm before the storm, he mused.

Standing up, he began pacing, his unfortunate downstairs neighbors far too used to it by now. What could he do? Was he just too incompetent at his job? Would he even be able to prevent another death?

He paused, startled only by the realization that he had to meet up with someone soon today to discuss potential suspects, not that it ever made a difference. They had never had any leads, and it always ended in empty promises of figuring out the killer before the next gathering. Glancing down at his clothes, he thought it might be good to freshen up beforehand.

It really wasn't a bad idea, he decided, finally looking in the mirror. Hair matted, prominent and permanent eyebags, and a hunched, hurting back from poring over his notes everyday.

After washing up and grabbing his coat off the rack, he headed out.

Ryan didn't live too far away; a pleasant walk one might say, plus Tinsley was far past the point of caring if he got murdered on his stroll there.

He wasn't, and managed to make it there unscathed.

Ryan answered the door, oddly nervous. Well, more so than he had been in the past.

"Tinsley? There's, there's something I really have to tell you." His voice grew more panicked with every word, his hands shaking while he closed the door behind the detective. "So I've been doing some, some research on numbers and, and I think I figured it out. The pattern."

Ryan pulled his friend towards the back of his apartment, grip tight and knuckles white, showing him the stereotypical wall of the ages, pictures, and drawings, all tied together with red strings. There were books piled up all around, a computer with far too many tabs open, and notes pinned to every surface.

Tinsley was first concerned for his friend's mental wellbeing, it's barely been a week since I've seen him last and he already seems to have lost his mind, then began inspecting all what he had collected.

"Nine murders, with seemingly no connection. I looked them up in order on a whim and they're all, they're all prime numbers. Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty-three..." He drew in a sharp breath, before turning to the detective with a fearful look in his eyes. "The next number is… twenty-nine."

"...How old are you, Ryan?"

"I'm, I'm about to be twenty-nine."

"Shit!" The detective cursed under his breath, ignoring the tell-tale burning sensation of tears prickling at his eyes.

"I'm going to die, aren't I."

"No you're not! Not if I can help it!" Tinsley burst out, grasping Ryan's shoulders as he looked into the other's eyes. The two stood there a moment, the wannabe detective having lost his fear for a sense of emptiness while the true one tried to calm down.

"When'd you figured this out? The potential pattern." He hissed internally at the pessimistic voice in his head saying it wasn't just a possibility.

"Not too, not too long ago. The start of this week."

"And you didn't tell me immediately? Ryan, buddy, your life is on the line, you can't afford to withhold this type of stuff!"

"I was in shock. Still in shock." He corrected, hands trembling as he tried to sit and sit still, fidgeting under the piercingly worried stare.

Tinsley took a deep breath, then cleared his throat before speaking. "It's… I can't say that it'll be okay, but… I will do my best to protect you, even if I have to die for you. I've already disappointed the town, but I never want to do the same to you."

Ryan immediately backpedaled, though the strange hint of a smile was lost on the detective. "No! You're the only person in this place that even has a chance of solving these murders, please don't waste your life on me!" He paused, shifting his tone.

"You're more important than you'll ever know, never forget that."

It was today. The day his only friend in this stupid place turned the age that seemed to be next in terms of the recent serial killer's modus operandi.

C.C. Tinsley was stressed. More than stressed. Panicking? That was a better word for it.

He couldn't afford to fail, not again. Not with so much at stake. He'd insisted on standing guard outside Ryan's apartment, occasionally checking in but mostly staying out. It wasn't until he heard the door open, unaware of the board smacking him upside the head, that effectively knocked him out.

The next thing he knew was the pain of duct tape, a splinter from the chair he was stuck to, and the crazed grin of someone far gone, for far too long.

"Did you really think I was going to die? Poor little 'Ryan Bergara,' the guy afraid of his own shadow? The guy that consequently doesn't exist?" He crouched, smiling sweetly at the man he'd been stringing along like a puppet since the beginning.

"You know, there was a reason I told you the pattern. Wanna guess?" Tinsley glared, but said nothing. Not like he could anyway, due to the duct tape over his mouth. 'Ryan' pouted, but continued anyway.

"Mere. Curiosity. That's it! I always thought, I know so much about crimes and how to get away with them, why not take a crack at it for myself? I figured my best introduction to the world would be seemingly random but violent deaths, ranging from as young as two to a young adult of twenty-three!" He took a bow, pretending as if there was an audience applauding him and his 'accomplishments.'

"And you wanna know the best part? I succeeded!"

Detective Tinsley scowled, struggling in his bonds, attempting to kick his captor but only managing to knock over the chair he was taped to.

Ryan glanced boredly at the display of the man he defeated, the one currently writhing on the stone cold floor. "If you still think you'll escape, you're very naive, Mr. Tinsley."

The killer suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree, and pulled out his phone. Beginning to cackle, he looked like a madman ready to lose it at any second. Calming down, he shifted personas into the one Tinsley knew best, the one that was apparently just a ruse. He ran around the room then quickly dialed a short number, breathing heavily from the exercise."He-Hello? Police? I'd, I'd like to report an attempted murder… I barely got away, but we all know the killer well. It's… It's our very own town detective, Mr. Tinsley." He smirked, watching the pieces of his game fall into place while Tinsley's face fell, then his eyes were practically screaming his anger. "I, I don't know where I am, no… Can't you try to find him before getting me? I'd feel safer if he was caught and behind bars… Okay, th-thank you." The call disconnected, and unimaginable fury rolled off the newly-pronounced scapegoat in waves. Ryan merely beamed, succeeding in only angering his victim further.

They sat in silence for a while, if you ignored the grunts of rage and various shuffling coming from the detective, still on the floor. Eventually, Ryan decided to take the duct tape off, if only to hear someone else talk than the voices in his head.

Immediately biting his hand, Tinsley tore through the skin in an attempt to escape. All that did however, was annoy the person who could easily kill him. He sighed, tugging on his hand before giving up. "Is this really all you can do? Come on, I could have sworn I told you that I have congenital insensitivity to pain. It's the reason for all my fevers." Ryan pointed to the now bleeding hand. "I can't feel this, sorry to burst your bubble dear."

Tinsley spat out the hand, glaring at its owner. "You're insane, and I will stop you."

"That's rich, coming from the man stuck to a chair. And are you sure I'm the insane one? You're the one stuck in your mind." He burst out laughing, wheezing a bit before talking again. "I'm just kidding, I bet you wish this was only a dream!"

Waltzing around the fallen chair, Ryan petulantly sulked over the stubbornly quiet investigator. "You know, the point of taking off the tape was to hear you groan about my win and your loss, yadda yadda ya. And that's not happening, so it wasn't even worth it! Gosh, all that effort wasted…" He pulled out the roll of duct tape, tore off a piece, then went over to put it on his 'friend.'

Tinsley flew into action, pulling out his wrists that had sweat so much the duct tape didn't even stick anymore, and punched the other man straight into the nose, breaking it instantly. Ryan got up easily, bleeding profusely but undeterred from stopping now.

Unfortunately that one punch was all he could do, as his legs were still attached to the chair. Even with his arms free, he still had fallen over in his original plan of escape, limiting him severely.

The sound of sirens startled the both of them.

Ryan glanced over to the window, surprised at his rather awful complexion, and the police cars pulled up outside the building. Then he sighed. "I really thought we'd have more time to play together. Alas, my destiny awaits!" Walking towards the entrance, he winked at the detective. "I had so much fun! Can't wait for next time, my dear Mr. Tinsley!"

Throwing open the door dramatically, he wore a face not unlike that of a cheshire cat. "I'll surrender now." He said simply, looking over his shoulder to get one last glimpse of his confused captive. The small group of officers first headed past him, but all he did was say a few words before their weapons were pointed on him.

"You have the right to remain silent-"

"Anything I say can and will be used against me in the court of law, I know, I know. Just get it over with." He held his hands out together, wrist side up, while the police kept reading out the Miranda Rights and cuffed him.

One of the members on the force went inside cautiously, and took in the sight of the downed detective, before taking out his knife and began freeing him from the tape.

"It, it wasn't me," He gasped, nodding towards the true culprit.

"We know." Said the officer grimly, watching the proceedings of the arrest.

"I'm sorry, I was caught in his trap from the beginning, but he's the one responsible. For the murders. I was just too blind to see it behind the facade he carefully crafted. Dammit, I gave him the information we had all this time because he was like a kid wanting to be a police officer when he grew up, and helping me out with so much research." Tinsley dropped his head in his hands.

"I never thought he would be capable of something as sickening as being a serial killer."

.

.

.

The next morning, Shane Madej, codename 'C.C. Tinsley,' turned in his badge. "Not fit for the job," he said. "I don't deserve it when I barely scraped through those cases."

Ryan Bergara was put on trial, and his punishment was the death penalty. They say he was smiling all the way up until he met his end.

So, what's next?

This small town suffered a total of 10 losses, if you count Mr. Bergara's contribution. None do.

Mr. Tinsley moved to a place he was used to, a place where he fulfilled his need to have the hustle and bustle of a large city always able to be heard, lest the maniacal laughter and sharp pain of betrayal dig deep into his heart and ring throughout his head, teasing him in the voice of the person long since dead.

The nightmares still haunt him when he sleeps.

He wastes his life away, staying awake for as long as he possibly can to avoid them.

(It never works.)

One day, he simply…

Drops.

Dead to the world, dead to the dead.

It's quite a shame, considering he'd been dead for far longer than that.