CHAPTER THREE

Nightly Intruder

Some people achieve a reputation through work and success – others through pure heritage. A last name can ruin a man, because of his predecessors. The distinction is a choice of the matter. Even those looking to make a name for themselves will hide when the going gets rough.

For a while, that's what investigators believed when it came to 'the Cloning' murders – that it was to make a name for the rising popular Final Fantasy VII video game. The head in chief of the investigation, officer Karse, regarded this case with the utmost distaste. His own children were game fans, and their absolute obsession and reaction to the violence, curled a loathing in him. However, the boys' mother said to let them have their fun, and that it was only a game after all – none of it was real.

It was cases like 'the Cloning' though that proved to him that video games were no good, and Karse reminded himself to point this out to his Marianne. Pushing himself up from his cushioned, rolling chair at his wooden desk, Karse picked up his coat and briefcase. He had closed this case a month ago – a month after the attacks stopped. There were a few complaints about it, but the killings were done with no traces and no real leads to go by.

"And now here we go again," Officer Karse grumbled to himself, slamming down a thick folder on the victim reports on his desk. "Back to phase one."

Sighing and deciding to leave the case where it was for the night, Karse stared down at the large, black print on the folder, reading 'Platinum Strike'. While in the midst of an important phone call, he'd received a mysterious anonymous letter. The secretary said it was in his mailbox, but there was no address. The top of it had only read Karse.

Used to getting hate mail, Karse had disregarded it completely – but as it came to mind again, he began to wonder. Torn between heading out the door and picking up the file again, Karse finally gave in to the latter – convincing himself that at this late hour, another minute or two meant nothing. Marianne often complained that he spent more time at the station then anywhere else. As a seasoned officer, Karse knew this was true, but they were running tight on money – and not wanting his family to worry – he was forced to work late each night.

Sitting back down with a contempt sigh, turning the light at his desk back on – Karse flipped open the file cover impatiently. Sure enough, there was the unmarked and cut out lettered labeled envelope. A shiver ran through Karse and a sudden clank made him look up sharply. A window stood ajar, swinging back and forth, as the wind blew it hard against the side of the brick building.

Taking a deep, calming breath – fearful that the glass would break at this rate – Karse rose from his seat. Heading through the lanes of desks towards the window, he reached out into the night air to grab the handle. About to pull the shutter towards him, he froze suddenly at the sight of a dark figure standing on the others side of the street – looking straight at him.

No, Karse told himself. He's just waiting for someone.

Who would be waiting at this time of night? Maybe the man was looking at Karse. Was he waiting for him? Heart pumping against his chest, the officer shook his head and quickly closed the window.

Hurrying back to his desk – closing the file and taking up his coat and briefcase again – the man reached a hand towards the pull string on his lamp. Suddenly it went out, and blinking in confusion, he stared at it a moment longer before slowing pulling his arm away.

Telling himself it was just the oncoming storm the weather station had predicted, Karse tried to ease his pulsing heart. He was getting old – he couldn't afford to overreact like this. Pulling on his coat, and fixing the collar, the man jumped at an echoing crash. Peering around his desk, he saw that one of the file cabinets lay on its side – folders and papers spilled out across the hard, stone floor.

Just too many stacked up on one another, Karse convinced himself with an unsure nod. Sticking 'the Cloning' file into his briefcase and closing it with a distinguishing snap, the officer tucked it under his arm. Moving quickly around his desk down the aisle, he released a groan as he bumped his hip on the wooden edge. Ignoring the jutting pain in his leg, Karse strode quickly towards the narrow hallway that would take him into the lobby. Once he was outside, he would feel better.

Half believing the notion, the man was practically running when he entered the dimness of the corridor and stepped onto the red carpet. The soft sound of his footsteps vibrated against the walls, making it magnify. Turning sharply, Karse peered back into the shadows of the office, but saw nothing except still, undistinguished forms.

Lightning flashed through the lobby windows and into the hallway – illumining the corresponding room. Seeing there was nothing there but old desks and beat-up chairs, Karse released a heavy breath. Slumping his shoulders, he walked at a slower pace towards the open area ahead. He knew exactly what he would do when he got home – he would eat the cold dinner laid out for him, check on his children, and then go upstairs and apologize properly to his wife for neglecting her all week. The late December holidays were upon them, bringing a cause for Champaign and a babysitter as New Year drew closer.

Making a note to buy some flowers at a convenience store as he pulled out his keys, Karse strode across the lobby towards the doublewide, glass doors standing quietly before the stoop. Reaching them, he was about to enter the night air when another flash of lightning illumined the street, and he caught eye of the stranger again. This time, he could make the man out better, and Karse knew that he was looking at him.

The man stood in a puffy, dark furred coat with his hands in the large pockets and a beanie hat over his head – staring straight ahead at the large, wide steps leading up to the New York police station. Stepping back carefully, the man watched the stranger cautiously. The mysterious man made no move to cross the quiet and empty street. The streetlight beside him suddenly went out, and swallowing hard, Karse bolted towards the front desk.

Hands fumbling in his panic, mind racing with thoughts of what could happen, he attempted to dial the chief of police's number. It took him a couple moments to realize that the phone wasn't ringing. Hitting the hang-up button, he listened and got no dial tone in turn.

Cursing himself for not having a cellphone as he slammed the receiver down, Karse glanced back towards the doors. Running to them, he peered out at the completely empty street now. Hesitant where he stood, the man didn't know what to do. Should he stay inside until the security guard showed up? Or should he make a run for his car and get out of there?

Panic overcoming him, Officer Karse hurriedly locked the doors, setting the alarm. Stepping back hesitantly – unsure of where to go, he headed back towards the office. If he stayed in the back, then the strange man wouldn't be able to see him. Maybe he would give up and go away.

The hope fluttered and died as Karse slowed in the aisle between the gathered desks. His chair appeared lumpier then it had before, and stopping a few feet away, his heart leapt into his throat. A flash of lightning illumined the fur-clad man, and Karse could make out the sharp look in his eyes.

A smirk spread across his face, the stranger rolled the chair with a squeak back and forth distractedly. The sound vibrated off the empty halls – drowned out as a crash above gave way to a hard downpour of rain. The window to the side banged against the building harshly, making Karse wince.

"W-Who are you?" the man managed around a loud, thick swallow. "H-How'd you get in here?" Hand going slowly and instinctively for the gun at his side, Karse kept his eyes locked with the intruder.

The man, appearing in his twenties by the little moonlight coming through the windows – eyed Karse's moving hand. Immediately, the cop froze, licking his lips in anxiety. How did this man get in here? Through the window?

As Karse's eyes darted towards the slamming back and forth shutter, the stranger glanced over at it too. There was a solemn expression on his face, and a malicious look in his gaze that experienced officer recognized. Turning back to the aging man with a ready grin, the stranger began fiddling with a pencil on the desk.

Swerving lightly back and forth in the chair as he gazed leisurely at the utensil spinning on its led tip, the man said with a lick of his lips, "You know, Officer Karse…I've been tracing your work, and I must say…" He paused, glancing up with a knowing smile as lighting illumined his fair features. Hand still turning the pencil in the gloominess, the intruder continued, "I'm surprised they let someone as incompetent as you handle this case."

Anger starting to overcome fear at this man's certain cockiness, the officer said firmly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Raising an eyebrow at him, the stranger paused in his fixture, looking up, "Ohh? Then tell me why you stayed late all week here, instead of returning to that deprived wife of yours."

Snapping at this comment, Karse slammed his hands down forcefully on the desk before the stranger, commanding, "What do you know?!"

Inclining his head to the side, the stranger told him with a confidant smirk to the rhetorical question, "Plenty." Patting Karse's cheek and uncrossing his legs to get out of the chair, he added, "But that can wait."

As the young man rose to his feet, Karse suddenly took out his gun – pointing it straight at the intruder's head. At this, the stranger paused in mid crouch, but his easy-going smirk remained.

"I-I'll shoot," Karse warned him, bottom lip trembling in his silent rage. Deep in his bones, he was afraid. There was something particularly unnerving about this man's coolness. Even with a loaded gun pointed at him, the young man remained confident and sure of himself.

"Go ahead," the stranger dared casually. Straightening now, he turned towards Karse, and holding his arms out to either side, invited, "Shoot me." When Karse did nothing more but stand there, finger on the trigger, the intruder stepped forward. Crouching, he pressed his forehead to the barrel.

After another minute passed, he just shook his head and straightened. On instinct, Karse pulled on the trigger only to find it lock up. Giving a humorous chuckle, the man rested his hand on the length of the gun, gently pushing it downwards. Stepping beside the quivering officer, he whispered in a demeanor, taunting voice, "Watch yourself."

Stepping away, letting his hand slide over the gun's safety, the man strode away. A sudden blast shot Karse a foot in the air as the trigger pulled back in his shaking hands and the gun went off. An uprising cackle rang the room, and the officer turned sharply, but the intruder was gone.