CHAPTER FOUR

A Murderer's Obsession

The day dawned slowly, and the sun shone bright against the glistening wonderland that had accumulated over night. A four-inch layer of snow was placed heavily on the roofs of New York, and a pleasant ring from the city's clock tower to announce ten a.m., sent harmony through the quiet morning air.

It was as the clock tower rang ten that the ringing of his doorbell – followed by abrupt, impatient knocking – awoke a disoriented Seth. Grumbling, he shoved his face back into his pillow, but as the knocking turned into slamming, he pushed himself up reluctantly. Tossing off his bed covers, and placing bare toes onto the old, molted carpet, Seth headed into the hallway and to the front door of his apartment, calling out irritably, "I'm coming, hold on!"

Thrusting open the wooden frame, the youth blinked rapidly in the bright sunlight. Seeing an aging man, hairline receding slightly with a two-day-old beard growing unevenly over his hard features, Seth relaxed and leaned against the door for support, muttering, "This better be good, Karse."

Pushing past the sleepy-headed youth, cold hands cuffed in the pockets of his large, puffed jacket, Karse told Seth hurriedly, "Yes, well, I know how you like to sleep late, but Seth, I really need to—"

The officer cut off as Seth let the door close, and walked past him without a glance. Growing impatient by his host's inattentive manner, Karse tried to push his anger down. He knew that Seth wasn't a morning person, which is part of the reason that he had had troubles with his job as an investigator.

Clearing his throat to remind his old partner he was still there, Karse followed Seth into the untidy, tiny kitchen. Stopping at the table, the man gave a curl of his nose at the rising smell of old food, but kept his disapproving statements to himself. Taking his still icy hands from his pockets, he pulled out one of the plastic chairs at the lopsided, wooden table, and sat down promptly.

A minute later, Seth came back to towards his guest, holding two steaming mugs of coffee. Placing one down in front of Karse before taking his own seat, the dull man muttered, "Eight sugars, there you go." Eyeing the way Karse's hands were shaking, over the brim of his black coffee, Seth noted around his drink, "Not that you apparently need it."

Glancing down at his trembling hands, Karse cleared his throat, saying hesitantly, "No Seth, that is long in the past. Ever since my wife and I went to therapy…"

Taking the mug away from his mouth, and leaning back heavily in his chair, Seth set it down on the table softly, muttering, "Save your excuses for Marianne, Karse."

At this, the middle-aged man's lips strained, but he kept his mouth shut. After another long minute, the officer decided to redirect the conversation, saying slowly, "I'm not here on pleasure, Seth."

Nodding his head, gazing distantly as he turned his cup slowly this way and that, the youth replied, "No one ever is."

Ignoring the comment all together, Karse carried on, coffee in both hands now in a steel grip, "I want to talk to you about your last case…about the Cloning, it—"

"Don't bother," Seth muttered with a sharp look to his old partner. Karse closed his mouth firmly under the youth's piercing gaze. Seth may have turned into a slacker, but his eyes could still burn holes through a man's head. "I handed over all the information I had, Karse. I know nothing more than you."

Setting his chipped cup to the side, Karse leaned forward with arms folded over one another, saying seriously, "Seth, look. There must be something you haven't told me. I mean, all these victims, they…" His eyes darted to the youth's hair, but at the furrowed look Seth gave him, Karse cleared his throat and straightened in the uncomfortable seat. Swallowing, he added quietly, "I got a visitor last night, Seth – about the Cloning case."

At this, the man sat slowly up, eyes searching Karse's expectantly. Karse was known to feed false information to clients to try to get them to spill whatever information they were withholding. However, this time, there was a sense of fear in Karse's voice as he went over the details of the previous night's events.

When he finished, all Seth could do was sit back with a shake of his head in disbelief. Maybe someone was taking the killings more seriously then they thought. Karse was obviously shaken by the encounter, and now he was sitting in Seth's cold kitchen, trembling so hard that he had to swallow several times to maintain control.

"W-What do you m-make of it?"

Sighing, and running a thumb over the handle of his empty coffee cup, Seth raised his eyes to Karse. Pushing himself to his feet with a small shake of his head, he told the officer, "It's not my job anymore to figure this out."

Turning towards the countertop, mug in hand, Seth froze in step as Karse called out suddenly, "Seth, I need your help." Scrambling to his feet, sending the plastic chair back against the cracked tiles with a crash, the man told his old friend more calmly, "I'm not even sure where to look, or to go from here…"

With a tired sigh, Seth slumped his shoulders. Closing his eyes, fighting back his irritation, he gave in. Turning around, placing the mug on the counter, and resting his hands against it, he met Karse's urgent gaze, saying with a grimace, "All right, I'll help." At the relieved look the man gave him, the youth rolled his eyes, adding as Karse opened his mouth, "Just let me get my jacket and shoes. You can thank me later."

Disappearing around the counter and into the hallway, Seth strode into his room. Karse felt relieved with his old partner back, and stood patiently with hands back in his fur-lined, leather jacket pockets. He didn't have to wait long.

A minute later, Seth came back down the hall, pulling on his long, black leather trench coat – and straightening the collar – headed for the door, saying, "All right, let's get going then." The youth paused when Karse didn't move, and looking back, hands frozen on the collar's hems, he asked sharply, "What?"

Eyeing the man, Karse said skeptically, "Are you really going to wear that?"

Giving him a hard look, and dropping his arms, Seth told him firmly, "You know, I don't have to help you. I could just—"

Holding up his hands in defeat and striding towards the door, Karse interrupted, "All right, all right. Wear whatever you want."

Stepping aside, watching the shorter man pass through the open doorway, Seth told him with a hard look, "Damn right I wear whatever I want. Now get your ass moving," he finished, pulling the door closed with a slam.

-

-

Two hours later showed the streets of New York alive with the busy social life of its citizens. Loud rings from the crosswalks and car horns rang the air – filling the quiet that had over taken the now muddied Winter Wonderland.

On the lane curb along Main Street, a Styrofoam cup of Starbucks coffee in his hand, Seth stood with Karse impatiently at his side. Eyeing the street as he raised the steaming cup to his mouth, the youth paid his partner no mind. Glancing up as the walk sign turned to a bright, yellow man in mid-stride, Seth stepped out between the white lines stretching ahead to the other walkway.

People shuffled past the two leisure-walking men, and halfway across, Karse couldn't help but question, "Seth, what are we doing? Where are we going?"

Lowering his arm to his side without looking at his companion, Seth replied, "To the last crime scene of course." Reaching the curb, Karse froze with hands in his pockets. Realizing that the man had stopped, Seth turned to him expectantly, prompting with raised eyebrows and spread arms, "What now?"

"That area is off-limits."

Giving a snort at this, Seth strode back to him, ignoring a quick moving woman's protests, saying quietly as he drew level, "Karse, you know as well as I that investigators often overlook factors. Just trust me."

Mouth straining, clearly debating between better judgment and his experience with his partner's familiar ways, Karse remained quiet. Clapping his companion on the shoulder with a reassuring smile, Seth headed down the bustling sidewalk without waiting for a reply. After a moment, Karse hurried to catch up.

Another four blocks brought the two into the back streets of the old, broken down factory building where the last murder had taken place. The area was marked off with bright, yellow police tape. A warning sign was displayed, saying that trespassers would be prosecuted. Karse was staring at the sign when Seth pulled the tape over his head, and ducked into the area.

The officer gave his companion a wry look, but with a sigh, he followed slowly. Hesitantly stepping into the tar parking lot, he gazed around at the dirtied and trashed area. There was a chalk outline and orange pegs where the body had been found. He couldn't understand what else to search for here.

The file reported that the victim – just like the previous six – had suffered from a deep pierce through the chest. Death was almost instant, but the weapon used for the murders hadn't been found yet, and the places where the bodies were always discovered, were discreet. Every body had been moved into a public area, and still no one ever saw anything. Karse found it overly suspicious, and suspected some sort of cover-up, but couldn't prove anything.

Now the officer stood in boredom, gazing distantly around the scene. He glanced up and down the street, but no one paid the pair any mind. Seth was crouched to one side, studying the ground and running his hands gently over some shifted sidewalk chunks. Glancing back over his shoulder in interest, he strode towards the victim's marked area, and lowered his face to the ground with squinted eyes.

Sighing irritably, Karse questioned sharply, "What are you doing? We're wasting our time here, there's nothing—"

"He wasn't dead," Seth announced suddenly without looking up.

At this, Karse cut off, blinking at his companion for several moments before asking seriously, "What do you mean?"

Looking up, rubbing some gravel between his index finger and thumb, Seth told him, "When they brought him here, Steven Gilde wasn't dead yet." Nodding back towards the sidewalk, he added, "He struggled, and they must have knocked him out hard, and dragged him over here." Lifting his fingers to show the small cement chips in his hand, he finished, "A growingly small trail."

Shrugging his shoulders, Karse said, "So the people at the morgue will tell us he suffered head trauma first. So what? How does that help us here?"

Resting his hands on his thighs and pushing himself to his feet, Seth replied, "So what? It means that our murderer is growing impatient, and unbalanced. All the other victims were classified as long since dead before they were moved."

Nodding, Karse noted, "Or they just might want to make a name for themselves – stir up worries again."

Shaking his head slowly, Seth muttered, "I don't think that's what they're doing at all, Karse. I think is something more personal then public." At the confused look his partner gave him, Seth just shook his head with a sigh before adding, "Come on, let's check out the body."

As Seth strode past to pick up his set down coffee, Karse only nodded, muttering, "I should just let you take care of this…"

Ducking back underneath the tape, the youth turned to his old friend, saying, "What? Not interested in the case anymore?"

Crouching under the tape Seth held for him, Karse told him, "I never was. As far as I see it, this is all just some craze taken too far."

Taking a long sip of his coffee, Seth muttered, "Tell the reporters that, and see what the murderer thinks."

The morgue itself was a creepy place. To think that hundreds of bodies were lying in waiting for inspection with their death-white skin and soulless eyes made Karse shudder in thought. Heading down the softly, tarnished hallways reluctantly after his old partner, he tried to keep a professional, serious look. The doctors moving past paid the two little mind. Some greeted Seth with a nod, or a "hello", but none stayed to chat.

Despite his friend's uneasiness, Seth strode confidently with a relaxed smile. He had spent plenty of time around the morgue in the past, and remained unaffected by it now. Having called ahead to request a look at the Cloning victim bodies and a talk with the analyzer, Seth led them down through twisting halls until they stood outside a large room, barred by a steel door.

Turning the thick handle, and pushing with little effort, Seth strode into the white, half empty room. Shelves and tables stacked with utensils, instruments, computers, and equipment stood against the four walls. Seven steel, folding, tables were set two feet apart with the Cloning bodies displayed on them – sheets covering their exposed skin respectively.

A woman stood to one side, typing something on a computer. Pausing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, Seth leaned over to take a glimpse at the displayed lists. Unable to make out the words though, he straightened as the steel door closed firmly behind them and the redheaded woman turned suddenly towards it.

A smile spread across her pretty features, and the woman relaxed before hitting the Escape button on the keyboard, and closing the lists. Clearing her throat, the tall woman strode towards them, her heels clicking softly on the tiled floor. Drawing level, she came to a prominent pause before the two men.

"You must be the two detectives that called about the bodies."

Smiling at the woman, Seth removed his hand from his pocket, saying good-naturedly, "Well actually—" He cut off with a wince as Karse elbowed him in the ribs.

Turning to the curiously watching woman, Karse flashed his badge, saying, "Yes, we are." Tucking it back into the front of his jacket, he continued, "We were hoping to get a more detailed report on the victims' deaths for our investigation."

Nodding and turning towards the tables, the woman said promptly, "Why, yes, of course. Anything to help stop this monstrosity."

Seth and Karse exchanged raised eyebrows at this, and the aging officer addressed the woman, repeating curiously, "Monstrosity?"

Turning before the closest table on the other side, the woman raised her gaze, and at the looks the two men were giving her, she replied, "Well, all murders are cruel, but these people suffered unimaginable pains."

As the two stepped forward, Seth asked politely, "Care to elaborate?"

Nodding her head with a grim look, the analyzer told the pair, "All wounds were inflicted through the chest…" She gestured towards the body she stood before, and passing a hand in the air over the large, crude hole in the lean man's chest, she added, "And each wasn't clean or precise. The incision is rough and the wounds are infected – suggesting they were done with a rusted weapon." Lifting her gaze, she finished, "The same type for each by the looks of it."

As his companion nodded grimly, Seth questioned, "Was there anything…peculiar about Steve Gilde's body? That was, you know, different from the others?"

Nodding and heading towards the last steel table in the back of the nippy room, she pointed towards the dead man's left temple. Coming around to investigate, Seth swallowed at the hard impact and gash in the young man's head.

"The head wound suggests that he was already dying by the time he was stabbed," the woman told him. Gazing at Seth, she asked worriedly, "Are you all right?"

Gathering his wits, Seth gave a prompt nod, saying quickly, "Yes, thank you." Taking a breath, pausing in thought, he asked, "What sort of weapon would you suggest did the job?"

Shrugging, the analyzer reported, "Hard to say. Something with a very long, and large blade, but nothing I can really identify."

Looking up to meet his partner's eyes, Seth told the waiting officer, "I guess this proves your craze theory." Nodding to the woman, he gave her his thanks before heading out the door.

Confused, Karse quickly followed, and catching up to Seth's quick pace, asked sharply, "What? What do you mean?"

Seth didn't stop and turn to his companion, saying with a dark look on his face now, "Those platinum-dyed guys were all around their teens. The wounds in their chests are sword wounds."

Blinking in surprise as they entered into the afternoon craze, Karse clasped Seth's shoulder, stopping and turning him, as he demanded firmly, "What are you saying? What does that mean?"

Sighing and rubbing a hand over his tired features, Seth relaxed and told Karse with a solemn, but grim tone, "Do you know why it was dubbed 'the Cloning'?" At Karse's shake of the head, Seth continued, "It's because they have silver hair, like the main bad guy in Final Fantasy Seven." At the completely baffled, impatient look Karse gave him, Seth growled with a snap, "The game, Karse, the game! God, did you even read my damn report?"

At the hard look that the officer gave him, Seth just sighed, and said in a more controlled tone, "Look, I don't know about any motive here, but the sword wound in each chest just points towards a fan-crazed murderer."

Heading down the steps and towards the sidewalk, Seth didn't offer any further details. Hesitating before catching up – growing tired of being left behind and left out of the loop – Karse kept pace now, prompting, "So what do you think is happening here?"

Stopping as he stepped onto the cracked and broken cement, Seth gaze out across the street at the passing faces, muttering, "I think it's someone who can't tell the difference between the game and reality. They're thinking that these silver haired guys are Sephiroth clones or something…" At the tense pause, Seth looked to Karse, adding flatly, "The bad guy."

Holding his arms out to either side, Karse asked in a baffled, lost voice, "Then what do we do about it?"

Glancing back at the streets, Seth replied quietly, "We give him Sephiroth."