"I hardly think we can say we have the same killer now as in 2002," Ric huffs.
"Read on," Elena urges him.
"Incredibly strong and had the rotted features of a corpse!" Ric looks at her incredulously.
"Those are exact quotes from a man who saw him in action in 2002," Elena states firmly.
"I can't print this," Ric laughs.
"Why not?"
Ric shakes his head. "If you don't know the answer to that, Elena...I can't help you. I came to Seattle for some peace and quiet. And what do I get? You again with your crazy stories."
"We'll soon see if it's crazy or not," Elena counters, glaring at him.
"How?" asks the red-eyed editor.
Elena leans forward, palms flat on his desktop. "Because if it is the same killer, he hasn't stopped killing!"
Sunday, April 9th, 1:42 A.M.
The narrow alley is a shortcut Hayley Marshall often takes on her way home. Tonight, though, it feels different. The air hangs heavy with tension, and the flickering streetlamp casts eerie shadows on the cobblestones.
Hayley, her heart racing, clutches her purse and quickens her pace. As she turns the corner, she freezes. A man stands over another figure, his back to her. The victim lies crumpled on the ground with a little blood trailing from beneath her neck.
Hayley's breath catches in her throat. She has stumbled upon something horrifying in progress.
The attacker is wearing a dark trench coat hoodie. Her mind races. Should she scream? Run? But her legs refuse to move.
The man glances up, eyes wide. For a moment, their gazes lock. Hayley recoils at his face. His eyes are dead and lifeless.
He inexplicably turns and sprints down the alley.
She moves to the woman—a lifeless, broken form. Her face is pale, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. Debris is visible on her neck and blood pools around her, staining the ground. Hayley's heart pounds in her chest. She takes a step closer, her breath catching in her throat. The woman's wearing a tattered dress and her shoes are scuffed. Her hands are clenched, as if she had fought for her life.
She glances around, panic rising. Her hands tremble as she reaches for her phone to dial 9-1-1. Her mind races, but her feet remain rooted to the spot. The woman's lifeless gaze seems to bear into her soul, accusing her of something she can't quite grasp.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Please, you have to help me. I found a woman's body," Hayley stammers. "She's not breathing. She's dead."
"Stay calm. I need a location so I can send the police."
"I'm in Pioneer Square. That alley, not far from Diamond Jacks."
"I'm sending police. Please wait for them."
"I...I will." Hayley nods her head.
In the distance, sirens wail. Help is on the way. But as Hayley waits, she can't tear her eyes away from the woman. Who was she? What happened to her?
As the police cars approach, their lights flashing, Hayley steps back. She will have nightmares, she knows.
The image of the dead woman will haunt her.
In the dim glow of streetlights, the police officers stand huddled around the lifeless form. The woman lay sprawled on the pavement, her eyes vacant, her skin ashen. The air smells of dampness and decay, a stark contrast to the bustling city that has now fallen silent.
Detective Salvatore kneels beside her. He has seen too many scenes like this—death's cold grip leaving no room for sentiment. His gloved hands carefully lift the woman's wrist, and the chill of her skin seeps through the latex.
The forensics team works methodically, documenting every detail. They snap photographs, measure distances, and collect samples. The woman's clothing is stained, her purse half-open, and its contents spilled onto the pavement. A lipstick tube, a crumpled receipt, and a photograph—frozen smiles of happier times.
The alley is narrow, its walls closing in like accusing whispers. Broken glass glitters near the woman's head, a cruel mosaic of shattered dreams. The graffiti on the walls seems to mock their futile efforts.
As the paramedics arrive, their footsteps echoing, Detective Salvatore straightens. He knows the routine—the questions, the statements, the search for witnesses. But this case feels different. Is Elena right, is this a copycat killing or just another fiend killing people to satisfy some primitive urge?
Elijah arrives, his expression stoic. He will unravel the mystery—the cause of death, the timeline, the hidden scars. She is now part of the city's statistics—a nameless tragedy etched into its concrete heart.
"What do you think?" Damon asks when Elijah signals his men to remove the body.
"In this light, I can't tell if there are any puncture marks but the MO appears to be the same. The debris around her neck. It's nothing like I've seen before," Elijah tells him.
Damon nods and watches the ambulance doors close, the woman's body covered in a white sheet. He glances around. The alley holds its secrets—the broken streetlamp, the discarded cigarette butt, the faded graffiti tag.
"Just settle down, Miss Marshall," Detective Salvatore is talking to her as Elena walks up, having been awakened by her police scanner.
"I never saw anything like that in my life, I don't know why he didn't chase me after he killed her. I just, you know, I called 9-1-1 as soon as I got over the initial shock."
"Miss Marshall," Elena tries to ask a question.
"Will you please let me ask the questions, Miss Gilbert?" Damon asks, his icy hot blue eyes bearing into her brown ones.
"Certainly," Elena agrees. "What did he look like."
Damon sighs. "Can you tell me anything about him?"
"Oh, God, I hope I never see a face like that again. He looked like a dead man."
"Like a what?" Damon asks disbelievingly.
"Like a dead man," Elena answers for the witness.
"I don't want to hear it," Ric shouts at Elena.
"What about the broken necks and rotted flesh on the victims' throats?" Elena hisses.
"I told you I don't want to hear it!" Ric snaps. "Besides, it's not official."
"Who cares whether it's official or not? You know it, and I know it."
"Now you listen, Elena. I'll buy the possibility that it's the killer that strangled the six women in 2002, but a man, not some kind of super dead man!"
"That's how he has been described more than once!" she counters as she stares daggers at him.
"I don't care if he's been described that way more than twice! Let me finish my lunch!" Ric bellows and storms out of his office.
"There!" Honoria Fell, an older, heavyset reporter, holds up a newspaper. "An open invitation to the killer," she looks at Elena.
"Listen to this, "I intend to walk the streets of the Pioneer Square area every night from now on," reads her byline. "Just let him try to kill me, if he dares."
"He may be sick, but he's not crazy," Elena mumbles under her breath as she locks her desk and heads into the stairwell for a return to the archives.
The basement archive is a forgotten realm beneath the bustling newsroom. Dust hangs in the air, and the flickering fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows on rows of metal shelves. The scent of old paper and ink permeates the space. Elena stands at the threshold, peering into the dimness.
"Miss Gilbert, I was going to call you," Joshua Parker remarks as she enters the room.
"Really?"
Joshua nods, "I'm giving you this, Miss Gilbert because you had the thoughtfulness to put my name in your story on the 2002 strangulations."
Elena looks at him curiously. "What, uh, what is it?"
"A burning curiosity impelled me to look further back into our files to see if there had been any other strangulations of that nature."
"You've got to be kidding," Elena gasps as her fingers brush over the old pages, their edges frayed with time as she reads. Between March and April of 1981, six women were murdered by strangulation, and certain bizarre information was repressed by the authorities. Although a reporter named Rafe Slater nosed around until he uncovered the unofficial information that some of the victims were missing some blood, and that the killer was supposed to be some kind of a superman."
Elena pauses for a moment, deep in concentration. "Women, You notice that? Always women," she points out.
"Fascinating." Joshua nods.
"Yeah, that's the word, Mr. Parker...2002 to 1981, that's 21 years."
"That's right, I hadn't noticed that. That's very observant of you, Miss Gilbert."
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" She asks him, her mind wondering what skeletons lie within the yellowed pages.
"Let's have a look," Joshua pulls out the records for 1960.
Elena is stunned into silence as again the archives reveal a baffling series of six female strangulations between March and April...
"Mr. Parker." Elena's pulse quickens.
"Miss Gilbert," Joshua echoes.
They dig deeper, unearthing articles and photographs.
A couple of hours later they find references to six mysterious strangulations every 21 years beginning in 1898.
Elena takes the stairs two at a time with treasure in her hands, marches to Ric's office, and holds them up for him to see.
"I refuse to read it!" He holds his palm up, stopping her.
"Wait, wait, wait. Just... just read the first line," Elena hands it to him.
"Six nearly identical sets of murders every 21 years since 1898" Ric looks at her skeptically.
"There may be more than six. The records stopped in 1887 when the Tribune was founded. I'm going to check out the Seattle Post-Intelligencer tomorrow. It's the oldest paper in the city and see if I can find any references to these murders there..."
"Oh, don't rush into that." Ric shakes his head back and forth.
"Ric, read the... read the 1918 eyewitness description."
Ric stares daggers at her.
"I'll read it to you...The maniac had the strength of ten men and the face of a corpse, cheekbones protruding through the flesh...Can you believe it?"
"Hold on just a minute, Elena. You're telling me that corpse has been running around strangling people and crushing their necks for the past 105 years?"
"That's exactly what I'm telling you."
Huge thanks, everyone. The years in this story are based on it being 2023 in case you have questions about the math.
Chapter title: The Monster Is Loose by Meatloaf.
I have an old short story that was written in 2016. Like TQR, I don't know why I never got around to posting it. I'd like to think I've improved as a writer in the last 8 years. Would you be interested in reading it when the current stories are completed?
Have a wonderful weekend. Sending hugs.