You've Been Tagged

10:10 am

10:10 am, September 10th, present year.

  Chief Myrene and Sophie Richards were in a squad car, speeding toward the Mitchels house, with the lights and sirens carving a path for them on the road. Behind them, three other squad cars followed.

            As Myrene drove, Sophie prepared her weapon and gave more detailed instructions to other cars through the radio.

            “As far as we’re concerned, he’s armed. He has a partner, the female escape convict Terri Johnson. Both are considered extremely dangerous. Lethal force is permitted. If possible, we would rather capture this piece of filth, but kill shots are allowed. Proceed with caution. Don’t underestimate this guy or do anything to set him off.”

            The car sped up, and nerves were tense.

*          *          *

            “What are you doing?” Mom was yelling now, obviously scared.

            Sophie didn’t reply.

            Dad calmly and steadily stated, “You’re not Sophie Richards.”

            She smiled. “No, I’m not.”

            “Who are you then?” I could tell Dad was trying not to let fear into his voice.

            “My name is Terri Johnson. I’m the woman who was one of the escapees from earlier this morning.”

            “Yes, I remember the name. So where’s the real Sophie Richards?”

            “She’s fine.”

            Before Dad could say anything more, the masked figure held up his hand, and nobody said a word. Then he softly said, “Time to get started.”

            He slowly reached back with his hand and pulled on his mask, inching it down, until it was fully off his face. Then he dropped it on the floor.

            It was him.

*          *          *

            The four cars screeched to a halt in front of the Mitchels house. Myrene jumped out and started shouting orders.

            “Parker, you and Howard set up a perimeter. Jackson, Smith, and Ranson, lock your weapons on the front door. Lewis, get on the radio and be prepared to call in the S.W.A.T. team. Evans, hand me that megaphone. Richards, call Detective Hunter and tell him to get here ASAP!”

            People flurried around and got in position. Evans retrieved the megaphone and gave it to Myrene. She turned it on.

            “This is Chief Kristen Myrene from the Prackersburg Police Department. You are surrounded. Come out of the house with your hands up and this will be much easier.”

            No answer. As expected.

            “I’m not going to take a risk. Lewis, order the S.W.A.T. team now. Richards! Did you talk to him?”

            “No ma’am, there was no answer!”

*          *          *

            It was him. The man who I wouldn’t have guessed, but now made perfect sense. Everything clicked in my head, and my emotions morphed from initial shock, to understanding, to fear.

            This man had stalked me, turned a normal Friday afternoon into a whirlwind of terror, pain, and fear, and now was standing in front of me and my family, admitting panic to everyone in the room except for Terri.

*          *          *

            Back at the Prackersburg Police Station, Juliet Madyson was being processed smoothly until she heard an officer say to the person next to them, “Sophie found the culprit in the Chase Mitchels case.”

            Juliet stopped. She had met a Chase Mitchels last night!

            “Excuse me sir, did you say Chase Mitchels?”

            The officer looked at her. “Uh, yes.”

            “I know a Chase Mitchels! I met him last night!”

            The officer and his friend glanced at each other. “Chase WAS in Fahlstown last night.” The second cop pulled out a picture of Chase and showed it to Juliet.

            “Is this who you met last night?”

            She giggled. “Yes it is!”

            Tori, who was processing Juliet, asked, “What did you and Chase do last night?”

            “He gave me some money, and then we walked to a store where I got food, and then a nice police man drove me back to where I sleep, and Chase went with the nice police man.”

            “So what? She met Chase, that doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

            “I’m not sure yet.”

*          *          *

            The killer looked at me with and evil happiness. An emotion that is usually associated with crazy murders. It fit this guy’s profile now, but before I never would have thought of him this way.

            My stalker, the villain, the figure, was Detective Damian Hunter.