X Marks the Spot

2 - The Body

Prince's Avenue was a quiet street at night. It was one of the most run-down streets in the entire county, contrary to what its name may suggest; at 10 o'clock at night, many inhabitants of the bungalows that lined the sorry street had lights turned off, curtains closed. There were barely any signs of life.

The same could not be said for the five-story hospital at the end of the street. The exterior was luminous, with a large sign and red neon cross. The hospital was the most impressive aspect of the town for miles. Not unhygienic, certainly not under-staffed, it was a light in the darkness of the rest of the desolate street. I visited it once myself; the interior was a delight to experience. The tonsillitis was not.

A man in his early thirties did not appear to share this view; he seemed so wrapped up in his own anxieties that all he seemed to notice were his pale, tightly clasped hands. Sat alone in an empty room, he waited in anticipation for his colleague to enter and tell him the news.

The silence, only accompanied by the repetitive tapping of his heel on the pristine tiles, was not comforting. How long would he have to wait?

He was pulled from his train of thought by the door opening and his co-worker wheeling a gurney with a cloth covering a body into the room.

"Well?" The first man tried to read the other's expression.

Solemnly, he pulled the cloth off the gurney to reveal a lifeless body. A young girl, no older than 13 or 14, lay still, with a bloody 'X' marked on her forearm.

The first man stood up, running a hand through his slicked-back hair.

"Oh, man," he said in barely more than a whisper, utterly lost for words.

"Yeah," his colleague said. "This is bad, Grayson. Do you know how many victims there have been now?"

"I've seen every single one of them, Richie." Grayson tried to keep his voice from trembling. He wasn't sure how successful he was. "Seen every body marked with his... calling card."

"I know. It's... it's not good, but it's worse for them. And the parents, of course." Richie noticed Grayson's nervousness. "Look, Gray, it won't be long until he's caught. 'Til then, we just... do our job."

"I'm not so sure," Grayson sighed. "And don't call me that."

Richie tried to apologise, but with the body in the room, it didn't seem like the right time for such a trivial matter.

"Looks like we're gonna be here a while," Richie nodded to the body, but Grayson wasn't looking at him. "I've gotta make a phone call, do you mind -?"

"Sure, go ahead."

Richie left the room, and Grayson let out a sigh, tilting his head back. Would X ever be caught? Grayson didn't think so. They didn't even know whether the killer was a man or a woman. The only trace of himself he ever left behind was the 'X' on the victim's skin, painted in blood. He or she. Statements from the police and news usually referred to the killer as a 'him', but Grayson didn't like to rule out the possibilities.

There had to be a logical explanation.

Grayson composed himself. Being a nurse, he had to deal with plenty of dead bodies and blood and other things that would have made him sick to think about 20 years ago. His career hadn't been planned, but he enjoyed it. Mostly.

He clutched the handle of the gurney and pulled it so it was directly under the light. He looked at the girl: the faint lines on her inanimate face; each lock of dirty blonde hair; her fragile skin. Had she known that the person she'd seen had been a killer? He could have been someone she smiled at in passing on the street, or someone who she offered her seat to on the bus. Or did she not have any direct contact with X at all, until the blade had pierced the skin of her back like tissue paper? It pained Grayson to think of the suffering of all of the children and their parents. Apparently, two mothers of victims had even taken their own lives. Grayson didn't know if that was true; he hoped it wasn't.

After a while, Richie re-entered the room, holding the file of innocent Maisie Hall, and two paper cups of coffee.

"Thanks," Grayson smiled, feeling too uncomfortable to remind Richie that he didn't like the beverage. "So, the file?"

Richie opened it. "Maisie Hall. 14 years old. Born 28th December, 1994. Lived with both parents and two younger brothers. Attended Shelley Community High School, there was an incident involving two other girls for which she received an expulsion. No criminal record, blood group B positive -"

For a few moments, Grayson stopped paying attention. Something had just occurred to him.

"- blood group B positive -"

How hadn't he seen it before?

It was a slim lead. It probably wouldn't lead to anything. But what if it did?

He stared at the blood on her arm. It was the first time he'd looked at her without being struck with a faint sense of guilt; all he felt this time was an inkling of hope. Her blood group was B positive. He remembered that as Richie continued spouting useless information at him about her family history. What if the blood on her arm wasn't B positive? What if it belonged to someone else entirely? Another murdered child? Or an adult? Or even X himself?

He didn't know if finding out the blood type of the 'X' on her arm would contribute anything towards the search for the killer. However, it was an idea that stayed with Grayson a long time after his shift at the hospital ended, and Richie left, and Grayson threw his untouched coffee in the nearest bin. It was the last thing he thought about before he finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning. He didn't know if it would mean anything. But he had to find out.

And what was more, he knew exactly who could help him.