Sandra Daley stared into the television camera, sheets of crisp white paper clutched in between her hands as she stared determinedly in front of her at the Tele-PrompTer.
“And now we have what police are calling the worst murder case of 1998,” Sandra said in her best reporter’s voice, trying not to heave up the contents of her stomach as she listed off the case. Her voice was short and clipped, professional; though she was feeling anything but calm and detached.
“Thirty-nine year-old physiologist, Malcolm Stark, has been charged with the deaths of ten civilians after he held them captive inside an abandoned shopping mall, and proceeded to kill them in a number of different, increasingly gruesome, ways. This case is being called the ‘Mapleton Massacre’, and has devastated the folks of Mapleton County, California. Some are calling this the worst massacre of all time.
“Mr. Stark’s case will allegedly be dealt with in court on May the Fifteenth, but right now a course of action is still undetermined due to a number of factors. It is alleged the man has no family, but police are still checking for close or distant relatives. More information will be provided, as we know more.
“That concludes tonight’s show. My name is Sandra Daley, and goodnight.”
The camera clicked off and she sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes where a headache throbbed behind them. She let out a sigh as her mind wandered to the devastating events of that night two days ago.
This case was horrifying to say the least, and the rap sheet this man had worked up was astounding. Murder, torture and kidnapping being at the top of the list.
The crime had occurred in a shopping mall, where the fire drill had been pulled and everyone evacuated. Ten people were left stuck inside, and the killer—Malcolm Stark—had killed everyone inside them, slowly and over a matter of ten hours. She couldn’t imagine the fear of being trapped inside there like a caged animal, knowing with absolute certainty that you wouldn’t make it out.
“You okay?” her coworker, Peter Stapleton, asked, staring at her worriedly. “You look a little pale.”
Peter Stapleton was an attractive middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper hair that curled around his head, gold, thin glasses and three-day growth that gave him a rough look. One reason he had been hired by their boss, Cathy McKinley
“I guess the case just really freaked me out,” Sandra admitted, sighing and leaning back in her swivel-chair.
“Yeah, the guy was a psychopath,” Peter agreed, nodding along and running a hand through his pale blond hair. “Thank God he’s behind bars now.”
“Has he been prosecuted?"
“No, not yet, but he’ll definitely be charged—most likely for the rest of his pathetic life.”
Sandra sighed and stood up, collecting her papers and shuffling them quickly. “Let’s hope this is the end, then.”
Peter nodded and followed suit, agreeing before wishing her goodbye and leaving. As Sandra exited the building and unlocked her small car, she looked around the deserted surroundings with a sigh.
Despite her words, for some strange reason Sandra doubted this was the end.