Five minutes after I was back from work that day, I was sitting at my computer, frantically hammering all variants of my name and description into any and every search engine I could think of. Call me a pessimist, but I think that a guy's parents won't be very pleased with his new girlfriend if they should happen to find out she's a bloodthirsty black widow. Parents normally don't like stuff like that. They're weird that way.
"Cassy Summers" didn't produce a lot of results that had to do with me. Next, I tried "Cassy McKinney," and that was a different story. Apparently, since I had stuck a knife into my husband, I had regained my maiden name.
The screen was littered with search results, quotations and pictures. My eyes landed on the line right under the search box, and I gaped. One million three-hundred and fifty-two thousand six hundred and thirty-seven search results.
I clicked on the first news site I came across.
The search continues for suspected murderess and black widow, Cassy McKinney. Not just the official forces of the law are on the lookout now. Ever since a reward has been offered, bounty hunters up and down the country are combing big cities, as well as the most remote hideouts, for the mysterious young woman who has such bloody crimes on her conscience.
Wait just a minute... reward? What reward?
It took me only a few moments to find out. An image search plastered my screen with posters of the face which I knew all too well from looking into the mirror. Beneath the photo, there was a number on the poster—a number with way too many zeros left of the dot and right of the dollar sign!
"Shit!" Turning to Lucky, I pointed at the screen, outraged. "Lucky, look! Look at that! They can't be serious! I can't be worth that much!"
Lucky flicked her tail at the screen dismissively. She didn't even raise her head.
"Don't you play the cool one! Have you any idea how many animal shelters could be financed with that kind of money? Typical of the government! Instead of using money for something useful, they just throw it away on unimportant stuff, like chasing after poor, harmless serial killers!"
Quickly, I jumped back from the picture search to the news site, wanting to see if there was anything crazier.
The police have issued another warning alerting the public of the dangerous nature of Cassy McKinney. By now, there is almost no doubt of her guilt. The body of her former husband, Matt Summers, was exhumed a few days ago--
"What? They dug him up? Poor dear! If I get my hands on those brutes..."
—and a vicious stab wound was discovered in his digestive tract.
"Vicious? Who are you calling vicious? It wasn't that big!"
And as if that were not enough, further sinister facts have come to light. Whereas at first, the investigators believed that this was an isolated crime of passion, the proponents of the theory that Cassy McKinney is in fact one of the monsters known as "serial killers" seem to be in the right. Besides traces of the murderess and her husband, blood from another person has been found at the scene. The current theory is that the totally innocent Matt Summers returned home from work one day early to catch his wife in the midst of her dark, murderous deeds—
"What the... you can't be serious! He discovering me?"
—and that he was eliminated in a desperate attempt to keep her bloody activities a secret. Detective Jones, the lead investigator on the case, is of the opinion that Cassy McKinney has stalked the countryside of Alabama for years, and many an unsolved murder or disappearance can be laid at her door.
"He does, does he? Well, thanks for your confidence in my abilities."
As always, we will be keeping you updated on any new developments in the case. At ten thirty pm, a special episode of CNN's Crime Time will delve more deeply into this mystery, with a surprise studio guest.
Ten thirty? I glanced at my watch. It was ten twenty-four right now! Quickly, I snatched up the remote and switched my media center from computer to TV. For a few minutes, I sat there, anxiously hammering my finger against my knee. Couldn't they hurry up? Didn't they understand that the future of my love life might be at stake here?
Finally, the bright red CNN logo flashed across the screen, followed by Crime Time's opening credits.
"This program is specifically designed to be viewed by adults," said a sinister voice out of the off, "and therefore may be unsuitable for children under 17."
I grimaced. Well, that was a promising start.
A studio appeared, held in simple white, black, and of course blood red. Two people sat in leather seats, one obviously the reporter. The camera zoomed in on him right away.
"Hello and welcome to Crime Time," the Reporter said, spreading his arms and smiling brightly at the audience. "I am Dave Warner, and tonight we're going to discuss the dark motives behind the crime that has shaken America to its core: the brutal murder of Mathew Summers, and one as yet unidentified victim, by Summer's wife Cassy Summers, née McKinney."
He gestured to the man sitting opposite him, at the other end of the screen.
"And we're not alone on our journey into this woman's sinister psychology. Please give a hearty round of applause for our guest, tonight's expert on our quest to discover the truth."
There was faint applause from the background.
Prof. Dr. Ernst Hermann Winkelstein Kaminski, it said on the caption above the figure reclining in the black leather chair. The best you could say about him was that his name suited his looks. Bald and shriveled, with a beard that stuck out wildly in all directions, he looked as if he hadn't been out of his study in years. Now that he was finally out, he looked rather surprised, and thoroughly pleased with himself that his first foray into freedom had led him onto the stage of national TV.
"Professor Kaminski is chief researcher for Criminal Psychology at Harvard University," the reporter was saying. "He's with us tonight to offer us an insight into the dark depths of this vicious killer's twisted mind."
"Thanks so much, pal," I grumbled, throwing a peanut at the screen. It bounced off the reporter's nose without him taking notice.
"Welcome, Dr. Kaminski. So kind of you to join us tonight."
"I'm very happy to be here, Dave." He definitely looked happy. There was a never-ending smile on his wrinkly face, and his fingers were twitching, as if he were itching to dig into my brain. "It's not every day that we come across such a deliciously wonderful pair of murders."
The reporter cleared his throat.
"Um, yes. Wonderful, from a scientific perspective, no doubt. Now, to the killer, Dr. Kaminski—before she began her killing spree, Cassey McKinney, by all accounts, appeared to be a young, average American woman. Please tell us, what motivates a seemingly normal individual to commit such horrific crimes?"
"Well, although there are a number of theories involving complex psychological processes," Dr. Kaminski said, rubbing his hands as if it were Christmas, "most experts agree that one factor is of absolute necessity to initialize the process of psychotic alienation: a rough upbringing."
"What?" Blinking, I leaned forward to stare at the screen in disbelief.
"You see," the Professor-Doctor continued, "People just don't become serial killers over night. For an innocent child to turn into a monster, it takes a childhood so violent that the child turns away from the ones who are supposed to be their role-models because they have become dangerous strangers. Since Miss McKinney is a female, this fault in the role model is most likely the mother's."
My hand shaking, I raised the remote and pointed it at the screen. "You say one more word about my mother and I'll bash your face in! Do you hear me, you asshole?"
Evidently, he did not hear.
"There are three main symptoms for parents to look out for if they want to prevent their children from becoming serial killers," he continued, beaming brightly, obviously pleased with himself to be able to present this valuable advice on child-rearing to a nation-wide audience of parents. "Firstly, bed-wetting."
"Bed w—Are you shitting me?" If looks could kill via satellite, Prof. Dr. Ernst Hermann Winkelstein Kaminski would have been nothing more than a crumpled form at Dave's feet. "I'll have you know that I slept perfectly at the age of two! Which is more than could probably be said for you, you little pisser!"
"Then, of course," the doctor continued cheerfully, "there's Pyromania."
"What?"
My hand twitched with the strong urge to hurl the remote at the screen.
"And finally, of course, there's always cruelty to animals."
"Wh- you stupid sack of Siberian sheep shit!" This time, I did hurl the remote at the screen. I didn't even think about it, just drew back my arm and let it fly. It bounced off the damn screen without doing any damage, just like the peanut. Turning indignantly to Lucky, I gestured at the smiling Professsor-Doctor. "Did you hear that? Did you hear how he insulted me?"
Lucky gave a bored meow and licked her left paw in a manner exhibiting utter disinterest in bald psychologists.
"And what," Dave asked, with a suitably serious expression on his face, "do you think she is like today?"
Prof. Dr. Kaminski steepled his fingers, in that particularly sinister manner only known to psychologists. "All the humanity will have bled out of her long ago. She is a monster now, nothing can change that. Worse, she is a monster on the prowl, and now that Matt Summers is gone, I can think of only one type of prey she will be craving: innocent young men." He took a deep breath, for dramatic effect. "All I can say is: parents of America, beware."
The sound of my cellphone ringing woke me from my horrific TV-trance. With shaking fingers, I reached out and raised it to my ear.
"Y-yes?"
"Cassy? Is that you? It's me, Chuck."
"Chuck! How nice of you to call! Are you planning to come over?"
"Not tonight, babe. But I've got good news."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah. I called my parents, and we've got a dinner date for next Saturday. Isn't that great?"
I glanced at Prof. Dr. Kaminski, who, to judge by his hand gestures, was just theorizing about my favorite methods of disemboweling.
"Um... yeah. That's awesome."
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Hi there, my fellow homicidal Maniacs! :)
My oh my...Cassy will have to come face-to-face with the the most terrible, scary monsters on the whole globe - her boyfriend's folks! ;-) What do you believe, my dear readers? Will Cassy survive the coming battle?
We shall find out the answer to that question next week!
Cheers
Sir Rob