Yes, this story actually requires research. Hope you learn something too. =)
~Saya
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2-History
I woke up the next morning with a plan. The library was the most logical place to start, of course. Well...my laptop would've worked too, but internet information wasn't always accurate. I decided to spend the morning at the library, then surf the internet after my shift at Scoops.
Ahli had spent the night again out of both fear and the need for a ride. She was sprawled out on the couch when I entered the living room, blankets thrown off and her tanktop riding up over her stomach. I rolled my eyes, amused.
I showered quickly and dressed. For the library, Scoops, and home, cargo pants with a t-shirt would be fine. The pants were plain black cotton while the shirt was dark grey with a white leopard outline prowling around the side. I brushed my hair out quickly, put it up, and wrote a note for Ahli before slipping on my customary high-tops and heading out to the little old blue Mustang my mom had given me years ago. Ahli could use my new car.
A fine drizzle was already pouring from the skies above Seattle. I smiled, reveling in the cool air and the wet shine on everything. Even the traffic didn't bother me as I maneuvered my way to the public library. It took me almost twenty minutes to get there, but I had all the company I needed with my music.
I got there and headed straight for the information desk. The librarian, a familiar middle-aged woman, looked up and smiled at me. "Hi Phoenix," she greeted me, "long time, no see."
I grinned guiltily. "Yeah, I've been busy. New job, more hours," I explained.
"Oh? "Where are you working?" Mrs. Crayer asked.
"The Scoops on the east side of the city," I replied. We both smiled. As it happened, we both loved ice cream. In fact, I didn't know anyone who didn't.
"So, what can I do for you today?" she asked.
"I was hoping I could take a look at the newspapers for the last couple weeks," I told her. I was hoping for some kind of clue I might have missed.
Mrs. Crayer got them without question. I wondered vaguely if that was a sign that I often made strange requests. Knowing me, I probably did. When she handed them over, I thanked her and settled down at a table in the back, the thick stack of newspapers on the table beside me.
I had been working for maybe fifteen minutes when the chair across from me was pulled out and someone fell into it. Looking up, I was met with the sight of long, silky, black hair and pale skin. As his gold eyes met mine, I smiled.
"Hey," Francis said by way of greeting, "find anything?"
I sighed, scanning the crime log in las Sunday's paper. "Not yet," I grumbled.
Francis picked up one of the other papers and started skimming through it page by page, glancing over the headlines. As I tossed yet another paper onto the "useless" pile, as I liked to think of it, I looked up in time to catch and expression on his face that contorted his feature with sympathy and disgust at the same time.
"What is it?" I asked quietly, both peeved that he had gotten a fruitful paper where I had gotten so many useless ones and curious as to what he had found.
With the dry crinkle of the thin, ink-soaked pages, Francis folded the paper back, exposing the page which had caught his interest, and slid it across the table towards me. His long, thin finger rested just above a bolded article title. The article had no picture and was only a couple paragraphs long. "Recovering From Shock," the tiny headline read. I began to read.
"Residents in the vicinity of Madrona are still recovering from the shock of discovering a mangled, beheaded corpse in the area last Friday night..."
It wasn't the description of the body found that disgusted both Francis and now myself. It wasn't even the fact that there had been another murder, though from Francis's comment the other night and the consistent violence, it looked like a serial killer. No, what disgusted us was the fact that the article was so small and in suck an out-of-the-way spot in the paper. My stomach lurched guiltily as I realized I'd passed right over it myself.
Francis sighed as I pushed the paper back towards him. "We still haven't identified her," he admitted, a look of depression creeping into his eyes.
"Did you check the missing persons?" I asked.
"Of course. Unfortunately, she's either not local, or for some reason no one's filed a report yet. And yes, we checked prints," he said, anticipating my next question as I opened my mouth, "We're still searching the database."
"Geez..." I muttered. Maybe it was just me, but that seemed pretty impressive. If it was that big, it was a pretty food thing computers took care of the screening these days. Still shaking my head, I picked up the papers for the Friday and Saturday previous to the date on the paper containing the disappointing article.
"I'll be back in a moment," Francis said suddenly, rising quickly from his chair and disappearing among the bookshelves. I nodded distractedly, despite the fact he had already moved on.
I was still going over Friday's paper, this time carefully scanning each page for the story I wanted, when Francis returned. He waited patiently while I finished, then pushed over a stack of books to take the place of the paper. Curious, I glanced over the titles of the top three.
"Jack the Ripper?" I asked incredulously, "European Serial Killers? Anonymous Killers?"
Francis shrugged. "You might want to look through them," he suggested pointedly.
I didn't reply; I just opened the top book-Jack the Ripper-and started to flip through. I knew a lot about Jack the Ripper already. He had killed at least five prostitutes in Whitechapel back in 1888 and he had never been caught. I wondered what material the author had to write the book about and why Francis wanted me to look through it.
"A lot of that is just legends," Francis admitted, "but it also has most of the original case file."
I cracked the book open and riffled through the pages, nodding absently. There were diagrams, pictures, and more on various pages. I stopped at one, the infamous crime scene photo of Mary Kelly's brutal murder.
"Does this have all the Whitechapel murder or only the Canonical Five?" I asked, looking up.
Francis, holding the next book from the pile and a sheaf of hot pink Sticky-Note tabs, looked surprised. "Uh...All of them," he replied, "You know about the Ripper?"
I shrugged. "Didn't have much of a life before Ahli and Brittney," I grumbled, feeling heat blossom in my cheeks. Francis chuckled and turned back to his project.
I flipped through the Ripper book for a few minutes. Then Francis handed the other book back to me. Setting down the first book, I glanced over the title of the new one. It was Anonymous Killers again. Curious, I opened it to one of the marked pages.
I couldn't help but giggle at the name I saw. "Charlie Chop-Off" glared at me from the top of the page, crisp black letters on off-white paper. As I scanned the page, my smile faded and my eye began to twitch. Some people are too sick-minded for words, though we try as humans.
Intrigued, I flipped through to all the marked pages. "The Honolulu Strangler." "Jack the Stripper." "Jack the Ripper" again. "Texarkana Moonlight Murders." "Original Night Stalker/The East Area Rapist." Several others were marked too, but the titles couldn't seem to penetrate the fog building up around my mind. I'd heard of a few of them in my days researching serial killers in my spare time, but some-such as Charlie Chop-Off-were unfamiliar. It was shocking to see how many people could get away with stuff like this. No wonder some people had little faith in the police.
I looked up at Francis again. His brow was furrowed as he stared darkly at the paper in his hands. Before I could ask what was wrong, he spoke.
"Found another."
My heart sank. I knew what he meant. There were already at least three brutal murders in Seattle recently. Why had it been kept quiet?
Francis looked as frustrated as I felt. "Damn," he growled, "we should've gotten here sooner."
I looked up at him inquisitively. He caught my eyes and looked a tad embarrassed.
"What do you do? Just follow this guy around?" I asked incredulously.
"Pretty much," Francis admitted with a shrug.
Just then my phone went off. Checking it, I saw it was the alarm I'd set. If I wanted to get to Scoops in time for my shift, I had to leave now.
"Shit!" I hissed, jumping up. I stuffed my papers into my bag and realized with horror that I hadn't left myself enough time to check out anything.
"I'll get these for you if you leave your card with me," Francis offered, standing.
I tossed him a grateful look as I shrugged my bag over my shoulder. I dropped my card on his side of the table and grabbed a scrap of paper, scribbling down my number and the time my shift ended. Then I rushed out, pausing only to call over my shoulder to Mrs. Crayer, "Francis has my books!"
When my shift ended, I immediately went home and flopped onto my bed. I hated pulling the afternoon shift on Saturdays in the summer; the place was always overcrowded. Luckily schools would by starting up again soon and the weather would cool down.
I was just starting to drift off for a well-earned nap when my phone buzzer angrily on the dresser next to my bed. Groaning, I fumbled for it.
"Hello?" I answered, my voice muffled by exhaustion.
"Phoenix? This is Francis," said a familiar voice, lightly colored with nervousness and concern.
Suddenly I was wide awake, my memories flooding back. "Oh! Hi!" I greeted with embarrassed enthusiasm.
On the other end of the line, Francis chuckled softly. "I have your books," he informed me, "If you give me directions, I can run them over."
I paused, heat rising in my cheeks. "Uh...I'm not that great with directions...Can I meet you somewhere?" I countered.
There was a short pause on the other end and I could head a voice in the background. "That's okay," Francis said, speaking into the phone again, "I can have Mihael take them."
"Okay," I agreed. We said goodbye and hung up. I moved to the front room to wait for Mihael.
He pulled up about twenty minutes later, the black sedan sliding to a smooth stop at the curb. A stiff breeze whipped his thick hair around as he stepped from the driver's side and collected an armful of books from the backseat, in the spot where I'd sat only a couple nights before. I hurried out the front door to meet him and give him a hand.
A couple books tumbled from his arms as I reached him, and I snatched at them. Miraculously, I managed to catch both of them. Straightening up, I found myself inches from Mihael, our noses almost touching. My breath caught as our wide eyes met.
"Sorry," I muttered finally, stepping back. Mihael blinked twice and nodded to show that he'd heard.
I turned, hopefully before he could see the bright red creeping across my face, and led the way inside. We dropped the books on the table in front of the TV in my apartment.
Mihael was looking around when I turned to him. "How do you afford a place like this when you work in an ice-cream place?" he asked.
I glared at the floor. When I was silent for a moment, Mihael turned to me. "My parents help out," I admitted in a disgruntled grumble.
Realizing he'd struck a nerve, Mihael apologized and said he had to go.
"Hey...Mihael?" I asked suddenly, just as he reached my front door. He paused, his hand on the knob, and looked back, an inquisitive look in his blue eyes. "Why are you all chasing this guy?"
He looked down at the small silver doorknob under his big, pale hand. Depression darkened his features. "He killed a friend of ours, among other things," he admitted, "But that one won't be in thoses books." He gestured to the pile.
I turned to glance at them, and when I turned back, my door was closing behind him.
That night, Ahli and I settled down in front of the TV with a pile of blankets and Chinese takeout. Ahli put in the old version of Prom Night-ignoring my warning that it might hit too close to home right now-and I picked up Anonymous Killers. The buzzer rang just as Ahli picked up the remote to hit "play," announcing the arrival out of our friend Brittney. She jumped on the couch between us, trying to take up as much room as possible while stealing and egg roll.
"Britt, you're on my feet," I whined, pushing at her.
As I read through the cases Francis had marked, I noticed disturbing similarities. Every case involved dismemberment, they were brutal, and something usually happened to the head and throat. To my disgust, many were sexual crimes.
My head buzzing with tales of murder, I fell asleep soon after the movie ended, squished up against the arm of the couch.
That night I dreamed. A shadowy figure held a young girl by the wrist. Her long blond hair was disheveled and the expression on her orange fake-tan face was full of terror. The figure backed her up against the wall and released one wrist, moving his hand to her throat. His broad shoulders obscured my view as he stepped forward to apply more pressure.
I could see her free arm flailing, hitting the man and tugging at his hand. Soon her struggling grew weaker and she suddenly collapsed, unconscious. Her assailant let go, watching with obvious contempt as she hit the concrete in a heap. Horrified, I tried to move and found that I couldn't. I was being forced to watch the horrible scene.
The man knelt down and pulled an object from what must have been a pocket. As he flipped it open, the light caught the blade and there was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. No...
I woke in a cold sweat a few minutes later. Ahli and Brittney were awake, watching me with a mixture of annoyance and concern, but all I could see was the shadowy figure retreating, carrying his victim's head by her blood-soaked hair. Ignoring the barrage of frantic questions, I rolled off the couch and lunged for my phone. Fumbling for a minute, I managed to find Francis's number and hit call.
"Hello?" he answered after the first ring, sounding completely awake.
"He got another," I panted fearfully.
"We'll be right over," Francis replied shortly. The line went dead.
"What was that about?" Ahli asked, helping me to my feet. Unable to answer, I just shook my head. Ahli, deciding not to push it, led me back to the couch. Soon Brittney came in carrying three mugs of hot chocolate with a thick layer of mini marshmallows.
By the time the buzzer rang again, I had calmed down enough to feel foolish. Ahli opened the door to admit Francis, Mihael, and Enrique.
"Where's Drake?" Ahli asked. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "And Sora and Laurent?"
"They're still at our place," Mihael told her as he and Francis made their way to me. Enrique lingered by the door. Brittney, I noticed, was openly staring at him.
"What happened?" Francis asked, crouching down to look me in the eye. Mihael stopped behind him, a hand on Francis's shoulder.
I looked away, embarrassed. "It was just a dream..." I murmured. Francis gripped my knees hard enough to make me gasp in pain. I saw Mihael's fingers tighten warningly on his shoulder, and Francis's grip relaxed.
"Phoenix," he said slowly and carefully, "It may mean something. Now, what did you see?"
I hesitated, the horror of the nightmare returning to me. Mihael moved around Francis to sit next to me, taking my hand with a reassuring squeeze. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I began to recount the events of the nightmare.
By the time I finished, all three boys had set their mouths into hard lines.
"We'll check it out first thing tomorrow," Francis assured me gravely.
"I'll stay here for the rest of the night," Mihael offered.
Francis stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Phoenix?"
I nodded gratefully, slumping against the pale boy. Francis and Enrique said goodnight and left.