I stood in the middle of the room, watching the horrible symbol in front of me. A little girl had been cut to pieces, hung up on the wall in a sinister figure. What was it? Some satanic summoning? A sect of some kind?
I hadn’t seen this symbol before either. Her head was in the centre, her legs and arms made a circle. Her hands and feet were placed outside the circle, making a square. There had been two other murderers following a similar pattern. First a young man. Second a woman. Now a child. Sick. I wanted to throw up, but I couldn’t leave DNA on the scene of the crime. The cops would think it was me.
It wasn’t the first time I had mixed myself up in a crime investigation. The laws were not strict enough. They deserved to suffer and die. I did the sacrifice of being the executer. The torturer.
The first murder I read about in the newspaper. The second I had gotten there before the police. I have my ways. That’s when I had understood the gravity of the situation. The woman had been spread out on the floor in many pieces. Her fingers had been laid out in some ancient letter. I had been studying it for days, trying to find out what it meant, where it came… without luck.
This was worse. The face of the little girl seemed tor have died in horrendous pain and fear. The painstaking cutting of the pieces was… I shivered. This was even worse than I had expected. I got the little bottle out of my pocket, opened it with shaking fingers. I needed to calm down. The whiskey poured down my throat. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough.
Someone had called me at home. It had been a strange phone call. They told me to go here. Why did they want me here? How did they know I was looking for them? Who were these sick bastards?
I took photos. I needed documentation to have something to work on. Experience from my days as a journalist comes in handy when your finding psychos.
Ah, you made it! A voice behind me. I spun around.
A man was standing there. He was about forty years old. He had a white medic coat covered in blood. Literally, I knew it was white only by a small part of the collar. In his right hand he held a knife. The big kind, to cut meat. That wasn’t the scary part.
What really freaked me out was his friendly smile.