It couldn’t possibly be me. Could it…..

I don’t know how all roads lead to me because I do the opposite of committing crimes. I solve them.

Maybe I did both…

It can’t be me. It wouldn’t make sense. But is does on paper.

The others think I’m crazy and joking when I say these things. Maybe they are right. Maybe they aren’t…

How can someone be a good detective and a sleep walking serial killer all at the same time.

The cup of coffee in my hands looked like muck at that point in the night. I was glued to my desk for hours on end and there was nothing left but the grinds. The desperation of catching this savage killer had me drinking the unthinkable as a new brew was out of the question, there was no time for that nonsense. The clues were right in front of me. The answer had to be there.

My partner left me to my madness hours before. I figured she had had enough of my ranting. My favorite bar, my favorite restaurant, hell, even my alleyway all had a mutilated woman within the span of two weeks.. and I saw nothing. Heard nothing. This cretan worked swiftly and deftly under my nose and I was left with a bunch of puzzle pieces with no picture.

Things had been tough at that point. Even before the dubbed Neighborhood Slayer came into the picture, I had been working long hours, avoiding the realities of my life, the loss of my son. It proved too much for me to go home and know he wouldn't be there. My wife had been complaining that I spent so much time away from the house, that it made me spend even more time away. Truthfully, I still don't remember much about that period in my life. Still don't like to think about the chunks of time missing from my memories.

Anyways, I was at my desk. The evidence laying out in front of me. The victims all had the same traits: dark hair, light eyes, petite. I looked up at the family portrait of me, my son, and wife...my wife with dark hair, light eyes... and just like that a flash of a memory came to me. My wife screaming at me, pointing her finger in my face as I was brushing my teeth...then silence. Snapping out as fast as the memory had come to me, I looked at victim one, her teeth were missing. Another flash, my wife crying at the side of my son's bed, clutching his baseball jersey. Victim two was wearing a softball uniform. Victim three, poor victim three, the alleyway...my gut dropped, the details too gruesome for even me to talk about.

However, the final memory flash of that night, wasn't of my wife, but my dark haired, light eyed partner. She was telling me to go home. She was yelling at me to go home, even though she knew there was no "home" for me anymore. My anger started to fill my body and then the silence came. I shook my head. Stepped away from my desk, and there she was, my partner in a pool of her own blood at the foot of her chair. I fell to my knees, knowing things would never be the same again. The answer wasn't just in front of me the whole time, it was me.

It couldn’t have been. I’m a detective, I solve the crimes, catch the murderers, I cannot be one of them. But the clues, they are there.

I knew the victim. She worked in the coffee shop I visited every morning. We didn’t talk outside the small talk required to get my needed caffeine. Nothing interesting, nothing evil. But she was dead. Her throat slit. And there was a knife found at the scene (sloppy!! Careless!!). The knife was a fishing knife, just like the one I lost at the lake last month. It wasn’t a rare style, but still...

I paced my apartment, nervous. No one pointed their finger at me (they will never know!) but soon someone would connect the dots, and knock on my door. Should I flee? (No, no, no, do not run!)

Who had killed this girl? And why? (It was fun.). I needed a shower (so dirty.). I went to my bathroom, and looked in the mirror.

I didn’t recognize the face looking back.

My name is Joe. I am a detective and I’ve been looking for the person who has murdered my ex fiancé. I’ve traveled around and asked around, but nobody knew her. I went to her house where she was murdered and checked in places that I was curious about. When I was at the club with her last night, I got drunk so she had to drive me home. She pulled up to her house instead of mine. She got out and went inside her house without helping me get out or anything. She was super hot in my drunk eyes, so I went inside her house and crawled in bed with her. She turnt around and slapped me and ran. Then I don’t remember anything after that. I hope I wasn’t the one who killed her. After I checked places that I was curious about, I didn’t find anything important until I looked in her closet in her bedroom. She had a safe in it. I didn’t know the code so I took a crowbar and opened it. There were files about her parents that got killed by Mexicans when they were on vacation and she was only in high school. I didn’t know that about her parents, so I was shocked. Then I found my glasses that I dropped beside her bed last night and broke. So I guess she came back here afterwards and put my classes in her safe. There was also a small note that said “remember..” on it. It made me remember what happened last night when she ran away from me. She ran and fell down the stairs, going head first. I slid down the stairs and screamed because I didn’t know what to do. So I lied about what happened so I wasn’t blame for her death. Once I remembered all that, I sat on the floor of her bedroom and cried and cried and cried. Next day later, I go up to my Department and told an officer that it was me that killed her. Then I sat down and answered their questions and told the truth. 2 years later, I got life in prison, but at least my soul is at peace.

“How does he do it?” I said aloud, studying my whiteboard that was a map of pins and notes.

“What, Sir?” my assistant said.

“Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Conway?”

“Why do you refer to them as ‘he’”? We don’t actually have a positive confirmation on gender, yet.”

I couldn’t actually answer that question. It was a feeling I had had, a feeling I didn’t even know I had. Every time I referred to this killer I always referred to it as a he. “Just a force of habit.”

I poured myself a glass of orange juice when I got back to my flat. Hunger had been non-existent for me lately but I forced down some mock-up of a dinner from whatever I could lay my hands on in the fridge. If Julie had been here then she would have reprimanded me for doing the bare minimum when it came to keeping myself healthy again.

I took the picture of us together from its permanent place on the coffee table and smiled weakly. Almost a year since she had disappeared and despite my own police department turning over every rock we could in the search for her it was as though she had completely vanished off the face of the earth.

“Come back some day.” I said. “Please.”

Who’s that knocking at the door? I thought. It was past midnight and I been drifting off to sleep on my chair.

I cautiously approached my door, scanned my hand over the release mechanism and tentatively pulled it open. Only, I would have, but the moment the mechanism clacked on its release was the door shoved into me, sending me tumbling back and over the coffee table.

I rolled to my feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in my skull, and got a look at who had barged their way into my flat.

There in front of me, was nothing. Empty air. A space of devoid of any living thing. But who had pushed their way into my flat? Who had knocked on my door?

I peered out into the hall but saw no one. Not a single life-form breathed.

I locked back up, put a chair against the front door, and slipped into my bed, still alert to an intruder, but as soon as I laid my head on my pillow I instantly fell into a deep sleep.

Black turned to white. White turned to black. Black turned to grey. I felt nothing, then everything, then a tingling sensation in my body as I snapped out of my sleep gasping for precious air.

My breath was panicked. What had woken me? I had never woken from a sleep before. From the moment I laid my head down I had never awoken until it was time to get up for school or work.

“It’s okay, calm down,” a soothing voice said beside me. I clutched them and buried my head into them like a baby seeking comfort. “I’ve got you.”

My breathing slowed as it came to me. It can’t be, I thought. That voice. Is it really her?

I looked up, hoping against hope.

“Julie?” I managed.

“It’s me,” she said. “It’s your Julie. But we don’t have time for this. We need to get out. They’ll be after us now that I’ve unplugged you.”

“What? Unplugged me? Julie, where have you been? You’ve been missing almost a year.”

“I’ll tell you on the way, but right now we need to get out of here.” Julie was already packing my things messily into a travel bag.

“I don’t understand. What is this about?”

“The Masters’ are coming. They’ll have been alerted the moment I took out your feeding tube. We have to go. Now.”

“You’re scaring me,” I said. Despite my fear I slipped my clothes from yesterday back on and got my shoes.

“Good, because you should be scared. Listen to me,” she said, kneeling down in front of me, taking my hands in hers. “I know this is a shock to you but it’s time you understood. Remember all those killers that have gotten away without a trace? Even the one you are looking for now? They’re you, Henry, every single one of them. The Masters program you to do as they want.

Now, we have really do have to go, because they’ll be here any minute.”

Sure enough, just as she finished speaking, the distant hail of sirens reached our ears.

Looking at my clipboard Connecting the pegs with red strings. Scratching the side of my head “Who could this fella be?” I’m looking at my list of suspects and checking it twice They all sure don’t seem nice. “What’s that stench?” Blood on my jacket? It can’t possibly be fresh It was dripping from my jacket and falling onto my leather shoe too. Just then my assistant walked into the room. saw the blood , saw my gun with an empty bullet beside it. A look of horror crept upon his face as he began to run away and say, “ No , It can’t be true! How could it be you?” “It can’t be me, that’s not a possibility.” “It now is a possibility, This ain’t the reality you grew up in no longer. “ I turned around to see the sheriff holding a pair of handcuffs “I’ll need to take you in for interrogation.” “Yes sir.” I said reluctantly while I began to feel a frustration building up inside of me.

My heart is racing and it feels like my head could explode. It couldn’t have been me, I couldn’t do something like this. The knife in my hand is feeling heavier and heavier. I drop it and it clangs on the floor.

I know what kind of person I am. My parents had always called me their golden child. I went to cotillion and private school. My college plans were always ambitious, but instead I married someone obscenely wealthy the summer after my Freshman year. I went from future lawyer to perfect wife fit for his perfect house. But I did my duty faithfully and even bore a child with him. This disaster was merely an accident, because this was not me.

I mean how could it be? I “loved” my husband. Everyday I cared for the baby, cleaned the house, cooked meals, and made sure everything was tidy before he got home. For I knew how upset he would get if something was out of place. What else is love? I knew him so well: how to avoid his screaming, how I should stay in the kitchen until he went into the living room and then only come out if I had another beer for him. That was love. I was faithful and I was a good wife.

So I may have felt anger inside, rage in fact. Nearly every day, wanting to destroy this house, the perfect meals, the perfect nursery, and sometimes even the perfect husband. But those were just thoughts, I would never show it. That would be improper. Just because I felt that didn’t mean I was a monster. I’m not a monster! It couldn’t have been me.

So let’s review this case. How did I get here? I had gone out for a grocery run- the sprouts I bought before were too mushy- and I came home just a little after my husband had arrived home from the firm. I went to the kitchen to cook the new sprouts and my darling had gone upstairs for a shave. He had a tough day at the firm. As I was cooking this delicious dinner I heard a scream from the upstairs bathroom. I called up and didn’t get a response, but my timer went off! As I was pulling the roast out of the oven, I heard another scream. I ran to the top of the stairs, into to the bathroom, and oh... it was unbearable.

That’s it! That’s my story! I should really cut myself some slack. How silly of me to think that I was capable of something so heinous.

I got up, and kicked the knife a little closer to his body.

“Oh Harold, how could you have done such a silly thing?”

The cops were on their way now. I walked towards the mirror to reapply some lipstick. In my mind I repeated the story, replaying every detail like a movie. And every replay with such a tragically good ending.

I really need to get some sleep, I thought, looking at the brutally slaughtered body of a woman, all but hacked into pieces. Her mouth was open, her tongue lolling out, her unseeing eyes staring into space, like two lifeless orbs similar to those of a fish.

I sighed, the sound lost in the noise typical of a crime scene.There was blood everywhere but no murder weapon. Great. She was probably killed by a serrated 6’ hunting knife according to the preliminary report of the forensic team. A hunter? A retailer selling sporting goods? A maniac? Probably all three.The scuff marks made by the perpetrator were large, the shoe pattern indicated sneakers. Size eleven. The suspect’s approximate height 6’2 and weight near to 180 lbs. Same as mine. Coincidence obviously, I assured myself. They also found a small piece of bubble gum wrapper near her head. Crumpled, but still recognizable. I could feel the remnants of its flavour on my tongue. I started to get a little uneasy. My phone rang. “What is it?” I growled. “Just checking in.” A deep voice on the other side answered.”You haven’t been home in a few days. Everything okay?” “I’ve been busy.” I replied.”Are you sure things are quiet there?” “Yes”. And the line went dead. At the exact moment I was interrupted by my partner who asked me to accompany him outside. The murderer had left the crime scene early in the morning according to the account of an eye witness who saw him from her window on the first floor. “He was tall, had dark hair, was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.”I heard her repeat to a policeman who was questioning her. She stopped when she saw me, her face turned pale, and she started stammering. Before we could stop her she bolted out of her chair and climbed the stoop to her apartment building, slamming the door shut behind her. “I think I need a break” I told my partner and walked away, before he could stop me. The description of the suspect, the wrapper, the reaction of the witness, all if it seemed strange to me. I needed to make sure nothing was remiss at home. Where did I put my keys? Did l leave them at the office? Maybe, I left them in the car? I drove home to find the front door open. Something was wrong. I unstrapped my gun from the holster and silently made my way inside. The body was fresh laying face down but I recognized him immediately, l had spoken to him on the phone earlier. The door to my bedroom opened and there in my clothes, my shoes, chewing my favourite gum, flipping a hunting knife in his hand, casually leaning against the door frame, stood my twin. “Looking for these?” he whispered, jiggling my missing house keys.

(continued from “Leap of Faith”...)

It’s been weeks since we found that giant skull in the desert. We’ve all gone back to work and made promises to keep our secret. Our schedules have kept us from continuing our explorations so far.

Every day I’m on edge that it’s gonna come up in a meeting- I am a detective for the local police after all- but so far it seems nobody else knows it exists.

I spend my lunch breaks in the records department, trying to find any sort of indication that my friends and I aren’t the first to encounter this... thing... but reports are few and far between. And vague.

“Detective Ashton?” Veronica, the secretary, knocks gently on my door. “Yes, V?” This better be important. “Um, the Captain wants to see you..” Oh shit. “Tell her I’ll be right there,” I shove some papers into my desk drawer and lock it before hightailing it down the corridor to Captain Blackbird.

“All these clues point towards me, but I can’t have committed these murders!” I’m incredulous. I’ve been hunting this bastard for weeks and now my boss thinks they employ a serial killer. “Look, Ash,” Blackbird rubs her dark temples, “the killer is your height, approximately your weight, transgender, and well-equipped to clean up after themselves. How many people in this godforsaken town for that description?” She has me there. I have a sick feeling in my stomach.

I leave the station at 2am. I’ve spent the last hours of my sanity trying to prove my innocence, and slowly realising that I might be the only one capable of these murders. But surely I would know? But would I? Stranger things have happened in this town recently...

I jerk awake. I was falling asleep behind the wheel! I call Cheeks. Her manic personality will keep me from crashing into something or someone. “Cheeks, I’m losing my mind.” “Oh, honey, I lost mine ages ago!” she laughs like a chipmunk. “I think I murdered 12 people.” I sound hollow. “Like, just now, or over a period of time?” “Stop messing around, I’m serious. That serial killer I’ve been tracking might be me.”

I recite all the evidence for Cheeks and then again when I get home and connect Rum to the call. “Well, I guess I’m best friends with a killer!” Rum’s faint accent comes through when he’s nervous. “I guess I’m gonna have to turn myself in.” I can’t believe it.

I shouldn’t believe it.

The killer is me.

The killer is not me.

I fall asleep behind the wheel.

I don’t sleepwalk.

I’ve seen weird shit the past few weeks.

I don’t have a personality disorder.

This is connected to that damn skull.

Something dark came out with us, and it wants to make sure we don’t go back. My friends and I are in danger. And nobody can help us.

Why did I keep that fucking coin?

(To be continued...)

It doesn’t make any sense. How could my fingerprints be at these scenes? I didn’t even attend the scenes until I was bought in to take over the investigations after the boss went off sick. It must be a mistake. I’ll speak with the finger print and experts and get them to re look at the case. But why can’t I remember what on earth I was doing on those evenings? I know Iv told the detective inspector that I was at home, but was I?! I honestly can’t remember and it wasn’t even that long ago, I must be working too hard. I’m on overload. I think I’ll just take a couple of weeks off and get away to re charge. Then no doubt I will have a clear head, remember those evenings and be able to explain my innocent self properly. Blimey, where is that phone?! I can hear my phone ringing but can’t seem to find it anywhere. After scrambling through the pillows on the sofa I eventually find it. It’s a missed call from the station. I’ll call back straight away, looks like I’m being called back to work again. Everyone is so busy committing crimes lately I hardly seem to get a day off! No wonder I’m burning out and can’t remember important details.

This can’t be real! Someone must be winding me up! My wallet was found at the scene of the murdered women?! I wondered where that went but this must be a set up. I’m going to have to look at all these details myself closely, I don’t care if Iv been taken off the job now there must be a way.

And before I know it, here I am. Sneaking into the office at midnight to get onto my computer and get as much information as I can to prove my innocence! I need to know every detail that we have on this case now. But this is so unlike me, creeping about! I don’t like it at all. When I took over this case all the fingers were pointing towards the strange man who owned the DIY store, he is definitely the person who committed these murders. I just need to prove it.

Why is this document taking so long to download?! Ah ha, there we are. The DIY man has so much history it’s sure to be him. Looks like they now have a photo of his bag and shoes from one of the scenes, this is looking promising. Hang on........Iv got those shoes. And that bag. This has to be a coincidence. Right, let’s have a look at his statement that he has obviously finally agreed to provide! In France at the time? I highly doubt that. But surely DCI has confirmed that? And that’s why they are now after me? I know I’m not the most popular person at the station but surely I’m not being set up for this. It wasnt me...........................Was it?