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.