Night Prowler
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Det. Melaine Hileman
I stood over the woman’s dead body; cause of death seemed to be a clean slice to the throat. She’s probably 16 maybe 17, so young, her life taken away by some demented psychopath. It made me sick to see the aftermath of what he did. My partner, Detective Raphael, interrupted my train of thought by asking, “You think it’s him?” When he said I began looking around the room and noticed a message written in blood on the wall. “It has to be, look,” I said as I pointed at the message. It read:
“You know who it was ha-ha”
It made me sick that he found humor in what he does. He finds humor in ending someone’s life, how does someone get like that? Raphael was shocked and swore under his breath. I got so angry and frustrated that I punched a hole in the wall. It didn’t hurt because my rage was far greater than the pain. “Wooh, what’s wrong with you,” he asked with wide surprised eyes. “I’m just so mad we haven’t caught that sick monster,” I said with rage.
“Come one lets go CSI is here and has to get to work.”
“Alright”
As CSI entered the house we left to go to our favorite diner, “Bob’s Diner.” It would take a little while for CSI to find something, IF they find anything. We finally arrived at the diner after about ten minutes of walking. I ordered a small salad and coffee, I wasn’t that hungry and Raphael ordered some chicken wings. While we waited Raphael said, “You know they’re not going to find anything, he’s too good for that.” “I know,” I said depressingly then the owner handed me my coffee. As I was taking a sip Raphael spoke up, “Guess what day it is.” “I don’t know,” I said curiously, “What?”
“Today’s my birthday.”
“Congratulations, happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“How old are you?”
“21.”
“Cool, I’m 23.”
“I heard a rumor that you’re the only survivor of the St. Mary’s Orphanage Massacre. Is it true?”
There was a dead silence; I just stared at my coffee for what seemed like an eternity. Fear swallowed me and I couldn’t speak, flashes of violent images filled my mind. Raphael spoke up, “I’m sorry to bring that up.” I finally said something, “Yeah, I’m the only one that survived, but I don’t remember a thing. The doctors said that the event was so traumatizing that I just erased it from my memory.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Forget about it; hey let me take you for some drinks. You’re 21 after all, you can drink now.”
“Cool, let’s go!”
We headed over to the Roadhouse, a bar on East 12th St. in downtown New York. After a couple of drinks (not enough to get us drunk ofcourse) I got a call from the Chief. I answered my cell, “What is it?” “CSI is done with the crime scene and they found nothing. No finger prints, no DNA, no nothing,” Lt. Fitzgerald said with frustration. “That’s no surprise,” I said sarcastically.
“Well I want something, I want to nail him!”
“We’ll get on it, maybe ask around to see if anyone saw anyone who looked suspicious.”
“Well get on it, now!”
“Alright then.”
I hung up the phone and Raphael asked, “So what’s up?” “We’re going to ask around to see if anyone saw anything or anyone suspicious.” “Ok,” he responded. We left the bar; I took care of the check, and we headed for the crime scene. We asked a lot of people but no one saw anything or anyone entering or leaving the crime scene. I got the sudden feeling I was being watched, I looked around but I saw no one watching me.
Det. Melaine Hileman
I stood over the woman’s dead body; cause of death seemed to be a clean slice to the throat. She’s probably 16 maybe 17, so young, her life taken away by some demented psychopath. It made me sick to see the aftermath of what he did. My partner, Detective Raphael, interrupted my train of thought by asking, “You think it’s him?” When he said I began looking around the room and noticed a message written in blood on the wall. “It has to be, look,” I said as I pointed at the message. It read:
“You know who it was ha-ha”
It made me sick that he found humor in what he does. He finds humor in ending someone’s life, how does someone get like that? Raphael was shocked and swore under his breath. I got so angry and frustrated that I punched a hole in the wall. It didn’t hurt because my rage was far greater than the pain. “Wooh, what’s wrong with you,” he asked with wide surprised eyes. “I’m just so mad we haven’t caught that sick monster,” I said with rage.
“Come one lets go CSI is here and has to get to work.”
“Alright”
As CSI entered the house we left to go to our favorite diner, “Bob’s Diner.” It would take a little while for CSI to find something, IF they find anything. We finally arrived at the diner after about ten minutes of walking. I ordered a small salad and coffee, I wasn’t that hungry and Raphael ordered some chicken wings. While we waited Raphael said, “You know they’re not going to find anything, he’s too good for that.” “I know,” I said depressingly then the owner handed me my coffee. As I was taking a sip Raphael spoke up, “Guess what day it is.” “I don’t know,” I said curiously, “What?”
“Today’s my birthday.”
“Congratulations, happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“How old are you?”
“21.”
“Cool, I’m 23.”
“I heard a rumor that you’re the only survivor of the St. Mary’s Orphanage Massacre. Is it true?”
There was a dead silence; I just stared at my coffee for what seemed like an eternity. Fear swallowed me and I couldn’t speak, flashes of violent images filled my mind. Raphael spoke up, “I’m sorry to bring that up.” I finally said something, “Yeah, I’m the only one that survived, but I don’t remember a thing. The doctors said that the event was so traumatizing that I just erased it from my memory.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Forget about it; hey let me take you for some drinks. You’re 21 after all, you can drink now.”
“Cool, let’s go!”
We headed over to the Roadhouse, a bar on East 12th St. in downtown New York. After a couple of drinks (not enough to get us drunk ofcourse) I got a call from the Chief. I answered my cell, “What is it?” “CSI is done with the crime scene and they found nothing. No finger prints, no DNA, no nothing,” Lt. Fitzgerald said with frustration. “That’s no surprise,” I said sarcastically.
“Well I want something, I want to nail him!”
“We’ll get on it, maybe ask around to see if anyone saw anyone who looked suspicious.”
“Well get on it, now!”
“Alright then.”
I hung up the phone and Raphael asked, “So what’s up?” “We’re going to ask around to see if anyone saw anything or anyone suspicious.” “Ok,” he responded. We left the bar; I took care of the check, and we headed for the crime scene. We asked a lot of people but no one saw anything or anyone entering or leaving the crime scene. I got the sudden feeling I was being watched, I looked around but I saw no one watching me.
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