The Twins

Professor Jackson tapped his fingers on his desk in anticipation. He quickly counted each of the twenty-nine students of his Criminology class and smiled. No absences. He knew they wouldn’t want to miss their final assignment of the semester.

He rushed over to his projector, which sat on a squeaky cart, and rolled it over to the taped “X” on the carpet. He pressed the power button and revealed his first slide of the presentation to the class. It read, “Criminology Final” in bold black text on a white background.

The professor turned on his heels and cleared his throat. “I hope you guys are awake on this dreadful, foggy morning,” he said. Each of the students looked exhausted, except for one. Harley Chapman. Though the girl proved to be a hot-headed debater, she had the best grade in the class and was ready for anything Jackson threw at her.

Professor Jackson clicked a button on the remote in his hand and the next slide popped up. The slide consisted of a bullet list of serial killers.

“Your final for this class will be a group research project,” he said. He smirked at the sight of the students already turning to each other and whispering about what serial killer they wanted to research.

“But,” he clicked the button again, “before you get too excited, you need get into these assigned groups.”

A few students grunted and the professor rolled his eyes. “You’ll get over it,” he said.

After the students were settled into their groups, he mentally noted that he had the highest hopes for the second group. He knew that Harley Chapman would do most of the work, but was also glad that Andrew Barton was in the group with her. Jackson had often seen Andrew admiring Harley from a distance while she debated with others in the class.

Scott Bellamy, Dax Nicholson, Ruby Oswald, and Claire Wrigley filled in the rest of the spots of the second group. They weren’t acing the class, but they were dependable enough to operate under Harley and Andrew.

“Now for the fun part,” the professor said. He returned to the previous slide and reached into his back pocket, pulling out five notecards. He fanned them out, blank side up, like the dealer of a card game. “Each group will get one of the choices on the screen.”

Professor Jackson glanced over his shoulder and read the choices aloud. “Jack the Ripper, the Manson Family, Jeffrey Dahmer, The Twins, or the Zodiac Killer.”

He pointed to the fifth group. “You guys get the first draw.”

As he called up each of the groups, one random person would draw for the group while the rest crossed their fingers and hoped for their top choice.

Jackson saved the second group for last. They sent up Andrew Barton to retrieve the last notecard.

“Ah, The Twins,” the professor announced as he looked down at the card in Andrew’s hand. “The most dangerous draw of the lot.”

Andrew returned to his seat. The only one who seemed particularly excited about his draw was the girl named Harley Chapman. He smiled at her and handed her the card.

“I’ve never heard of The Twins.” Ruby Oswald said to the professor.

Harley looked back at Ruby and forced herself not to glare at her, along with the rest of the room.

The professor laughed. “I guess you don’t watch the news, Miss Oswald.”

Ruby shook her head, her orange locks swaying with the motion. “I haven’t lately, actually.”

“That’s alright,” Professor Jackson said. “The Twins are quite the duo. They’re local serial killers. They started about three months ago. Their last kill was two nights ago... And the rest, you can research.”

As the professor carried on with his slideshow presentation on his expectations, Harley hastily scribbled notes on a blank sheet of paper. Andrew followed suit, along with the rest of their group.

Class came to a close while the students were still planning their projects. The majority of the students were out of the classroom within a minute or two.

Harley rushed while she scribbled her phone number and home address onto separate scraps of paper for each of her team members. “Come by around eight tonight,” she told them. “Try not to be late and call me if you get lost.”

Claire and Ruby exited the room together, mocking Harley and laughing obnoxiously together. Harley overheard, but turned her back to them, handing the last scrap of paper to Andrew.

“You’re really taking this thing by the reins, aren’t you?” Andrew asked, shoving the scrap into his pocket.

Harley chuckled after saying goodbye to Scott and Dax. “Is that a bad thing?” she replied.

“No, it’s not,” Andrew said. “It’s great that you’re directing us.”

“Well, I want all of us to get great scores--including idiots like Claire and Ruby.”

They headed for the door together, laughing. “I seriously don’t get why they’re taking criminology courses,” Andrew added. “With their attitudes, they’ll never get into the FBI.”

“What rank are you going for?”

Andrew shrugged. “Well, eventually, I’d like to be Director, but that’ll take a while.”

“Tough goal,” Harley said. “I’m pretty sure I’d just want to stick with being an agent, but maybe I’ll change my mind...”

Watching them exit the room, Professor Jackson opened the crime journal he’d been keeping since 1979. He flipped to one of the last pages--past his theories about countless serial killers--and carefully reread the note on the bottom right corner.



“Can we just start without him?” Ruby asked while Harley stood at her living room window. Thunder hummed in the thick clouds that shielded the moon.

Four guests sat in Harley’s living room, impatiently waiting on the fifth. They were seated around a coffee table covered in newspapers, a carafe of coffee, and various snacks to keep them awake throughout the night.

“He’ll be here.” Harley replied sternly.

“How do you know?” Claire asked. She took a sugar cookie from the table and nibbled on it, being careful not to ruin her hot pink lipstick.

“I talked to Andrew after class. He said his schedule was clear for tonight.”

Ruby grunted. “Well, I’m getting bored and he’s over twenty minutes late. Can we just start?”

Harley sighed and turned from the window. “Fine,” she said, taking a notepad in her hand and sitting on her leather ottoman. “Let’s figure out--”

The doorbell echoed throughout the house.

“Finally!” Ruby complained. Scott rolled his eyes and shook his head, taking another swig of his coffee while Harley approached the door.

“Hi, Andrew,” Harley said after opening the door.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said. “My car wouldn’t start.”

“Don’t worry, we were just getting started.”

Andrew said hello to each of the students in the room and sat in the next available seat, next to Dax.

Harley took her seat again, picking up the notepad and pen. “So, we need to figure out who’s doing what first... Who wants to provide the story on The Twins?”

The room fell silent.

“Look, you guys,” Harley said. “We need to figure this out. We can have two people work on the story if you want.”

“How about me and you?” Scott asked.

Andrew glanced at Scott at the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” Harley agreed. She took a moment to fill in the first lines of her notepad. “Another idea I have is artistic interpretations of the killings--sort of like how they would sketch the Jack the Ripper murders.”

“But won’t the group with the Jack the Ripper assignment give us shit for doing that?” Dax asked.

Harley chuckled. “Nope. The sketches from 1888 don’t belong to them.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Dax.” Harley said, scribbling onto the page. When she looked up, she noticed that each of the students across from her were staring past her in horror. She turned her head.

The house across the street was on fire.

“Oh God! There’s two kids in there.” Harley rose from her seat and rushed out of the front door. She sprinted for the house, but was stopped by two arms that wrapped around her firmly.

“Stop!” Scott said. “It’s too dangerous.” The rest of the students filed behind him, watching the black smoke raise into the night sky.

Sirens wailed as a fire truck sped down the road. It screeched to an abrupt halt in front of the house and several uniformed men hurried out.

Time passed as the firemen hosed the roaring fire down to nothing. The house was burnt to a crisp.

The police sealed off the area, pushing Harley and her fellow students to her front yard. As soon as the firemen exited the house alone, Harley approached one of them as they returned to the truck.

“Was anyone in there?” she asked.

The fireman wiped the grime from his face. “Two children... Both dead.”

Harley backed away, a nauseous feeling overwhelming her. She walked back towards her house and Ruby asked her what happened.

“The kids are dead,” Harley sobbed.

Claire rose from the lawn and awkwardly rubbed Harley’s back. “It’s alright...”

Harley shoved Claire’s arm away. “It’s not!” she shouted.

“What’s wrong?” Ruby asked.

“Those kids were my fucking godchildren.”