Hold Your Tongue

As the three roommates sat down to breakfast on the autumnal Friday morning, Fraser changed the channel on the television to the news. No one was paying attention to it; Vanessa and Fraser chatting animatedly while Charlie sat in complete silence. But as soon as the main headline was announced, the brunette student lifted her head and intently watched.

“Another victim of The Tongue Twister had been found this morning on the railway tracks near St. Andrews station. The body was discovered by a Network Rail train conductor when departing from the station at around 6 o‘clock. Police have not yet revealed who the victim is but investigators are continuing to analyse the scene, causing delays and cancellations…”

Fraser and Vanessa immediately began conversing about the newest murder, expressing their worry and sadness while Charlie was lost in her own thoughts. She had been anxiously waiting for the killer to strike again, all the while the girl continued her own research into the crimes. With the newest body, her excitement was reignited making her heart race and her eyes sparkle. Charlie kept her face impassive, though all she wanted was to let the grin, which was eating away inside of her, free.

The student excused herself from the table to go wash. As it was her day off, she decided to reward herself by spending the day shopping and, much to her preference, looking further into the crime scenes.

When Charlie entered her bedroom, which was, as always, securely locked, she noticed she had received a missed call from an unknown sequence of numbers. Deciding to return the call, she soon recognised the voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” the girl chirped in the familiar drawl.

“How did you get my number, Jac?” Charlie replied, exasperated.

“You remembered my name! Now I feel special.”

“How could I forget someone as annoying as you? You made an impression, albeit, not a good one.”

The brunette wandered around her pristine room, her body bare and her dark hair wet, licking against her shoulders and back. She was never one to hide her curvy figure; her potbelly a feature she learned to love at an early age, though she had never truly had a problem with how she looked to begin with.

“So, how did you get my number? Nobody has it,” Charlie prompted again, taking a seat at her desk and starting up her laptop, the typical hum filling the room.

“It was rather easy, when you know what to look for. I’m what the police call, and I quote, a ‘no good, thieving hacker’. I thought it was quite the compliment, really,” Jac mused, her voice like honey; thick and smooth, sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter.

“You hacked my phone bills or something, then?”

“Or something…”

The line was quiet for a few moments but it was a comfortable silence. Charlie, naked, sitting in front of her computer checking different news websites for further details on the latest murder, Jac, doing God knows what but with the sound of music playing in the background. Their first encounter had been abrupt and irate, but Charlie seemed to not mind the girl so much now.

“Was there a reason for this phone call?” she asked.

A chuckle echoed through the receiver, “Can’t a girl phone another girl without there being a reason?”

“When said girl had to use her illegal skills to get the number, I think that’s considered stalking,” the brunette teased though her expression conveyed nothing and her tone only slightly altered.

After another laugh, Jac spoke again. “So Charlotte, wanna meet up tonight? My flatmate’s out and I don’t have anything planned…”

“I’m not gay, Jac, nor am I bi. I’m busy tonight anyway,” she shot back but with hearing the sigh of the other girl, she rolled her eyes. “Maybe some other time. As… friends.”

Charlie didn’t know why she was even contemplating meeting up with the straight-talking girl. Maybe she missed appearing normal by having ‘friends’, maybe she just commended Jac’s boldness. Either way, it was too late to back out.

“I’ll hold you to that, Miss!” Jac declared eagerly. “I better leave you and lick my wounds. Later, bitch.”

Charlie merely ended the call as a form of farewell.

By the time she was dressed and ready to leave, her roommates were long gone. When she finally got into town she noticed the lack of people scouring the streets, though those she did see seemed to be on edge and whispering about the recent incident. It was how the public were reacting which caused Charlie to appear out of the ordinary; her natural demeanour contrasting to the panic-stricken townsfolk.

Having picked up some stationery supplies and bought herself the usual toiletry essentials, as well as some new clothes, Charlie found herself sitting in the city’s library with a salad box, a can of juice, and her laptop. She was currently on the blog of an amateur journalist who had been exploring The Tongue Twister’s murders and possessed unauthorized photographs of the crime scenes.

Charlie combed through the horrific images, unfazed by their detail, and took notes of the aspects which stuck out to her. She found the placements of the bodies rather beautiful and elegant; the consistent poses almost biblical, but that feature didn’t fit with the killer’s profile, to her.

Charlie had an idea of what The Tongue Twister was like. The student could tell it was a man; no common woman could be strong enough to position the larger sized victims or dominate them. The killer had control, telling her he wasn’t young but nor was he old. Middle aged or a few years younger, most likely. His self-control was obvious due to the precision of the wounds. He took his time; he savoured the moment which suggested why he could take at least a couple weeks of being sober.

It was the victim choice which really threw Charlie. There was no singular connection, no link between them all. They ranged in age, size, sex, race. The murderer either knew these people well enough to know their routines, or he watched them. If the former, surely family and friends would have noticed an odd acquaintance, especially after their death. So Charlie determined that the man did the latter; a predator stalking its prey. He would find his chosen subject, watch them for a few days, learning their habits, before he attacked. It’s what she would do.

But why? What made these people stand out amongst the rest? What was it that made this man choose them specifically? Charlie couldn’t see it which frustrated her, but also made her crave the killer’s company more so.

“Sorry dear, but we’re closing in the next 15 minutes,” a woman stated softly to the brunette who had fallen asleep on her arm, her laptop still open and the notes she had taken scattered across the desk.

Rubbing her hands over her face, Charlie muttered, “Thanks for letting me know,” before she started packing up her things.

Checking her phone, she found it to be almost 7pm, a lot later than she expected. She hadn’t planned on staying later than 5pm, but since she was in town she intended to go out for dinner. Her chosen bistro was a cosy pub with low lighting and a somewhat wide range of food on the menu.

Taking a seat in a booth in the corner, giving her the ability to observe the whole place from where she sat, Charlie decided on what she was having, placed her order and waited. Though the pub was fairly active, the service was fast, and soon she was digging in to a steak and ale pie.

It wasn’t until her table was cleared and her bill had been handed to her that her eyes found themselves drawn to a memorable pair of bright blues staring right at her from the bar.