The Unknown Man

I used to be a police detective back in 1994. I started at the academy in '89 and was promoted to detective in '91 for having keen observation skills. You may be wondering why I quit after only lasting 3 years, which is partly why I'm writing this in the first place.

Overall, I have 3 reasons for writing this. 1: Why I quit my job. 2: The event which forced me to quit. And 3: The person I had the rather unfortunate pleasure of meeting as a result. I don't want to get into too many details, seeing as I may not have much time left. So, now that my back-story’s out of the way, let me explain how I found myself in the situation I currently find myself in.

Now, before we get further into this, I can't say the exact location of my former station or the place of the event for fear of endangering both my former colleagues and anyone who's brave and stupid enough to venture into that accursed place. I can't say the names of my colleagues that were involved either. For their privacy, I'll refer to them as Jerry, Jane, Jack and Jake.

It was about 4 days before the event when this all took place and, at the time, we were investigating a series of murders. The MO of this killer was that the victims had air injected into their temples, causing an instant embolism. A rather unsavory demise if you ask me. The disturbing thing was that for each victim, there were pieces of skin removed from the body.

From what we saw, the killer had killed only 3 people for the face, 7 for the arms and legs, 2 for the hands and feet and 12 for the rest of the body. 24 people for an entire skin for the human body. The bizarre thing was that the precision of the skin removal was that of a surgeon. But why would a killer kill 24 people only for different patches of skin when they only could have used 1 instead? That question is one I still don't know or even understand to this day.

The next day, there were 5 victims, only their skin wasn't removed. Instead, it was the lips, eyes, ears and both head and facial hair that was missing. After finding the 5th body, it felt like the killer was now being specific with what parts they wanted.

When it came to the day before the event, there was only 1 victim and, to my utmost horror, the only thing missing… was the heart. Well, second to my utmost horror, actually. My true utmost horror… was that the victim… was my brother, Jason.

The last time I saw him alive was 3 weeks prior. He and I were sitting at a café and reminiscing about our childhood memories. He said he was planning on getting a job in architecture. I wasn't exactly surprised, seeing as being an architect was his dream while growing up. And now… he'll never get that chance to do it.

At that point, I was completely obsessed with the case, vowing to catch whoever took my brother away from me.

I didn't sleep that night. I kept having nightmares about the death of my brother and all the other murders that happened beforehand. Instead, I stayed awake the entire night, drinking coffee after coffee and looking over every single newspaper clipping and document I could get my hands on.

I swear I spent 3 hours just staring at the clipping of my brother, tears streaming down my face and onto the paper.

At 4am, I looked over the documents and saw that every single victim, apart from my brother, was found approximately the same distance as each other from an abandoned apartment complex. All the locations of the victims were put in a circle around the complex on the map of the area. My brother, meanwhile, was found in the middle, just outside the complex itself.

I mentally kicked myself when I realized this. How could we have been so blind? How could we have simply assumed that the killer wasn't in the area? How could we have not even investigated the complex? I phoned this in to my colleagues and, despite some skepticism, they agreed to assist me when I pointed out the victims being placed in a circle.

At 10am, when everyone was fully awake, we drove our cars over to the complex and started investigating thoroughly. We searched up and down that place and, in the end, we had no luck. My colleagues were annoyed at that point and were convinced that I had somehow gone mad with grief, which I don't really blame them for. I also don't blame them for wanting to leave. But, I do blame myself for pressing them to go on with me and my mad hunt.

We searched endlessly and tirelessly for any sign that the killer was nearby. No such luck. That is, until I spotted a slight sign of a door on one of the walls. I vividly remember the exact location of the door. Building 3, apartment 1E, dining room, the wall on the right side of the window. It was only a small corner just narrowly sticking out from the dust and cobwebs. It was so covered that anyone could easily miss it, but my observation skills helped me find it.

I stared at that exposed corner for a full minute before I regained myself. I don't know why I stared at it for that amount of time, but there was just something about the whole hidden door concept that made me feel… strange. It's a little hard to describe, but it was like staring at something through a 2-way mirror. Like you're on the mirror's end, but someone else is on the other side, looking at you. That was what it felt like at that time, only I was on the mirror's end and there may or may not have been someone on the other end who was observing me while I stared at them unknowingly.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">After taking a moment to take my mind off it, I made the foolish decision to search whatever the door hid behind it. I did consider bringing my colleagues along with me, but decided not to. In retrospect, I probably should have brought them with me or simply just told them to keep watch on the door to see if I would return or if someone would come out. Instead of that, I called out to them, telling them to leave the complex. Again, I don't know why I did what I did, but that doesn't matter now.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">After hearing their cars speed off, I stepped toward the door, clearing off the dust and webs, and pushing it open. It had a bit of resistance, but it opened nonetheless. There was no person behind it, but I was still a little uneasy at the sight of a web and dust covered stairway, undoubtedly leading to a makeshift cellar, or a lair of sorts. Going down those stairs, for me, was like stepping into an abyss of pure darkness.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">After what felt like 5 minutes, going down the stairs and keeping my eyes open for any surprises, I finally reached the bottom step. Stepping onto the floor felt both satisfying and unnerving at the same time. Satisfying because it meant I wouldn't have to worry about any surprise attacks while traversing the stairs. Unnerving because it also meant that I was in the killer's lair and they could be hiding anywhere in the dark, stalking me, waiting for me to make a move.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">I stood still for a moment, a little unsure if I should continue on, but I composed myself and started walking into the corridor in front of me. Again, I'm not sure why I had to keep going, but I think it was just my curiosity, which had gotten me into trouble before in other cases, only this one could have resulted in my death. No matter how much I was screaming at myself in my head to leave, my legs just felt like they had a mind of their own and wouldn't stop moving. The corridor went on for a good 10 minutes before I finally entered another room.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">The room was completely and utterly clean, not a single cobweb or even a speck of dust in sight, which lead me to believe that the killer was still in the room. I searched the room from top to bottom before spotting a tape recorder laying on on a table near the doorway I came in from. If there was one thing I knew from experience, the killer would always leave a recorded message as a journal. Just looking at it gave me the feeling that whoever this killer was, they were either a more sophisticated killer or they just had a twisted ego.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">I hesitated to play the recorder at first, but, once again, my curiosity got the better of me and my index finger was on the play button in a split second. The voice on the recorder belonged to a man, but the way he talked didn't feel right. His voice was deep and gravelly with a sly tone to it. It also sounded like he was either out-of-breath or had simply smoked one too many cigarettes. Either way, it just sounded slightly croaky. As unnerving as his voice was, it was what he said that made me feel more than a little uncomfortable.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">“It's done. My work is finally finished. And after spending so long trying to find the perfect pieces. It's only a matter of time before I complete my master plan. Of course, none of this would have been possible without their assistance. They have helped me greatly in my activities”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">Whoever “they” were, I have absolutely no idea. But, with what I do know, I can only assume that this man was involved with something more sinister than anyone could ever comprehend.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">“Yesterday was my most magnificent specimen. The perfect heart to vitalize me and keep me alive. I will go to my assistants and we will perform the operation tomorrow. Sure, there will be some pain, but I think I can endure. After all, being asleep isn't as honorable as they prefer. No, my pain will be the required sacrifice”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">At that point, I was tempted to either turn the recorder off or just chuck it at the wall, but decided not to. What he was saying just made him seem like he was insane or simply delusional.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">“Of course, there will be police interference, but I can deal with it. Who knows? I might even be looking at some future donors. Sure, they will put up a fight, but I think I can manage. I do love a challenge after all. As for him, well, I think I'll save it for another time, maybe after the operation. And when I find him, he will have only one choice. Death…”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">And with that, the recorder ended with a click which echoed throughout my ears. I was dumbfounded by what I had just heard. This man was clearly insane, I was sure of it, but there was something about him which just seemed to contradict it. I didn't have much time to debate on the man's mental state when I heard a chuckle from behind me, followed by a door closing.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">I spun around and was face to face with a man wearing a black trench coat, black shirt, black pants and black shoes. He had a hood up over his head, so I couldn't see his face, as he was looking down, or at least that's what I thought. After staring at him for a full minute, he chuckled again and started to talk in that same deep, sinister tone of voice.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">“I couldn't have said it better myself. And I take it you're here to stop me?” his voice sent shivers down my spine and I could barely speak. I wanted to regain myself and boldly say “Yes”, but all that came out was a stutter. He seemed to know what I was trying to say because he then said “I don't think so” That response was enough for me to compose myself a little and say to him “Y-You're a killer, a-a psychopath, I will stop y-you”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">The man scoffed at my retort and smugly asked “Really?” before lifting his head up and lowering his hood. His face was a pale shade of grey with stitching everywhere. His hair was as black as his clothes and was sticking up in a messy fashion. He also had a greasy thin mustache as black as his hair. His eyes were as pale as his skin and his pupils looked as if he had been staring at a light for a long time. Other than that, the face was oddly familiar to me.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">It was then that it struck me. I started to back away as I said in shock “But… you look… just like…” “James Wright?” he finished. James Wright was a cop at my station who mostly worked on divorce cases and occasional drugs cases. He and I didn't very much like each other and we had gotten into one or two scuffles, but why the killer had created his face was beyond me.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">“It took time to find the perfect donors, but it was all worth it in the end” he said, never losing that sly tone of his “Of course, it also took time to lose myself in order to create… this” before gesturing to himself. “You killed 30 people” I said, angry with how nonchalant he was about the situation. “Unfortunate, but necessary” he said in a much more nonchalant manner “But why?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">He looked at he expectingly before answering with “Do you believe in good, old fashioned revenge? Actually, don't bother asking. I don't really care if you do or not. Wright will suffer… And you will not stop me. Of course, I can see you have your hands full at the moment, but I'm afraid it's time for me to leave. And if you think that we won't meet again, you're badly mistaken”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">“What?” I asked “What do you mean 'badly mistaken'?” The man had opened the door and was about to leave when he replied “I know of your dislike of the man, but that doesn't mean you will get off easy. You can say whatever you want to the world. They won't catch me. My assistants will make sure of that. You have only 3 days to do what you have to do and when we meet again, I will not be in such a generous mood” He then turned to leave, but paused for a moment before looking at me and saying “And by the way, in case you're wondering, call me John” before closing the door behind him.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">I don't know why I didn't go after him, but I suppose that my mind simply told me not to, otherwise I would not be here now. Whoever or whatever John is, I cannot honestly say. It doesn't matter anyway. And in case you were wondering why I didn't simply use my gun or anything of the sort, it was because I had simply forgotten it. Forgetting stuff just so happens to be another habit of mine, other than having keen observation skills.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">I stood still in that dark room for only 10 minutes, but, to me, it felt like hours. What happened next is just a blur. I don't remember running out of the room, down the corridor, up the stairs and out of the complex. I only remember getting into my car and driving home. I drove to the police station, got out of my car and walked inside. I instantly spotted the chief. He was alone. I walked up to him, albeit a little quickly, and simply told him “I quit” right on the spot. I'm not sure how he reacted as I quickly walked out of the building as soon as those words left my mouth.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">And that's what happened. I have no doubt that John will come for me. In fact, I'm almost waiting for it. Today is the day that he will come, I just know it. I also want to point out that James was killed yesterday. Only there was no mercy for him. His death was not as quick or painless as the previous victims.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">He had been paralyzed to the point where he couldn't move, cut all over his body with a glass shard. And, to add insult to injury, his eyes were torn out, his ears and lips were sliced off. His tongue, his teeth, his nails… all of them crudely removed. What killed him though, was far more sinister than I would have thought. John had poured gasoline onto his body, soaking it into his wounds, and then set him ablaze.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">The screams I imagine James let out that day will haunt me forever. And it seems that John was smarter than I would have thought. Earlier, I decided to use my gun, but it was gone. That didn't faze me very much since I also had a backup in case I lost my usual handgun. It's a small Smith & Wesson 686 revolver, which I mostly use for property defense, but, when I found it, it had only one bullet. That bastard. He was already one step ahead of me.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">And now I'm only left with a dilemma. One bullet and only two options. Option 1: I use the gun on him. Or option 2: I use the gun on myself. I know the concept of option 2 is ludicrous, but after what I went through, I'm not sure if I want to take a chance on wasting a shot on a man who might not even be human.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">I just heard a click at my door and my situation is getting worse by the minute. I locked my bedroom door, so it should give me enough time to finish this story before I end up making a very risky and very stupid decision. I have my gun in my hand, but I still have only one bullet. And I still don't know who I to fire it at.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">I only see two scenarios, I shoot John and he either dies and the nightmare is over or he doesn't and kills me like he killed James. There is another scenario, I put a bullet in my head, and John will either continue his murder spree or will stop when his kill is not given to him or his “assistants”. I can't decide on what to do here. And the sound of footsteps nearing my bedroom door is only making my situation a lot worse.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">He's standing outside my door now. I can see his feet. I have the gun loaded now. I only know that whatever decision I make will either result in the death of either John or myself. So, what shall I do? Fire a shot and potentially kill John once and for all? Shoot him only to find out that he cannot be killed and is not entirely human? Or shoot myself and spare myself the horror of looking at that ghastly face again?

<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">He's picking the lock right now. What should I do? Surely, one shot can stop this, right? I mean, even an already dead man can be killed, right? <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%">Right...?