In the Clutches of a Sinner

A serial killer's free and roaming about.

But not a single soul knows. How'd I know, you ask. It's because I've seen it, of course. 

The body was tied up and gagged. Lined up in a table were various sharp objects, for the torture, I presumed. When the killer neared, the hostage couldn't stop screaming and crying and kicking around.

But a killer's no softie. It didn't stop the cold-blooded murderer from doing what he wants, finishing what he must. At the end of that picture, let me summarize. There was blood everywhere you stepped.

Poor soul. Ended up in the clutches of a sinner and stepped into Death's door. May her soul rest in peace.

So I did what I must. I went to the police station and told them everything. I recounted the events of the murder as accurately as possible. I told them every single detail and didn't leave out anything, no matter how gruesome it was. 

The police were appalled. It seems they were horrified by the idea that a 16-year-old student was reporting it in. Because that would mean I saw it all, which I had.

The events that followed truly baffled me. They ushered me to a different part of the station. I ended up in a dimly-lighted room that had a table with two chairs across each other and a dark glass on one end. I was in an interrogation room.

“So, son. Anytime you're ready. Can you tell me everything from the start?” an older officer began.

“You mean the murder? I've told you everything,” I was confused.

Did they seriously want me to relive the memory? They should be doing something else right now. Arresting the killer and bringing him to justice. The court does not even need to give him a chance to defend himself. 

A killer's a killer. A sinner's a sinner. Those who have stained their hands with the blood of another cannot wash that away. 

And here we have the mighty police force, asking the wrong people the wrong questions.

“So you are saying you're here to report that much of a grisly murder,”

“No shit, smarty-pants,”

The good sir glared. Perhaps I lost myself for a bit. I straightened my posture and began again.

However, I noticed something odd. Not odd when you consider the circumstances but, perhaps I just had a queer feeling that I was not ready for something. All the while I was recounting the events from the very start to the very deets, the old man was just silent. No, perhaps now that I think about it, he was silently watching me, observing, assessing and analyzing.

After I finished, he didn't immediately follow up. Silence reigned as uneasiness gripped at me. I did not──could not understand why there was the thought that something was just not sitting right with me.

However, I already did what I must. I fulfilled everything I had to do and now I have to oversee how the police handle this case. I can let all this bother to serve nothing in the end if I trust they actually will do something about it.

“So...”

“Hm... we'll take it from here, young man. I must thank you for your kind cooperation. Now, let's send you back home. I'll have someone to escort you back.”

“Huh... that's it? Are you sure that's all you need? My testimony?”

“More than enough, son. Now, on your way.”

After I had gone a bit far, I heard him ask another officer, “Hey Bert?”

“Yes, sir?”

“A serial killer is someone who does brutal murders right?”

“Huh? No, not quite. A serial killer's more on a killing streak.”

All that nerve-wrack and all I got were orders to go home. Leave. I politely turned down the offer of being escorted back. It was still bright out and I didn't exactly want to go home escorted by a police officer. If I were seen by someone else, no matter how you look at it, I would only get disdaining looks.

As I walk down the path to my humble abode, I recall everything that happened today and closed my eyes while reminiscing. 

Odd. Truly odd. I can not shake off this unpleasant feeling.

I shook my thoughts off. It's not my business anymore. I've gone and done what I must, and now they just send me back out on the streets.

The following week took a turn for the worse. As if acting against the police for sitting idly around, the serial killer started to go on a killing streak. Now, they won't be able to ignore it for long when the people are in an uproar.

Bodies.

The stench of blood.

Corpses.

Families they loved.

Police cars.

Ambulances.

And yet the killer's still not found.

Then once again, in my mundane life, I go back straight to my home from school and flopped down on the bed. I've been feeling much more exhausted than before lately.

I took stimulants and decided to take a walk outside once I've finished cleaning up.

The air feels nice. The stimulants I took are also helping me forget about the exhaustion. Perhaps the serial killings have taken a toll on me. It's been stressing me out. All the people are on edge, and the police have done nothing. Why are they acting like this when I have told them everything they needed to know? This all looks like they're waiting around until all the townspeople are buried six feet under. 

I noticed the sun had started to set so I prepared to head back. On my way back, however, the queer feeling that I was being watched gripped at me. Then came the sound of footsteps. So I wasn't being merely watched, I was being followed. Stalked.

Who? Who is it? What do they want? This nerve-wracking pattern continued even when I reached my home. I stopped to look if there was anyone near my door. There wasn't.

As I inched closer to my door, the footsteps suddenly became rough. And fast. I look behind me just as fast and see a well-built man lunge at me. 

“You're coming with me!”

It was the old police officer that interrogated me last week.

“Why?” I asked. It seemed to me there was no point now in making me go back to the station.

The officer didn't listen and pulled at my arm forcefully instead.

“We have an arrest warrant now,”

“Good for you. I thought the police didn't care,”

“They didn't,” he affirmed. “But I did,”

I gave a grin. “Charming.”

“Why did you do it?” the older man began. His breath was ragged.

“What?”

“Why did you... kill all those people!?”

I stopped in my tracks even though he was dragging me around.

“But I thought you didn't care,”

“What!? Where did you get that idea, young man!? If I had not investigated, you would still be staining your hands with the blood of the innocent!”

“But I did confess,”

“What?”

“Back at the station, remember? I confessed to the murder. I told you everything,”

“You didn't say it was your doing! All this time, you've been treated as a witness!”

“Baffling. But I gave away that it was my deed. I recounted all the events to the police and not once have I ever mentioned what the killer looked like.”

The officer stopped. Now that he thought about it, that was indeed what bothered him. The events were all recounted but the killer was never once mentioned. 

So, at that time, he was confessing every single thing he had done to his first victim.

“If that was not what bothered you, then why are you here now, officer, blatantly arresting me?”

The officer gave a dry smile. “That's where you've been stupid, son. You said it was a serial killer when at that time, it was only the first death.”

I didn't say anything back.

“Indeed. But you still let me walk back on the streets,”

We both stopped.

“I thought, that it was fine,”

He lets go of my arm, alarmed when I pull out a small pocket knife.

“Fool. I have a gun and we're nearing the station,”

“For someone old, you'd think he knows how to get around town. Seems like that is not the case,”

We were in an isolated place. Where I took a walk earlier. I inched closer as another poor soul ends up in the clutches of a sinner.

“I doubt, you'd even know how to use a gun, detective,”

He was surprised I surmised his true identity. Another dark deed was done away from the prying eyes. Another day would be welcomed tomorrow. Ah, but did you know?

A serial killer's free and roaming about.