Obsession's Muse

“Detective! Over here!”

Markus sighed into the plastic lid of his gas station coffee. He was on his third cup of the burnt liquid and was still waiting for the caffeine to kick in.

He’d been at this for nearly twenty years. What did he have to show for it? A one-page resume and a ridiculous nickname. He should be considered a damn veteran at this point, but what did they call him instead? No-Luck-Chuck. The “no-luck” part made sense, but “Chuck?” His name wasn’t even Chuck!

“What’s the story, Dent?” Markus asked in a way of greeting.

“We’re here for a missing persons report,” he said as he motioned for the detective to follow him toward the open door of a ground-level apartment. Glass crunched beneath his shoes as he stepped through the threshold. The front door’s view window looked to have been bashed inward. A small kitchen with hardly any counter space was tucked in the corner, and a worn table with a single chair was pushed against the wall between the kitchen and what would pass for a living room. Down the small hallway was a single bedroom and attached bathroom.

If there was more furniture than the table and couch, Markus couldn’t tell, for every surface was buried under stacks and piles of books. A small path cut through the piles to allow movement from one room to the next, like a deer trail in a densely packed forest.

Markus glanced out the broken window at the parking lot packed with police cars and emergency services. “All this for a missing person?”

“What? No, that’s for the murder that happened in the unit upstairs.”

Markus hummed, vaguely remembering word going around the precinct earlier that morning about yet another murder. This would make it the eighth one this year.

Dent crouched next to a stack of newspapers piled beside the kitchen table. “When the neighbors were questioned about last night, the old lady next door mentioned that the young woman who lived here hadn’t been home in a few days.”

Markus gently sifted through a stack of murder mystery books stuffed with tabs and sticky notes. He thumbed through a few books before returning them to the pile.

They spent the next hour combing through the small apartment. They found nothing significant besides an obscene number of books, newspapers, magazines, dirty dishes, and spoiled food. He was about to call it quits when a section of the wallpaper in the hallway caught his attention.

The yellow and brown chevron pattern was disrupted as if the paper had been cut and then replaced with a different square of the pattern. Curious, he knocked gently on the inside of the square. It was hollow, unlike the rest of the wall, which thudded dully when bumped.

Using the blade of a pocketknife, he pried open the panel. Inside was a single leather-bound journal. The leather cover was well worn; the spine stretched from being held open for extended periods, and the pages tabbed. Sticky notes stuck out at odd angles, just like the mystery novels. Markus retrieved the journal and placed it in an evidence bag.

“Ready, Detective?” Dent called from the front door. Startled, Markus slid the journal into a coat pocket and closed the panel.

“Yeah,” he called as he picked his way back through the apartment.

~*~

 Markus sat at the desk in his small home office, the evidence bag containing the journal lying before him. Curiosity chewed at him, and he longed to see what the journal contained. Yet he sat, glowering at the book as though it were a small animal threatening to bite him. Pushing back from his desk, he stood and paced the small room.

He’d stolen evidence! And the worst part was that he hadn’t thought twice about it as he had rushed home, focusing solely on reading the journal’s contents. Yet the moment he pulled the bag from his coat pocket, the realization of what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks.

He’d done many things in the past that others might have considered questionable. Still, he’d never intentionally done something wrong, such as stealing evidence from a possible crime scene and bringing it home. He could always feign ignorance but doubted anyone would believe it. He may not have cracked any major cases in his career, but he wasn’t an idiot.

Frustrated, Markus scrubbed his hands through his hair. What should he do? If important information was contained in the journal, then perhaps he finally stood a chance at cracking a case. And if it was linked to the recent murders…

“Ha!” Markus laughed at his train of thought. “As if I’d ever be so lucky. They don’t call me No-Luck-Chuck for nothing.”

He sat heavily in his chair, glaring at the notebook. The steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the corner conflicted with the tempo of his racing thoughts.

“Just a peek,” he finally decided. After clearing his desk, donning a pair of latex gloves, and covering the surface with plastic wrap, he finally removed the leather-bound journal from the bag. His hands itched to open the cover, yet the moment he touched the leather, he felt dirty, as if oil coated his hands. He pushed aside his guilt and started reading.

From cover to cover, the journal was almost completely filled with poems. Only the last several pages were still blank. From what he could tell, most of the entries were romance. A seemingly one-sided obsessive romance that made his skin itch and had him glancing over his shoulder at the shuttered window behind him.

In every breath, I call your name,

A burning love, an endless flame.

Your smile haunts my waking dreams,

An obsession woven through the seams.

 I watch, unseen, as you pass by,

My heart, a captive, can't deny.

In shadows, I will always be,

Forever longing, silently.

He flipped to the last few pages in the journal. The second-to-last entry read:

Their laughter claws at midnight’s veil,

Relentless as a ghostly wail.

Voices scratch inside my mind,

Peace and quiet, I cannot find.

 Oh, to crush this maddening din,

Silence screams beneath my skin.

In shadows, dark desires creep,

To silence them in endless sleep.

Markus shivered. Whoever the author of this journal was, they desperately needed therapy. He was almost hesitant to read the last entry. Almost.

A whisper from your lips, my task,

In shadows, I embrace the mask.

A politician, puppet's guise,

For you, I see through love's disguise.

 Condemned warehouse, secrets keep,

In darkness where the shadows seep.

No care for him, a pawn in play,

For you, I'll make him fade away.

 The night will cloak my silent tread,

A final breath, his life be shed.

For love, I dance this twisted waltz,

In blood, my heart's resolve exalts.

 In the stillness, deeds undone,

Our secret binds us, two as one.

A puppet falls, a silent scream,

For you, I fulfill this dark dream.

Markus slammed the journal shut and pushed it away from him, disgusted and more than a little disturbed. He all but sprinted down the hall and out the front door, barely pausing long enough to throw on a pair of sneakers, grab his phone and keys, and toss a hoodie over his head. He needed a drink.

~*~

“What’s wrong with you?”

Markus jolted, broken from his thoughts, as Kyler Buckthorn rolled his chair over. He played with the idea of telling Kyler about the journal, as he was closest to a friend within the force. However, he wasn’t willing to risk putting his friend in an uncomfortable position. Unlike himself, Kyler had made quite a name for himself over the past two decades. He’d cracked every case thrown at him, no matter the kind.

“Nothing,” Markus responded. “Just tired.”

Kyler hummed in response, twisting back and forth in his chair. “You need a distraction. We’re about to have a debrief on the most recent murder. You should sit in on it.”

“What’s the point?” Markus tried to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Don’t be like that. You’re smarter than most of us here. You’re just…”

“Unlucky?”

“Yeah, that. Look, we’ve been chasing this bastard for nearly six months. We’re sick of scratching our heads. We could use a fresh perspective. Besides, I know you’ve been keeping up with the cases even though you aren’t assigned to them.”

Markus leaned back in his chair and sighed. He could use a break from thinking about that damn cryptic journal. “Yeah, alright.” Kyler cheered and rolled back to his own desk.

The brief explained that a foursome of college students had rented out the small two-bedroom apartment. Like most young adults free from their parents for the first time, they were boisterous and loud. Numerous noise complaints had been submitted to the landlord, who had given several warnings to the group. Though noisy, the kids themselves didn’t cause any trouble. Over the months, the novelty of newfound freedom must have worn off, for the noise complaints stopped except for one neighbor, who lived directly below the rowdy bunch.

This caught Markus’s attention.

The downstairs neighbor, a young woman named Evelynn Greene, continued to submit complaints of loud music, raucous laughter, and stomping. When questioned, the landlord stated that he did his best to appease her but felt her complaints were unwarranted, as all the other neighbors noted that the noises had stopped.

A classmate had found all four bodies the following morning, their throats slit while they slept.

Frustrated that he hadn’t been aware of this information before, he hunted down Officer Dent the moment the debrief was dismissed.

“Look,” Dent protested, his hands up in defense when Markus had him cornered. “I tried to talk to you afterward to give you the details, but you kept insisting you needed to ‘go check something’ and then bolted! It’s not my fault.”

No less frustrated, Markus found himself again at his desk. The closed leather-bound journal sat before him, taunting. With a gloved hand, he thumbed through the numerous poems.

He froze as he flipped to one of the last pages. He reread the second-to-last poem once, twice, three times.

Their laughter claws at midnight’s veil … Peace and quiet, I cannot find … To silence them in endless sleep.

Chills ran up Markus’s arms. It was too much of a coincidence. Hands shaking, he flipped through the previous pages, finding not one, not two, but eight similarities between the poems and the recent murders.

Markus felt sick. Again, he found himself at a crossroads. Did he tell the team assigned to the case? He’d be admitting that he’d not only taken home evidence but rifled through it intentionally. Should he keep it to himself and allow more people to succumb to this psychotic poet? Or should he solve it himself? He knew who the murderer was, but little good that did when they were already a missing person. With how sporadic the murders were, there was no way that he’d be able to guess where the next murder would take place.

Gasping, Markus flipped to the last entry, nearly tearing the page out. He might not know exactly where or when the next murder would take place, but at least he had a lead.

~*~

Four sleepless days later, Markus stood in the shadow of a dilapidated warehouse in the city's northernmost district. Sirens echoed in the distance. A dog barked a few blocks away. Markus crept around the back of the building until he found a propped-open door. Through the opening, he could make out a feminine voice. Anxiety and adrenaline battled for dominance as he stepped through inside.

The bottom floor was a maze of broken machinery and crates. The warehouse wasn’t very large, perhaps no more than a small-time packaging plant. He followed the voice until he crouched behind a toppled metal table. A small electric lantern sat on top of a crate, illuminating a young woman crouched in front of a bound and gagged man.

The woman was whispering to the man, whose tears and snot ran down his face to soak into the cloth gag. Markus was too far to tell who the man was but assumed him to be a politician if the poem was anything to go by. A rifle leaned against the crate next to the man.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned his body to block the screen's light. He dialed the precinct’s number and was about to hit ‘call’ when another voice echoed from the darkness.

“Stop it, Evelynn. There is no need to torture him. Yet.”

Ice raced through Markus’s veins. He pressed ‘call,’ stuffed the phone into his pocket, and turned to peer around the table, praying that his suspicions were wrong.

Kyler Buckthorn walked out of the darkness to stand beside Evelynn. The woman stood and threw herself at Kyler, wrapping her arms around his neck. Kyler backpedaled, trying to pry her hands off him, clearly disgusted. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Did I do well, my love?”

“Yes, Evelynn, now let go of me. This isn’t the time or place.”

“Aww,” she pouted. “You always say that.” She frowned a moment longer before letting go.

Kyler crouched before the sobbing politician. “You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble these past few weeks with the bills your party has been pushing for. Bills that I do not remember approving.”

The man sobbed harder and tried to speak through his gag. Kyler reached behind the man’s head and untied the cloth.

“No, it wasn’t me. I told them that you wouldn’t approve. I did, I promise! B-but they said that this wasn’t your city and–”

“This is my city!” Kyler roared, his voice taking a tone Markus had never heard. The man shrunk in on himself. “Perhaps you all need a reminder of who is in charge here.”

The man’s cries and protests echoed as Kyler grabbed the rifle and pointed it at the man.

Markus stood and darted out from behind his cover, calling Kyler’s name. Everyone froze. Evelynn and Kyler stared in shock at Markus. Slowly, the barrel of the rifle lowered.

“Markus? What… what the hell are you doing here?” Kyler looked over his shoulder at Evelynn. His shoulders relaxed, and he let out a small laugh.

“Ah, that’s right. I forgot you were supposed to be tracking her down. Well, good job. You finally did something right.”

The insult stung, but Markus refused to react. Slowly, and with the others watching his every movement, he changed his stance so that his hand hovered above the pistol holstered at his hip.

“Put the gun down, Kyler. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know that you’re not stupid.”

Kyler threw his head back and laughed, swinging the rifle to rest on his shoulder. “You are absolutely right, Markus. You don’t know what’s going on. Unfortunately, that doesn’t matter. The one time you decided to grow a pair and chase down a real case, it had to be this one. Sorry, bud,” he said as he shifted to aim the rifle at Markus. “Not to sound cliché, but you’ve seen too much.”

Markus dived back behind the metal table as the first shot rang out. Searing pain raced up his right arm, and his gun clattered to the ground.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Markus hissed through clenched teeth. He gripped his shoulder, trying to staunch the rivulets of blood rushing from the gunshot wound. Had he been any slower to move out of the way, he’d have lost more than just blood and use of his right arm.

“Come on, Markus, enough of this.” Kyler’s voice echoed through the warehouse, bouncing back at him from every direction.

“What’s going on, Kyler? If you’re going to kill me anyway, at least let me die understanding what the hell this was all for.” As he spoke, Markus removed his overcoat, used his pocketknife to cut off the sleeve, and then tied it around his injured shoulder as tight as he could.

He heard Kyler scoff. “Are you really trying to get me to monologue? If you’re going to die anyway – which you are – then why should I waste my breath?”

“Isn’t that what villains like to do? Boast about their plans for world domination?”

Kyler laughed again, this time sounding genuinely amused. “Is that how you see me? As a villain? This isn’t some cartoon or mystery novel, Markus.” As he spoke, Kyler’s voice echoed less and sounded more distinct as he neared the table Markus hid behind. He knew he had no chance to run, not only because it was too dark for him to see where he was running, but because he had no idea where Evelynn had disappeared to.

Markus lunged as the rifle tip swung around the table’s edge. The rifle clattered to the ground as the two men slammed into one another. The scuffle was a blur to Markus, as his sole focus was keeping Kyler from getting free long enough to grab either the rifle or his pistol, which he realized was still lying on the ground within reach.

The shrill cry of a siren erupted around them, accompanied by the brilliant flash of red and blue shining in from the windows lining the upper levels of the warehouse. Both men paused for a moment before Kyler redoubled his efforts, seeming to realize his predicament. Voices and shouts drowned out the sirens as the warehouse filled with officers.

The moment Kyler was pulled from him, Markus allowed his body to go limp. His shoulder screamed, his head throbbed, and he felt that the world ebbed and swayed like water beneath his body. He noticed blearily that two officers dragged between them a kicking and screaming Evelynn from behind a stack of crates before darkness claimed him.