Cooper

Cooper was pale after having picked up the last photograph he had dropped in his frenzy of getting so much information from an unexpected informant. Part of him wanted to vomit on the floor because of sudden realization of just how deep he was in the matter to turn back, vile and breakfast already on the back of his throat waiting for release. It never came however, the reporter having to steel himself and his will as to not break now, not after how long he’d been on the trail of these killers.

Yet it wasn’t the picture itself that made him react the way he was, although it was a very decisive, the real reason why he was on the verge of a panic attack was because of what was written behind it that made him like a caged animal. And part of him couldn’t help but think that it was all his fault why things had gone so badly, that there was also enough blood in his hands as the people he sought to bring to justice.

If the reporter had been told that the first thing he would have done when getting back to his house was to try and get a hold of the metal bat he called security measure, he’d mostly likely think that whoever told him so was crazy. Yet as Cooper noticed his front door being left ajar, all he could really think of was where that baseball bat was.

Part of him was logical enough to think about getting away from the break in and prevent possibly finding out if whoever was behind it was still there or not, but something else inside his head compelled him to go inside, assured him that there was no danger at the other side of the door. This new insidious voice had started growing louder ever since his encounter with that monster, one of the many murderers loose in the city, but also a man of his word and it was clear that he had taken a keen interest in him after that fated meeting.

It was idiotic and would certainly cost him his life to blindly trust a killer of this caliber, but if he wanted to do something about what was happening in this city he’d need to take the risk. So he took a leap of faith.

As he walked inside the dead silent house, he took notice how nothing seemed out of its place. If anything, it seemed far more tidy than how he’d left his house this morning. The only one thing which he knew was not there before was a manila folder neatly placed on his coffee table, a beautiful dark blue origami lotus flower over it.

Upon picking it up, he noticed a yellow sticky note beneath it. Still holding the paper flower tenderly in one hand, he picked the note up, finding it somewhat difficult to restrain a huff of incredulity and the growing thrill building up inside him after reading it.

“Hope my little gift finds you well. Yours truly, L.”

The feeling of his lips tugging upwards pulled him out of his trance, brought him back from whatever private thoughts he may have regarding the man behind the mask. Despite the fact that he may paint himself as an ally to him and his main goal, that didn’t erase the fact that he was one of many killers lurking in the shadows of the city.

Placing the note beside the folder, his hands hesitantly hovered over it. His mind was quick into flashing images of the brutal scenes he’d stumbled upon time and time again, and he did not doubt that his unexpected ally wouldn’t be delighted into showing such grotesque imagery just to get a rise out of him. Cooper wouldn’t put it past the man to do something of that nature, especially when considering what he knows of him.

So, steeling his nerves and mentally preparing himself for whatever vomit-inducing imagery he would most likely lay eyes on, his hand finally reached for the folder and swiftly opened it, exposing all of its contents.

To his surprise, the contents of the folder were rather tame from what his mind had conjured, almost uncharacteristically so for someone who names himself after a biblical beast of the ocean. Though he really should be thankful for the murderer’s restrain than be disappointed by it, it showed that at least he was willing to compromise on the smaller details.

Picking up one of the documents given to him, his brown eyes widened in disbelief at what he was holding. In his hands was a file regarding a woman, one Cooper remembered being mentioned on the news no more than year ago, the case becoming extremely captivating to the media and general public due to the brutality of a robbery turned violent.

From the snippets of conversations from the police at the scene and the few favors called from an old friend in the force, it was abundantly clear how much reporters had left out of the horrid scene. It had been a bloodbath, almost as if a savage beast had been set loose in that apartment and had torn that woman apart in a fit of hunger and bloodlust. Yet as he read the file, the reality of the incident was far more terrifying.

The file didn’t just contain details of what had happened, but also details about the victim. A profile about the victim, filed with photographs and notes regarding her life, both sides of it. The more he read it, the more it was obvious that there was a reason why she had been targeted and why the crime had been so violent, and it all had to do with the statements written on the document, both from the woman’s ex-husband and her killer, Leviathan himself.

Picking up several files, his skin turned ghostly pale as several things became revealed to him. Accidents, robberies gone violent, or even murders that had no further elaboration than a person at the wrong place at the wrong time, all of them were nothing more than extremely elaborate setups to deviate attention from what was actually going on beneath the surface.

Everything was just too much to take in, and Cooper was starting to find it difficult to be on his feet as his head slowly spiraled into a series of theories and timelines to add up everything he had known with the information suddenly provided. Despite there not being about the people who’d order for the deaths stated in the document, as well as the alias of each killer responsible for the hits, it was enough to start an investigation, and with any luck, end it as well.

Driven by sheer desire for the spotlight, anxiety and not fully thinking straight, the freelance reporter sought to grab the folder and head to the police station or news station to share with them such information, only to have it fall from the table because of his shacking hands.

Falling to his knees to pick up every important file and rearrange them as they were to ease any future investigation it may incite, his efforts were cut short at the sight of the glossy surface of various polaroid photographs. Photos which upon a closer look, made his blood run ice cold.

There were several pictures to look at, all which would seem as if they held no relation between them at first glance. To Cooper however, the message was somewhat clear to him. Those pictures told him a story, and whether that story was a threat or a friendly advice to remind him not to push his luck too much or else he wasn’t sure just yet. Almost all of the pictures were of the same three places; a dining table in a dark room, a lone chair in a red room, and a sewer canal with smiley face graffiti sprayed all over the walls.

Cooper would go as far as to call them artistic even, but with everything he had read in the files he was certain that these were the scenery the victims of this group of killers saw before dying. The idea unnerved him and he was fighting hard against his own imaginative yet treacherous mind as it began visualizing the sort of things that might have happened to the many people that were dealt with inside those places.

Whatever pain they felt, whether be it by cold steel, blunt strikes with wooden bats or metal pipes, violent strikes all over their bodies and any cruel and twisted methods of torture that can only be conjured up by the most sadistic and cruel minds, all of it he could feel it in his own flesh. It was something horrifying to experience, and despite having suffered these episodes before in his life, Cooper still found it extremely difficult to keep them in check, yet right now they were essential for him to understand both victim and victimizer. He needed all the context and sides of this story, he wanted to see everything.

That’s when he found that fucking picture…

Already he was starting to have doubts of rushing somewhere and immediately forcing an investigation on an urban legend to start, but this only confirmed him that doing so was a terrible idea.

It’d been days since he had last heard from his boss, days since he had gotten a headache by having to deal with his hysterics and arrogance, and right now he knew why that was.

Different from the more artistic nature of the previous pictures of rooms and just peaceful scenes with extremely twisted usage, this was more amateur, done as something out of pure enjoyment and without any further subtle context. What he saw, was. So seeing his boss’ broken face, swollen and almost unrecognizable, bleeding and most certainly barely hanging on to life, his body shivered again as his mind began creating the same scene he might have gone through and applied it to himself.

Cooper, despite his differences with the man and how he belittled him for following a fairy tale, would have never wished for such a horrifyingly agonizing end.

Not wanting to look at the picture, he turned it around only to find in neat cursive writing another note from the Leviathan.

‘Finally gave you those vacations you have been asking for, I’m hoping we can meet again.’

It was short, but simply reading it Cooper couldn’t help but become crushed by the guilt and regret the things that have resulted from his arrogance and desire for something he had stumbled upon because of luck. Leviathan knew that, yet still sought to keep him alive for whatever twisted game he had in mind.

He didn’t know when he detached himself into the confines of whatever still sane and intact place remained in his own head, nor how long he had just laid in his living room, surrounded by files and pictures of the death, the picture of the only one he ever knew still clutched tightly around his hand. It was long enough however for him to ignore his phone blowing up with messages and several attempts of calls being made to him, all of them repeating the news he’d already known.                                

Cooper was alone, drowning in a black sea, and the only person promising salvation was the very one dragging further into the depths. He was lost.