The Kensington Killer, Episode 1

The corn loomed tall and emerald green over Brett’s beat up Ford F-150 as the smoke of two cigarettes twirled toward nothing. Jolene started smoking to impress him but began to like the feeling it gave her and how it always made her calm. Or maybe it was Brett that made her calm, but she didn’t know because she only smoked around him.

“Are we gonna stay together, Brett?” 

Brett knew the question would come like the smell of the summer air before rain. They spent the day driving down the country roads neither of them would see much of soon. Brett could sense that Jolene was more pensive than on their usual joyride. But now senior year was over, and joy turned to solemnity as summer turns to fall.

“Of course, Jo. You know I love you.” Brett flicked the ash from the nearly depleted cigarette. “I’ll be in Chicago, I won’t be on Mars.” He chuckled and took a final drag, flicking the butt out to land on the black gravel as it gave off one final glimmer before perishing in the bleary dark. 

“I know, but we won’t be able to see each other every day anymore. And I never wanted any man but you.” Jolene gripped his arm across the dash and kissed his cheek. A half smile cracked on Brett’s stern face.

“I know, baby. Listen, let’s finish these smokes and do something to send the summer off right.” Brett cranked the clumsy column shifter into gear and Jolene rested her head on his shoulder, thinking she could die like this.

*****

“Two teens were pronounced dead at the scene as police recovered their bodies and Ford F-150 pickup truck from the bottom of Johnson’s Quarry. The immediate suspect is the killer known as The Specter, who has been implicated in the murders of at least 10 high school students over the past 4 years.”

The broadcast blared on every rear projection TV at the Kensington Police Station. 

“According to early reports from Dr. Kelly Brand, Brighton County medical examiner, all of the victims had a distinctive “S” shape carved into their heads. This has lent to the naming of “The Specter”, along with the sense of mortal dread he has brought upon the little community of Kensington.”

“Only one victim is known to have escaped the grasp of this heinous killer. Four years ago, 22 year old Janice Hanes managed to survive an encounter with The Specter and has been in a delusional state ever since. She currently resides in the inpatient ward at St. James Mental Health Hospital. The following police composite sketch comes from her report of the culprit’s appearance.”

Detective Ted Bradley could only listen as a crude drawing of the killer stared out blankly from the screen. It appeared to be a shitty doodle of the Unabomber, only with weirder sunglasses. 

“They have about as much of a clue as I do on how to catch this bastard. My kid could’ve done a better job.” In his exasperation, the middle-aged, pudgy detective spilled hot coffee on his pants. “Jesus, could this day get any worse?” Ted could see the sleek, onyx FBI cars rolling up in his mind’s eye, and then getting treated like a child who couldn’t figure out his pre-algebra homework like every other case around The Specter.

“Detective Bradley!” His new partner, Deb Connelly, had a bit too much zeal for his liking. She was fresh from the New York City Police Academy, and he had no idea why she moved to Podunk, IL. She also had a tendency to burst into doors uninvited. “I think we have the first actual clue here.” 

Ted tried not to roll his eyes as he futilely wiped his pant leg with his handkerchief. “Your dreams aren’t clues, Connelly. We’ve talked about this. We haven’t even been to the scene yet.”

“Weren’t you watching the news? Let’s talk to Janice Hanes.”

Ted scoffed and tossed his handkerchief on his desk. “You don’t think we tried that the past 10 murders? You *really* think it’s going to make a difference this time? Getting information out of that vegetable is like getting water out of a rock. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Well, Detective, what other leads do you have?” She placed both arms across his desk and trilled her red nails in sequence.

“Let’s start with the coroner and at least see the bodies, for Chrissakes. I’m not wanting to ask that looney about her visions again.”

*****

“Here they are,” Dr. Brand sighed. “The cause of death is most certainly drowning. No evidence of any trauma the killer might have caused. Only indication they were even touched is the “S” dug into their foreheads. Reports all coming back negative for drugs on the tox screen, aside from nicotine. No evidence of illness or history of chronic disease for either of these kids.”

Both detectives stood in the cold morgue with the coroner, hands in their coat pockets. They took a moment of silent reverence that comes with seeing the young dead too soon.

Deb jumped into the void of silence in what felt like 10 seconds too soon. “When you say the “S” was *dug* into their foreheads, Doctor, what do you mean?” Ted rolled his eyes and turned away.

Dr. Brand took a seat at the grossing table. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out with all these murders, Detective. The markings are too crude at the edges to have been done with a knife. But we’ve never found anything that the killer could have done this with at any of the crime scenes.” The doctor rested her chin in her hands and looked at Ted. “What do you think, old buddy?”

“I just don’t know, Kelly. And if the killer made these markings, why wouldn’t he have just killed the kids right then and there with whatever he did it with? It doesn’t make a lick of sense. Connelly thinks we should go see Janice, but I told her thathasn’t helped the past 10 times this has happened.”

Another pensive moment took hold of the trio as Dr. Brand slid the deceased teens back into their resting place. 

“I guess there’s not much choice in the matter,” said the tired doctor.

*****

Night had settled in by the time the detectives reached St. James. The hospital was an inconspicuous structure not half a mile from the interstate, resting on the edge of a thin, stagnant river stuffed with branches. The trees around the hospital were twisted, as if they perceived the mental anguish of those within. 

Deb felt a sharp sense of deja-vu as she stepped out of the car with Ted. She had been getting flashes and visions in her dreams most of her life, which she always felt were glimpses into the future, as if they were an artist’s rough sketch of a landscape. Her mind colored in the details. Her classmates had called her “Minority Report,” which she didn’t like since she was one of the few black students in the academy, but she did appreciate the reference as a Philip K. Dick fan.

Ted looked at her as he polished off his 15th Marlboro of the day. “You having those visions again?” His eyes narrowed as he sucked in his last drag and the cherry brightened his eyes.

 “Since moving to Kensington, they’ve gotten stronger,” Deb put her fingers to her temples. “It’s never been this bad.” They walked through the automatic doors, assailed by the fluorescent lighting.

The nurse’s station had only two nurses, neither of whom seemed particularly interested in speaking to anyone, much less a pair of detectives. The older nurse had her grey hair pulled back in a bun. “Is that you, Ted?” she drawled, eyes still fixed on her charts. “I knew you’d be back again after seeing the horrible news. I can smell the smoke on you.” She lazily flipped a page. “I’m not going to your funeral if you get cancer.”

“Hello to you, too, Dorothy, you old battle axe. We’re here to see you-know-who again.”

“Her name is Janice. Maybe you should leave this to the FBI. Plus, we’re past visiting hours. It’s 8:30” Dorothy looked up, glasses down, right into Ted’s eyes. “Who’s this young lady?” Dorothy’s countenance brightened a bit as she noticed Deb.

“This is my partner, Detective Deb Connelly. Top of her class, from the Big Apple. Made detective straight out of school. She’s here to talk to Janice.” Ted touched Deb’s shoulder and attempted a smile, but ended up giving off more of a grimace instead. Deb tried to smile back but could only shield her eyes from the harsh lighting and her cloudy mind.

“Hi, sweetie, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Dorothy.” Dorothy smiled and extended her hand to shake. “Are you OK, darling?” 

“Nice to meet you, Dorothy. Just a headache is all.”

“Here, take this Tylenol,” insisted Dorothy, producing the pill before Debwas able to finish her sentence.

“I’ll be alright, thank you though.”

“Well we both know you’re not going to figure anything out, Ted. I’ll make an exception this time, on account of your companion here. But not again. You know where to go.”

Ted scrambled his soft pack of Marlboros out his deep jacket pocket once more. “Well Detective, time to pull yourself out of dreamland and back into reality. You’re going to be the one to talk to Janice the Joker. Second floor, Room 214. I’m gonna have another smoke.” Dorothy’s eyes drifted back to her paperwork as Ted as he made his way behind the nurse’s station. 

Deb took a deep breath, rubbing her temples as the elevator enclosed her.

*****

“He’s back… he’s back,” Janice cackled. “The Shady Man.” Janice sat up in her small white cot facing the choked river, her small body huddled in her arms and oversized gown.

“Hi Janice, I’m Detective Deborah Connelly. I’m not a man. Are you talking about Ted? I don’t think he’s shady.”

“Avoid his eyes. Avoid his eyes if lies you despise.” She laughed to herself as if it was a funny inside joke.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Janice, and I’m also sorry if this brings up disturbing memories for you. I’m here to learn more about The Specter.” Janice stopped laughing and let off a long moan. She turned toward Deb with her clouded eyes. Deb’s mind burned with the police image of The Specter and his rounded glasses. “You’re talking about The Specter, aren’t you?”

“You see him, girl, you see him too?”

“Have you always been blind?” Deb asked.

“Have you always asked so many questions? In the corn, in the corn, in the tall green corn.” Janice rocked back and forth, turning back toward the window, laughing again.

“What do you mean you see him? You mean you remember what happened that day? Where do you see him?” Deb walked over to Janice’s side and sat on her cot. 

Janice went silent, her eyes opening wide. 

“Janice, honey, he killed another couple of kids. Can you help me stop him? I need to know everything you know.” 

With more force than Deb could have expected, Janice pinned her wrists to the cot, straddling the detective. “I can show you. I feel the Touch around you.” Janice gripped her hands on each side of her head and Deb’s perception of reality ceased to be. 

Deb found herself surrounded by tall corn, unable to see anything else but a root cellar and a squat windmill no taller than 5 feet. Her mind screamed for her to not go toward the cellar doors. She ran into the corn as it scratched and scraped her, feeling the looming, dark presence of a powerful being. She had to get to the road. She had to warn everyone of this evil.

Deb’s mind blanked and she tripped, arms and legs cut and bleeding. The cornfield didn’t end and it felt best to lay here and hope someone found her. The soil was warmed by the red sun and invited her to rest and regain her energy. She heard footsteps tramping nearer. “Ted, Ted is that you? TED??” Deb screamed as there was no response. Blood began to pool around her and she no longer had fight in her. 

A tall man in a cloak and rounded sunglasses stood before her. “Ah, so we finally meet, Deborah. I’ve been watching you. You have the Touch like me. Join me now. We need to win the souls of sinners for Moloch. He extended his hand. “Let me help you.” He offered her a canteen of water she desperately wanted to drink from. 

“No! I need to find Ted, I need to get to a hospital.” She slapped the canteen from his hand with the remainder of her strength.

“Bad girl… bad girl… what am I going to do with you?” The man straddled her, pinning her to the ground, meeting his face to hers, beginning to lower his sunglasses.

The cloaked man’s face morphed into Janice’s as she snapped back to present reality, her arms dripping blood on both sides of the cot and unable to move from exhaustion. 

“Get off of her, you psycho!” Ted pushed Janice to the ground, as she screeched in pain. “What the hell did you do to my partner? God, Deb, are you OK? How did she cut you like this?”

“The Specter… he’s in the cornfield. Root cellar. Windmill.” Deb faded back out of consciousness.

*****

Deb sat up in the Kensington Hospital, staring at the inane late night TV.

“Ted, tell the doctor to bring my discharge papers right now. We don’t have time to waste. We need to scour every cornfield within 20 miles of Kensington. He’s out there.” Deb twisted her gown in her bandaged hands.

“Deb, relax. It’s almost midnight first off, we’re not going to be finding anyone in any corn fields right now. Plus, you don’t think we interviewed every single creep in Kensington with anything above a traffic violation? We have. The FBI has. And I’m sure they’ll have their noses so far up our asses tomorrow we won’t be able to walk. So take it easy and stay the night. We’ll be at it in the morning. I need you in good condition. No one I’ve ever known has ever gotten so much out of Janice, even if she did slice you up.”

“Ted, I’m telling you, she didn’t ‘slice me up’. You saw, there wasn’t a single thing in her room she could have done this with. It was corn in the dream she transported me into that cut me open. The Specter was there, he’s real. And I think he’s inside Janice’s mind.”

Ted rolled his eyes as he watched Family Feud, reminded of the Freddy Krueger movies of his youth. “OK dream girl, get some sleep. I’ll be back at 7AM, and we’ll hit the roads.” He turned off the TV and turned off the lights. Deb looked up at the colorless ceiling, certain she would not sleep.