Skulls 3

Renee Dupine, hands closed into fists shoved into the pockets of her aging chestnut brown trench coat, walked languidly next to the curb. It had just freshly rained and the air still had the damp chill that seemed to cling to your bones and make you pine for a time long past, where innocence and virtue sat down for a nice, hot, family meal.  

She shuddered at the thought that that serial masochist was still out there. Or maybe it was just the rain. However, he was still out there, plotting, scheming, or executing a plan, in the least punny sense of the phrase. What would it be this time? Or who, as a matter of fact. He (or she) didn't have a set type, which was very un serial killer. Victims at random: chosen for some reason she was sure, but still undiscovered. The whole thing was very unlike anything she or the entire police force had ever experience. The killer knew their every move, how long it took them to get to the scene, how and what they checked for dna. It was almost as if the killer was inside her head. That alone made her shudder. 

Suddenly as she reared the corner, a speeding police car almost finished something the killer certainly had in store for her. She jumped on the sidewalk just as it managed to turn on two wheels back the way she had come. She raced after it, coat billowing in the cold, suffocating breeze. It was going well over any legal city limit but seemed to be on a set straight path.

She had lost sight of the car but she heard it screech to a halt from a mile away and ran harder, her cheeks turning bright red, her hands clammy, as she finally approached what the car had been racing to. The officer wasn't alone; she was greeted by several other police cars and a detective's car. Another murder. 

She looked around for the body but they all seemed to be standing sporadically, not around anything. That was when Dupine realized that they were all looking up. 

Crucified on the one of the tallest antique buildings in the city was a blanched skeleton hanging upside down. Attached to it's backbone where crude wings made of shrapnel and it was hanging by a long, thin thorny vine wrapped around it's ankle. It was at least twenty stories up, a near impossible feat. 

It was only after she had pushed her way through the already forming crowd and mass of dumbstruck police officers was when she realized that instead of leaving a traditional calling card the killer had left a message.  

Scrawling on the pavement in congealing red paint was the word 'icaRus', the letter R being larger than all the other letters. 

"Icarus has fallen." Dupine whispered to herself as she looked up at the skeleton's grotesque wonder. That was his message. There was no hope for catching him. Their hopes were dashed and he would never stop. He was the stuff of legend. An inventor. A god. 

Absently, she stepped closer in morbid curiosity, only to plant a foot right on the crimson message. As she stepped off it, Dupine noticed that she had smeared it slightly. 

"It's fresh." She muttered quietly. Suddenly she reeled back on the crowd. Everyone seemed to hold their breath. "It's fresh! He could still be around here!" That ignited a fire under everyone and there was chaos. Officers scrambling, civilians shoving, screaming, and running. All except one; a person in a dark colored hoodie slowly backing away and turning on a dime. The person very slowly walked away from the confusion, choosing to turn down an alley. 

Dupine's eyes widened and she started shoving aside civilians, choosing to chase after the mysterious figure. She had lost sight of the person, but carried on, still hearing steadfast footsteps off in the distance. She ran faster and soon caught sight of the hazy figure. The alley was ending fast and she would finally get to see the person up close. 

Only as she broke out into the street, the hooded figure had disappeared entirely. She cried out in despair. Dupine had almost had him and she- she paused now and listened. She heard loud plodding, trudging almost, coming from somewhere close. She looked around now only to find a sewer grate slightly ajar. She dashed to it and removed the top with ease, catching her reflection in the freshly made puddle all the while. She hastily lowered herself down in the sewer, dropping about five feet with a loud splash. 

Seeing as the element of surprise had escaped her, she called out towards the right end of the tunnel. "R, I know you're in here! I can feel your disease." Her voice crackled and echoed off the tunneled walls. There was no sight of the person. But he was down there somewhere. 

Very quietly, there was a response that echoed from the left side of the tunnel. "You've always feared darkness; your reflection most of all, but darkness predominantly. It;s because you're alone with yourself. The only person to face, to interrogate is yourself. And you can't. You can't face yourself."  And then everything was silent again. 

"Where are you god dammit! You coward!" She nearly screamed, attempting to reel around and charge in the direction of the voice. She tripped, though, falling into the sewage with a splash. She was nearly submerged at this end, and as she tried to gain her bearings her hand brushed up against something; many somethings. She sat up and pushed a small wave towards the moonlight that was streaming through the empty sewer grate. 

Bones. Hundreds and hundreds of bones, ranging from femurs to humerus' to clavicles. 

And poor Dupine, startled by the intensity of the past hour, screamed a haunting, bloodcurdling, bone snapping scream. 

And somewhere off in the catacomb of the sewer, laughing could be heard. 

Patient 2713

​Patient continues to taunt other patients. Thoroughly enjoys unnerving presence. 

Refuses to open up about family. Refuses to talk about anything personal. 

Enjoys anatomy. Enjoys mythology. Enjoys standing over sleeping patients only to have them wake up petrified. 

More tests will be run. More shock therapy. More...something.