Detective John Thompson sat at his desk, staring at the stack of files in front of him. Each one represented a different case, a different victim, and a different killer. But this one was different. This killer was different.
It had been a month since the first body was found, and every week since then, another one had turned up. All of them had been brutally murdered, their bodies left in public places as a message to the authorities.
But the killer wasn’t leaving any clues behind. There were no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing to go on. It was as if they didn’t exist.
John sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. He had been working nonstop since the case started, trying to find any lead, any hint of who this killer might be. But so far, he had come up with nothing.
Just as he was about to give up for the day, his phone rang. It was the coroner’s office. Another body had been found.
John grabbed his coat and headed out the door, his mind racing. This was it. This was his chance to catch the killer.
He arrived at the scene to find a crowd gathered around a dumpster, their faces pale with shock and horror. John pushed his way through, his badge held high, and made his way to the coroner.
“What have we got?” he asked, eyeing the body on the ground.
“It’s a woman, early thirties,” the coroner replied, his voice shaking. “She’s been stabbed multiple times and her throat was cut.”
John’s stomach turned at the sight of the woman’s mutilated body. This killer was getting more and more violent with each murder.
He examined the scene, looking for any clues that might lead him to the killer. But as usual, there was nothing. The killer was too careful, too calculated.
Just as he was about to give up, he noticed something strange in the corner of his eye. It was a scrap of paper, sticking out from under the dumpster.
He pulled it out and examined it, his heart racing. It was a note, written in neat handwriting: “I’m coming for you next, Detective Thompson.”
John’s blood ran cold. This killer knew who he was, and they were coming for him.
He called for backup and set up a perimeter around his home, determined to catch this psycho before they got to him.
But as the night dragged on and the killer failed to show, John began to doubt himself. Maybe he was getting too old for this job. Maybe he was losing his touch.
Just as he was about to give up and go to bed, he heard a noise outside his window. He grabbed his gun and crept towards the window, his heart pounding in his chest.
He peered outside, but saw nothing. Just as he was about to turn away, he felt a sharp pain in his back.
He collapsed to the ground, his vision fading as the killer loomed over him, a satisfied smile on their face.
“You should have stayed out of this, Detective,” they whispered, before disappearing into the night.
John’s last thought as he drifted into unconsciousness was of regret. He should have caught this killer before it was too late.
But as it turned out, John was wrong. The killer wasn’t after him at all. In fact, the killer was someone he knew very well.
It was his own partner, Detective Jessica Williams. She had been jealous of John’s success.