A singular mysterious forest stood cold and naked with it's numerous trees standing like a barrier to hide everything behind them. And with the lazy pink glow of the slowly awakening sun stretching widely over the trees tops, it gave the forest a kind of mysterious charm. The sun rays filtered through the trees to cast long shadows on the ground. The branches were scanty and only a few leaves still clung on. It was the winter season. The air here was heavy and it made breathing difficult but the two men who had been brought here from the city's police department by a strange call, ploughed their way through.
“Are we even headed in the right direction Miles?” A confused Brandon Links asked.
“We must definitely are.” Miles replied without looking back. He made his way quickly through the bushes, picking his way through them with a stick. His brown eyes were fixed into the forest floors, under the piles and piles of fallen dead leaves, hoping to find another body.
“The map says we're to head north west, but due west.” he interrupted again, looking up from the map he clutched in his hand nervously.
“You see the greenery over to the west?” The irritated Miles growled, pointing his finger. “And the animal foot prints? That tells us in which direction the lake is.”
Brandon who knew better than to disturb again followed behind in silence. The forest wasn't quiet, there was the cacophony of chirping birds and constant rustling of the leaves on the forest floors caused by them walking over but then there were other forest dwellers. Brandon shivered. It didn't take long to find the lake, the soothing melody of it's calm flowing waters brought a kind of peace to this scenery. The grass surrounding the lake were low, mowed by hungry herbivores.
“So.... We're here, where's the body we're supposed to find.” Miles announced, breaking the silence.
"I think that's the point.” Brandon spoke, coming up to stand in front of Miles. "We're supposed to find the body."
“The psycho said it'll be staring at us, I don't see anyone staring at us.”
“Hey, look here.” Brandon shouted pointing at a patch of clearing just a little distance away from the lake. “Over there, that looks like a footprint.”
The footprints led to a tree and there she lay, dead and rotting, with small insects crawling all over her. Brandon stepped forward while Miles lit a cigarette and watched silently. She was, Miles could clearly see, gutted like a fish. The cut started from her the base of her neck on the left side and ran down, wavy and broken at certain places, and ended up at the right side of her lower abdomen. It was very messy, with blood dried alongside the cut, and her lifeless eyes hanging out of her sockets. The seperated flaps of her skin in the abdominal area were seemingly shredded like an animal had tired to eat her insides but there was no animal footprints around the body. The killer was must definitely a bloody sick psycho.
There were violet marks all over her body- just like the other victims. Miles closed his eyes and exhaled. His face was expressionless, but his eyes, unblinking, fixed upon her, were alive. The briefest smile flickered upon his lips, and disappeared.
Meanwhile, Brandon crouched near the body, watching it closely. His hungry eyes roamed over every inch of her mutilated body. He longed to touch her, to feel her bruises against his fingers, to gain some warmth from her cold body…
“It’s her. Noel.” Brandon confirmed, comparing her face with the photo he had just brought out from his pockets and held in his hand.
“Fifth one in three weeks,” Miles mused, taking a puff. “This is so not how I imagined I'd spend my Christmas."
“Yup. This sick psycho kinda hate ladies, pretty angry motherfucker.”
“Call it in, Brandon. Just hope this one gives us something to catch him.”
“Why do you think...” Brandon started, “...he uses a jargereed butter knife? I mean it’s so messy. Even a damn kitchen knife would cut them up nice.”
It came as shock to Miles, who coughed loudly, clutching his chest and choking upon his own smoke.
“What? A butter knife? Wait a second...” he blurted, throwing away his cigarette. “Nobody knows about the butter knife except the coroner and me. How the hell did you...” It happened too fast. One moment Miles stood contemplating what it implied, and suddenly, out of nowhere, Brandon's gun was pointed at his forehead.
“Now you stupid fuck, why did you kill them?” Brandon growled, shaking with anger.
“What?! You think I did this?!” Brandon asked in disbelief, his eyes locked upon the gun waving in front of his face.
“Don’t play dumb, you sick psycho! You always know where the bodies are, you get all the 'mysterious calls', you are always one step ahead, but you can’t catch him! Hell even the last tip we got came through the payphone by your house! You actually think I’m that dumb?”
Brandon tripped over a stone during his furious outburst, losing his balance. Miles was quick on his feet and leveled his gun against Brandon's chest as he regained his composure.
“Now Brad, that was quite convincing. Your little act. I knew it was you all along.” Miles hissed at him, “It was you. You found the bodies, you wanted in on this case, fuck! you even refused your so called girlfriend for a date! Now that’s something! You refused her just to come up here at this god forsaken hour finding messed up bodies! And guess what? Psychos like to participate in police business, right? You freak! I’ll kill you.”
“Wow. That really was some serious pep talk, you could pass for a politician." Brandon humored. "Oh sorry! My mistake! You’re a serial killer!”
“I can’t believe it! You’re blaming this shit on me! Seriously?”
Both gripped their guns steadily leveled at each other’s foreheads, never taking their eyes of each other with their hearts beating louder than the sound of the following water.
A single gunshot rang through the forest, and the birds flew away and somewhere up in the trees, the coroner smiled at the scene. The camera in his hands captured the video of both men holding a gun at each other before Brandon's body dropped as a single shot rang out. Both men would be gone and his psychotic hunting would go on.
Oh, pitting them against each other and taking care of any remnants. Clean, Clean!