Act 1.2 Search for the Serial Killer

Ember stepped out of her house, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. Her gaze landed on the flowerbeds, well-kept and vibrant, and suddenly a fragment of a memory surfaced. But, as often happens, it quickly vanished, leaving behind only a slight sense of unease. Frowning, she headed toward her car. After getting behind the wheel, she inserted the key and started the engine. Pulling away, she drove through the night city.

The streets were empty. The residents were afraid to go out, fearing they might become the next victim of the psychopath. Ember replayed all the known facts about the killer's victims in her mind, hoping to find some pattern. But everything seemed random. Typically, such psychopaths target a specific type of victim, but this one was unpredictable. Gender, age, occupation—all of it didn't matter; what mattered was the act of death itself.

"What a monster," Ember muttered, recalling the elusive murderer. She believed it to be a man, given the strength and brutality of the blows dealt by the weapon. A woman wouldn't be able to hit that hard, though if she were trained and in good shape, it might be possible.

At the traffic light, the red signal glowed, and she habitually stopped. But there were no cars on the road at night, especially not after the incident. Ember nervously drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, realizing the absurdity of her actions.

"Come on, pull yourself together," she said, giving herself a light slap on the cheeks, then sped through the red light.

He's definitely facing execution in the electric chair when I catch him; I'll relish watching the last moments of that bastard, Ember thought.

As she approached the scene, she noticed the flashing lights of police cars cordoning off the area. Parking nearby, she got out and scanned the nearby buildings for anything unusual before heading toward the officers examining the victim's body.

Slipping under the tape, she discovered that the victim was dressed in a police uniform.

"Frank, is this one of ours?" Ember asked, stepping closer. The victim's body was partially covered, with only the lower half visible. Not responding, Frank, who was sitting next to the victim, pulled back the dark fabric to reveal a face distorted by blows.

Frank was one of the esteemed police officers who patrolled the city. He looked like a man who had seen a lot; he was nearly forty.

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"Billy was patrolling this area; he died from a gunshot, confirmed by residents of the nearby houses. They heard the shot around one in the morning," Frank said, his words heavy. He was a friend of the deceased, and they had shared drinks after shifts more than once, but he had to do his job.

"So the other injuries were inflicted later," Ember concluded for herself.

"Yes, we found the weapon nearby; it was a simple metal pipe. Damn, this maniac has gone too far. What brought him to our town?" Frank said, covering the victim's body with a cloth.

"We will definitely find him; he has to answer for his crimes," Ember said reassuringly.

"I know, but that doesn't make it any easier. Billy and the others can't be brought back," Frank replied.

"Who discovered the body?" Ember asked. She had already surveyed the crime scene, and in her mind, the scene of what had happened was coming together. Billy had heard a suspicious sound and entered the dark passage with his flashlight on; now he lay not far from the body. After investigating the source of the noise, a shot rang out, killing Billy instantly. The maniac made sure his victim was dead and, having either found the pipe or brought it with him, returned to the body and inflicted multiple blows to the face. It seemed he was mentally ill, as this was senseless cruelty.

Psychopaths loved to revel in their victims' screams of pain, but this one had already mocked the dead more than once.

"Michael's in one of the patrol cars," Frank added.

"Michael? There's something wrong with him; he was told to stop tagging and stay home at night. He doesn't value his life," Ember replied. The teenager had repeatedly broken the law by going out at night and vandalizing city property with his scribbles.

"He's young; I didn't always follow the rules at his age either. I can't believe I became a cop," Frank said, reminiscing about his youth. It distracted him from darker thoughts.

"That's no excuse," the detective replied as she headed toward the patrol car.

The teenager sat in the back seat with a disgruntled expression, staring out the window. When he glanced up, he noticed an unfinished graffiti piece resembling a self-portrait, except the real one didn't have a golden crown on its head.

Opening the door, she drew Michael's attention.

"Ember," the teenager recognized her.

"Yeah, it's me, and this time you're not getting off easy. You'll be under house arrest," she said.

"Please, don't tell my mom; she'll worry so much," Michael pleaded.

"I will tell her, and she'll take her belt and give you a proper whacking," Ember replied.

"Ugh," the boy said, shaking his head sadly.

"Get out and sit in my car; I'll take you home. But first, tell me, did you manage to see the killer?" Ember asked.

"No, I didn't see anyone. I came today to finish my work, and while passing by, I stumbled upon the body," Michael said, tears welling in his eyes. For a child, seeing such a thing was horrifying. Ember pulled the boy close and gently stroked his head.

"Calm down; let's go; I'll take you home," Ember said.

Michael calmed down a bit, and Ember led him to her car, placing him in the passenger seat. Then she returned to the crime scene to inform Frank. As she walked past the crime scene, she noticed a small piece of fabric snagged on a trash can. It was dark blue.

"Hm, this is waist-high. The fabric is very old. It smells of dampness and musty dust. So his base must be old abandoned houses or facilities," Ember thought.

"Frank, where in the city are there old houses that nobody uses anymore?" she asked, handing him the piece of fabric.

"Is this his? Hm, we have almost no abandoned houses; well, there are a couple of places: the old library, maybe a couple of private homes on the outskirts, and an old mansion that's been abandoned for almost a hundred years," Frank replied thoughtfully.

"Check them all out; I'll take Michael for now," Ember said.

Returning to her car, she acted on autopilot. Her mind was racing with a hunch about where he might be. All the clues or evidence they had found were useless and didn't lead to the killer, but this small piece was significant. If they ran a lab analysis, they could learn even more.

"Are you going to catch him?" Michael's voice broke through Ember's thoughts.

"Absolutely; I'll do everything I can to lock him up," Ember said with determination.

They continued driving in silence. The night city was lit only by sporadic streetlights. The car pulled up to a private home and stopped.

"You won't tell my mom, right?" the teenager asked.

"No, but if I see you out at night drawing again, I'll lock you up for a day," Ember replied.

"Thank you," the boy said, opening the door and carefully making his way toward his house.

Amber didn't head home right away. She decided to wait for a bit, gathering her thoughts. She knew Billy, and the loss weighed heavily on her. Only now, when she was alone, did the grim thoughts start creeping into her mind. She blamed herself for all the deaths that had occurred. If only she'd been better, she could've found the killer much sooner, and they would still be alive.

"That bastard!" a shout came from the house. Michael's mother had found him. The lights turned on, followed by a torrent of angry curses.

Smiling at the scene, Amber gripped the steering wheel tightly, the leather creaking under the pressure. She made up her mind. She would find the killer. She drove home, determined. She needed to go through the cases and figure out, from the map, where the killer might be hiding.

The drive home didn't take long. After unlocking the front door, she stepped into the hallway. As she began climbing the stairs to her apartment, she heard the sound of a door opening and saw her neighbor, Mrs. Turner.

"Oh, it's you. I thought it might be thieves," the elderly woman said.

"Just out on work," Amber replied.

"Alright then, I won't keep you. You must be tired," Mrs. Turner said before disappearing back into her apartment.

Amber barely made it to her own apartment before collapsing onto the couch, utterly exhausted. Sleepless nights and the constant strain had taken a toll on her. Her body screamed for rest, for deep sleep, but she couldn't allow herself that luxury. Forcing herself up, she turned on the coffee maker. Strong coffee would help her keep her mind sharp.

As the coffee brewed, she spread a map on the table, marking the locations of the murders. The table was cluttered with various papers and junk. She glanced around her apartment, noticing how disorganized it had become. Cleaning was the last thing on her mind right now. Promising herself she'd deal with it after all of this was over, she refocused on the task at hand.

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"Abandoned houses," Amber muttered.

She highlighted in red the buildings that had been abandoned for years. They were all far from the crime scenes. All but one—the old library. It had once been popular, but with the rise of the internet, it had fallen into disuse. It had been abandoned for at least a decade now. The old books inside would've given the place that musty smell of age.

"This is it," she thought.

The coffee was ready. Pouring herself a cup, she took a few sips, feeling her thoughts becoming clearer with each one.

"Much better."

She grabbed a small sticky note and wrote "Old Library" on it, sticking it near the center of the map. She started sorting through the documents, focusing on information about the weapons and objects used in the killings. She needed to prioritize that. Slowly, her head began to droop. She didn't notice when her face landed on a folder, which suddenly felt like the softest pillow.

Her brain, utterly exhausted, shut her body down, sending her into the realm of sleep. The overworked organism had reached its limit.

Amber's peaceful rest was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. It had been ringing for a while, and only on the fourth attempt did it wake her. Groggily, she opened her eyes and realized dawn was already breaking. Her head ached, as did her back from the awkward position she'd slept in.

"God, everything hurts," she groaned, standing up and stretching her stiff muscles.

She made her way to the front door and grabbed the phone.

"Yeah?" Amber muttered.

"We've gathered the intel. There are a few locations, and all the permits are in place. We can start searching the buildings. Where do we begin?" Frank asked. He sounded like he hadn't slept at all, working through the night while she had briefly given in to exhaustion.

"The library. Let's start there," she said, still half-asleep.

"Alright, I'll meet you there," Frank replied, hanging up.

Dragging herself to the bathroom, Amber went through her morning routine. She downed another cup of coffee, quickly got dressed, and headed out the door.