A Killer's Field Day [Part F]

ollins, Hensley, and Elli arrived at the crime scene. It was old and up for auction, but no one wanted to buy it—some people believed it was haunted by the ghost of Klever.

The structure stood eerily against the moonlit sky, its broken windows, and decayed facade adding to its haunting reputation."So this is where Klever's body was found?" Hensley asked and he looked at the area.

"Yep... this place. Great way to start the morning ain't it?" Collins asked with a smirk as he went up the stairs.

Collins, Hensley, and Elli stepped further into the decaying structure, the floorboards creaking beneath their boots. Dust hung in the air, disturbed by their movements, and a faint musty odor filled their lungs.

Elli glanced around, her sharp eyes scanning the remnants of a crime scene long gone cold. "Hard to believe anyone lived here, let alone died here," she muttered.

Collins knelt down, brushing his fingers along the floor where the bloodstains had once been. "The reports said Klever was sitting right here, his throat cut clean."

He glanced up at the armchair, now covered in a sheet that was also covered in dust and webs. "If this was the Owl Killer's first, it wasn't their usual method. No owl figurine, no postmortem staging, just brutality."

Hensley exhaled through his nose. "So maybe it wasn't the same guy. Maybe Klever had a different enemy."

Collins shook his head. "Maybe. Or maybe the killer was just... refining their craft."

Elli frowned. "You think this was practice?"

Collins stood up, brushing off his hands. "Every artist starts with a rough sketch."

A sudden noise echoed from upstairs—a soft, deliberate creak. All three detectives went still. Elli instinctively reached for her gun.

"...Tell me that was just the house settling," Hensley muttered.

Collins exchanged a glance with Elli before stepping toward the staircase. "Only one way to find out."

With measured steps, they ascended, the silence growing heavier with each creaking board. Something—or someone—was waiting for them.

They reached the top floor where they found nothing much just the same old cobweb-filled and dusty second floor. 

Collins looked around the area, he was trying his best to look for anything that may help him but he saw nothing. Nothing caught his eye at all.

The trio started to lose hope of anything that may help the ongoing case. 

That was until Elli saw a tape in a closet, it was in between a few book 

"Holy f***k," Elli said as she picked up the tape dusting it. 

Elli turned the tape over in her hands, her brows furrowing. "This doesn't belong here," she muttered. "It's barely covered in dust compared to everything else."

Collins stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "You're saying someone planted it?"

"Looks like it," Hensley grumbled. "Question is, who—and why now?"

Elli held up the tape. "Only one way to find out."

They made their way back downstairs, the tension thick between them. Collins found an old cassette player among the evidence kits in their car. He wiped off the dust and inserted the tape, pressing play.

At first, there was only static. Then, a voice—distorted, warped beyond recognition—filled the air. Then a small, slow chilling chuckle.

"You think you're close, don't you? That you've got it all figured out. But Klever was just a misstep, a lesson. The real masterpiece has yet to begin."

A moment of silence. Then, another low, unnatural chuckle.

"Tick-tock, detectives. You're already running out of time."

The tape clicked off.

Collins felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his pulse steady. "That voice was altered. Someone went through a lot of trouble to make sure we couldn't ID them."

"But this was left here recently," Elli said, looking at the old house around them. "Meaning the b*tch knew we'd come. They wanted us to find it."

Hensley clenched his jaw. "So we're playing Tom and Jerry with the motherf***ker now?."

Collins stared at the tape, his mind racing. This wasn't just some old lead—it was a message, a challenge. And if the killer thought they'd just roll over and let the game play out…

They were dead wrong. Collins would find them and bring justice to all the victims no matter the cost and no matter the impact it has on his life.

******

Oliver came to the old abandoned building where they first made the plan to rob the Nerss Manor. He stepped inside the unfinished structure, dead leaves and old rubble crunching under his feet. The air was thick with dust, carrying the scent of rusted metal and decay.

Jamie and Ethan were waiting for him in the dim, musty space. Jamie sat on a broken chair, scrolling through his phone, while Ethan paced back and forth, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie.

Oliver took a breath and crossed his arms. "Alright, we're doing this?"

Ethan stopped pacing and turned to him with a sharp grin. "Damn right, we are. Tonight's the night. Sarah's gone, Daniel's probably holed up in his room, and security's light. We'll be in and out before anyone knows what hit them."

Jamie looked up from his phone, his expression uncertain and anxious. "Yeah, but after what happened at the mall… I don't know, man. That was way too close for comfort."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Would you stop worrying about that? He doesn't suspect sh*t."

Oliver wasn't convinced. "He looked at us like he knew something. You don't just stare at people like that unless you recognize them."

Ethan scoffed. "So what if he does? We wore regular clothes and didn't do anything illegal. He probably won't even remember us by tomorrow. And besides, we'll be in and out before he even realizes something's missing."

Jamie shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Unless he's not as clueless as you think. What if we walk in and he's expecting us? We don't know what that guy does at night. Hell, for all we know, he sleeps with a shotgun under his pillow. I mean I don't think you would know about that."

Ethan let out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus, Jamie, it's a rich kid's house, not a f***ing war zone. He's probably playing video games or reading his nerdy-ass books. The guy's harmless."

Oliver frowned. "Something about him just felt… off. The f***ker gave me the creeps"

Ethan clapped his hands together, signaling the end of the discussion. "Enough. We're already in too deep to back out now. We do this job, we get paid, and we move on. End of story."

Jamie let out a slow breath, clearly still unsure, but he nodded. "Fine. What's the final plan?"

Ethan grinned, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "We meet here at midnight. The security guards do their rounds around one, so we have a window. We take the back entrance—my mom said the staff sometimes leaves it unlocked when they take out the trash. We slip in and go to the living room that's where most of the expensive stuff is. We grab anything we can and get the hell out."

Oliver glanced up at Ethan. "And if something goes wrong?"

Ethan's grin faltered for a split second before he forced it back. "Nothing's gonna go wrong. But if it does, we run. Fast."

Silence filled the room as the weight of what they were about to do settled in. Jamie swallowed hard, looking at Oliver for reassurance, but Oliver just stared at the crumbling walls, lost in thought. '

This motherf***ker will get us arrested... but if we are successful we will be rich,' Oliver thought to himself.

"Alright then," Oliver finally said. "Midnight."

Ethan smirked. "Midnight. Get some rest, boys. Tomorrow, we change our lives."

******

Two sleek recliners sat in the center of the basement, positioned in front of a massive flat-screen TV that could retract perfectly into the ceiling like it was never there.

In the left corner, a polished pool table stood under a dim overhead light, while the right corner housed a high-end computer setup, multiple monitors casting a faint glow across the room.

The entire south wall was dominated by a meticulously organized workshop—an array of tools, scientific equipment, and unfinished projects neatly arranged on metal shelves and pegboards. The air carried a faint scent of metal shavings and soldering fumes.

At the workbench, Daniel was focused, his fingers assembling something with an eerie precision. It resembled a gun, but its barrel was exposed, stripped down to the raw mechanics. His movements were fluid and deliberate—he wasn't just building. He was perfecting.

He adjusted a small component, tightening a screw with practiced ease. This wasn't just a weapon. It was a tool.

A tool for his hobbies.

The soft hum of the computer filled the silence as Daniel leaned back, observing his work. He reached for a nearby notebook, flipping through the pages filled with diagrams, calculations, and scribbled notes in an almost obsessive handwriting.

'Still needs adjustments,' he thought, tapping the unfinished weapon against the table.

Then his phone buzzed. A call.

MOM was written as the caller ID.

Daniel stared at the screen for a moment, his fingers tightening around the weapon before setting it down. He exhaled slowly, then answered.

"Hey, Mom." His voice was happy, controlled and he let out a fake but deceptively real chuckle.

"Daniel," Sarah's voice came through, slightly distorted from the international connection. "How are ya holding up?"

He leaned back in the chair, glancing at the half-assembled device on the workbench. "I'm fine. Just keeping myself busy."

Sarah chuckled. "I bet. You always bury yourself in your little projects when I'm away." A pause. "You're eating properly, right?"

Daniel rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched into a small smile. "Yes, Mom. I'm not living off protein bars and caffeine."

"Good. I know how you get." There was a faint rustling on her end, the sound of papers shifting. "Listen, I wanted to check in because I was worried you'd start building a nuke in the basement."

Daniel let out a soft laugh, perfectly timed, perfectly measured. "A nuke? Come on, Mom. That's a little dramatic." 

Sarah snorted. "Is it? Last time I left for more than a week, you rewired the security system and nearly locked out the entire staff." 

Daniel spun a screwdriver absentmindedly between his fingers, glancing at the monitors. The security feeds showed nothing unusual—just the stillness of the estate accompanied by the staff doing their errands.

"That was an accident," he said smoothly. "And besides, that system needed an upgrade." 

Sarah sighed. "Just don't blow up the f***king house while I'm gone, alright?" 

Daniel smirked, his gaze flickering to the half-assembled weapon on the workbench. "No promises." 

Sarah laughed, the warmth in her voice evident. "You're impossible." There was another rustle, followed by muffled voices on her end. "Alright, kiddo, I've got to go. Just wanted to hear your voice. Stay safe, okay?" 

Daniel's grip on the phone tightened ever so slightly, but his voice remained light. "Always." 

"Love you." 

"Love you too, Mom." 

The call ended, and the moment of warmth evaporated as quickly as it had come. Daniel set the phone down, his expression flattening as he returned to his work. 

He picked up the weapon, running his fingers along the exposed mechanics. It was almost finished. Almost perfect. 

A tool for his hobbies. 

And soon, it would be time to use it.