Copycat Killer

The front door clicked.

Brendon, now shirtless and pressing an ice pack to his bruised shoulder, didn't look up. He was seated on the floor beside the couch, breathing evenly but wincing with each slight movement.

Christopher stepped in, took one look, and froze.

His bag dropped. "What the… Mr. Wolf?!"

Brendon sighed. "Evening."

Christopher stormed forward. "What the hell happened to you?! You look like you wrestled a bear!"

Brendon smirked faintly. "Close. A guy hopped out of an alley and tried to strangle me."

"You what?!" Christopher was livid now, eyes blazing. "How did you even get out?! This apartment's locked tighter than a government vault!"

Brendon lifted his other hand and wiggled his fingers. "Hairpins."

"Wh... what?"

He stood slowly, still nursing his shoulder. "You know, this is kinda my special ability," he said, heading toward the kitchen and setting the pins on the counter. "Worked better than that credit card trick I pulled before."

Christopher stared at him. "You picked my lock. With hairpins."

"I did it yesterday, too, with your credit card which was lying over your bed." Brendon added nonchalantly. "You never asked."

"You—" Christopher's mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. "I feel like the world's biggest idiot right now."

Brendon chuckled, coughing midway. "You're not. I've had a lot of practice... back when surviving meant stealing bread with broken bobby pins."

Christopher shook his head in disbelief. "You're under surveillance, Mr. Wolf. You're not supposed to disappear from under my nose."

Brendon reached into his jacket and pulled out the torn scrap of fabric. "Well, this is what your faulty, breached surveillance bought us tonight."

Christopher took it, eyebrows raised. "What's this?"

"From the guy who tried to choke me out. Cheap synthetic. Could have been a hoodie. I was too busy not dying to get a better look."

Christopher narrowed his eyes. "You could've been killed."

Brendon shrugged. "I didn't though."

"Damn it," Christopher muttered under his breath, already pulling out his phone. "I'm sending this to Dr. Banik. Maybe he can get something off it — sweat, oils, particles."

"Fingerprints, if we're lucky."

---

Later that night, the apartment filled with the warm, mellow scent of food. Christopher had calmed, though his jaw still tensed every time he glanced at Brendon's bruises.

Two small plates were set on the modest dining table. Brendon blinked at the neat arrangement — roasted vegetables, baguette slices, a subtle creamy sauce. No meat.

"What is this?"

"Pure veg French dinner," Christopher said, setting a glass of water beside him. "Something light."

Brendon smirked. "You cooked it?"

"I always try. Don't look so surprised."

"I'm used to protein bars and canned stew. And meat you know I am wolf anthro. But I wonder how a crocodile anthro like you can afford to eat this?"

"Well, tonight you will eat like a civilized being."

Brendon chuckled under his breath. They ate in silence for a minute or two. The warmth of the food felt oddly comforting in contrast to the cold fight he'd survived earlier.

Then Christopher leaned forward. "So. About what you said before. You think this attacker isn't the same killer?"

Brendon nodded. "No. I don't."

Christopher looked at him carefully. "Why?"

Brendon set down his fork. "Because something's off. The last two murders — they're staged differently. As if someone is direly trying to mimic it. But why? That's the question."

"How so?"

"For starters," Brendon said, counting on his fingers, "the weapon. The previous cases since 10 years ago had strangulations. Nylon wire or rope. Clean, efficient. No extra tools. But now? A dart in one case. A knife found beside the body in the second — even though the victim wasn't stabbed."

Christopher frowned. "Maybe the killer's evolving?"

"Maybe," Brendon allowed. "But it doesn't fit the earlier pattern. A psychopathic killer who's been methodical isn't suddenly going to get messy without reason."

Christopher nodded slowly. "And the notes?"

"That's the other thing. The original killer left short, cryptic messages. But now, the notes are longer, more theatrical."

"And in French."

Brendon tapped the table. "Exactly. Why the sudden switch in language? The earlier ones were in English. Not to mention, they were handwritten. These last two were typed."

Christopher leaned back. "So you're saying... this could be a copycat?"

"I think it's someone else. Someone who wants us to believe it's the same person."

Christopher tapped his finger against his glass. "Which means either we're looking at a second killer… or the real killer is still out there and someone's piggybacking."

Brendon nodded. "And making damn sure to confuse everyone in the process."

Christopher exhaled through his nose. "That's terrifying."

"You're telling me."

They went silent again, the soft hum of the city outside brushing against the window.

Then Christopher glanced at him. "And where exactly did you go today, before you were attacked?"

Brendon leaned back. "I went to speak with some hybrids. Ones living beneath the poverty line. I needed to hear from them. To know their real condition."

"Without telling anyone?"

"I figured you'd say no."

Christopher sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Of course I would. It's my job to keep you away from mess. Not let you go off on rogue investigations."

Brendon's voice softened. "I get it. But we're not going to crack this thing by sitting in your apartment and watching news clips. We need ground intel."

Christopher stayed quiet, then finally nodded. "Next time, you don't leave without me."

"I'll try," Brendon said with a wry smile. "But no promises."

Christopher groaned. "You're impossible."

"I've been called worse."

---

After dinner, Christopher packaged the fabric scrap for Dr. Banik and scheduled a pickup for early morning analysis. Brendon returned to the guest bed, lying down with the ice pack against his side again.

His thoughts swam.

A new killer. A copycat. A message in French. And a trail just beginning to form beneath his feet.

He has no idea how deep this will go.

But he is going to find out.