Different Case

What a nasty smell. A mix of patisserie and roadkill - or like someone shoved a steaming freshly baked cinnabun into a slowly rotting pig’s ribcage. Music is weird too - a tune from some show for kids. The name lingers on my tongue, but my brain fails me. Yeah, it was that animated series about a group of ... no, now it is not the time.

Steps. The sound of wooden planks creaking beneath the hefty weight of a sizable creature. Pacing is slow and uneven, I would incline to call it menacing considering the rest of the senses.

Next are faint gurgling breathing sounds, one or one and a half meters away from me, as if part of the throat is either tied or damaged. Whoever it is does not have enough strength to fully intake the saving air they so desperately try to inhale only causing more short painful bursts of subsequent coughs.

Feels like a perfect time to pat myself on the back for making the decision to keep my eyes and mouth shut. Although, my thoughts of self-praise were unfortunately cut short. The back of the head sent sharp bolts of agony, compelling me to scream and bash my head in with a rock so that it scratches the painful itch and makes it stop. Thankfully the burst of pain dulls down quickly, leaving only the realization of the open head wound on the back of my head.

I try to subtly move out of my chair, until the rope around my torso, legs and wrists force my stay put. Rope hardens after my failed attempt and sends even more pain sensations in my wrists. The harsh threads of a dry rope on weakened body feels like hundreds of tiny drills going deep into my muscles burning more and more of me. Unfortunately, the jerk from the rope is noticeable enough for a host to overhear.

“Detective, I was worried …”, a freakishly calming elder voice whispered in a tired husky tone. A jolt of memories poured into me. Memories of the past couple of days, that might prove to be my last couple of days on Earth. I should have realize in the way it is all started, that it will uproot my idea of reality.

***

There are only two types of investigations that can happen in the town like this. Some misunderstanding that was blown out of proportions and can be resolved in a matter of minutes, where I play the role of the “adult in the room” … This is the other kind.

A young man was found dead, his body positioned to appear like he is sleeping and hugging a dead pig. Pig’s eyes were carved out to insert victim’s eyes. Seems that the killer carved the skin around the animal's eyes to create a wider opening, which was later sawn, once the insertion was “successful”. Apart from being horrifying, it was fascinating - in an unsettling way that is. The sinking feeling I got after being lost in those eyes, position and general shape was almost right and yet too alien to accept, falling into an uncanny valley of weirdness that the brain was struggling to comprehend and yet could not stop trying. I could not figure out if I was disgusted by myself for being mesmerized by it, or by the sheer cruelty and cold calculation it took to achieve this.

The man’s body was covered with crude careless stitching made with large threads no surgeon would ever use. Every “piece” had a tag nailed to the meat, naming the “cut”. Not muscle groups, but actual cut names you can find on chunks of meat in the local deli.

Immediately after the stitches open, sweet fragrance fills the dark and cold morgue room. Man’s body devoid of any major organs whatsoever, chocked full of potpourri; the reason behind aromas that force you to imagine being in gardens of sweet and innocent flowers from fairy tales.

Adoring the intoxicating vapors around makes me feel like a monster for enjoying what comes from something so violent and vulgar.

All of these inhuman mutilation screamed strong emotions and yet the precision and care it took for each element to align signals cold and measured dedication to the craft. It is obvious that every element has a part to play.

Since this man was a relative of the governor I was ordered to make haste with my investigation. So after just 15 or 20 minutes after autopsy I was already elbow deep in books and documents trying to understand the mind of a killer. Hours pass, night changes to morning and then to noon. Heavy sleep deprivation and dangerous levels of caffeine eventually result in finding a small clue, I was desperate to find.

… “The Chandogya Upanishad” wrote: “But those who did bad work in this world attain a bad birth accordingly, being born as a dog, a pig”. Very literal of a murderer to be using this interpretation, but might just suffice. So did the killer try to imply sins of the now past life - revenge murders. His heart is so unclean from his actions that his next life is a life of a pig. Or am I grasping at straws? Maybe I see the connection because I want there to be a connection.

Now of course the fact that it is a governor relative means I will have all the information at my disposal, even the dirt, to find my suspect … right? For 30 minutes straight I was being yelled at to focus on investigation instead of looking to besmirch the name of a respected member of society. Before I could interject to defend my reasoning further, the second body was discovered.

“So you want me to find you, then by all means lead the way”, I thought as police were removing the body from the large cage, a mangled and broken skin sack was twisted around in places not meant to be twisted, just to fit the body in this cubical contraption. By reports, it is another young man of this town and from what I hear a close associate of the first victim.

For me, it is now beyond a reasonable doubt that this is a revenge mission, misguided, twisted and blown out of proportion, but revenge nonetheless.

Time to find their connection to some acts that obviously won't be in any database or won't come from any citizen's mouths in fear of retaliation.

Returning to the body at hand, now that is arranged in a more anatomical manner, it looks bloated. He does not look overweight, no, and neither does he look like he had a small indigestion. The body resembles the belly of pig that died from a quick and violent overfeeding.

Autopsy proved my hypothesis - the victim was force fed, possibly through a tube, similar to ones duck farmers use for Foie gras. The body experienced a series of horrific events, up until the stomach presses so hard against lungs that, after a huge amount of excruciating pain, the body starts suffocating and only then The Death takes what its owed.

The sick bastard tried so hard for anyone who would be investigating the case. After following the trail of the torture to understand its method, we reached victim's stomach. There, wrapped in a protective coating, is a phone. The murderer even courteously removed any screen locks for us - just a swipe to open up victim’s social media, with a video reel that implies quite a story.

Three men and a girl, she is clearly slightly underage than them, maybe 16. The captions says “Hey-yo it is time for the camping trip! Catch you guys in a few days”. There is a video later that day, with an older one, the one I have not met yet, seemingly teasing the girl in a playful manner as she sends the book flying towards him, the off camera voice says “Be careful with a princess here. Remember we made a promise to her daddy”, as everyone, including the girl starts giggling. Posts continue after that as usual till this day, but without her. No account for the girl.

I know something must have happened to her, why else leaving the phone in such a dramatic fashion, and why else the only app still active on the phone is the one that plays this video. This is time, by grace of the Divine One, it is a quick search through more recent reports. A girl with a similar build, hair color and age - Katherine. “... was found mutilated with body parts scattered around by wild animals”, the report that with is also consistent with a couple more cases throughout 2-3 years.

Photos in the report make it clear that the body suffered more than just an “animal attack”, based on bruises. The autopsy report should have uncovered more, but was never performed. She had a foster father here ... a local graveyard keeper here. Now telling a police my thoughts would trigger a massive raid, and they will shoot to kill just to close this as soon as possible. I need to know more, and if it is him, he should be taken into custody.

The road to the local graveyard is relatively short one. The night sky covers my approach, and should allow me to find more clues. The house looks decent, but a bit worn down by aging. That said, it was clearly well kept at some point, and it will take a small effort to be pristine again, flower beds and the porch swing speak of someone who cares or cared about grounds. Now, newspapers are piling up, flowers are desperate for water that just might start dying out in the next few days and invasive grass species are already rearing their ugly heads through the stone plated walkway.

I go around the house, the strange smell coming from the interior begs to take a peek from the side or front windows disregarding the risks. The backyard reveals the kitchen door, behind it there is subtle noise - someone is crying. I crouch and sneak closer.

Glancing look into the window - it is a young man tied up in the kitchen, the shadow towering over him slouched like a gargoyle. I see the young man starts twitching. Is he choking? Right! Gun grabbed. The door kicked in. “Halt! You are under … ”, the last words got stuck in my throat. The shadow moved far quicker than I could react, crossing the distance between us in a split of a second. Throat painfully blocked. Cannot breathe. No shadow in front of me. Sharp pain from behind my head.

***

“Welcome, sir! I am happy you woke up. Would you like some tea?”, calm demeanor sends shivers down my spine.

The man before me is the man I was looking for, or at least his bleak sad copy. The posture is sunken, feet dragging slightly. The faint smell of rot coming from him or his dirtied with soil and mysterious liquids cloth, I am not sure. The pain reminds me to stop looking him up and down and focus on how I got stuck here.

“What the hell are you?”. The question lingers in the air for a moment. Is this the type of question I die after getting an answer?

“I am a parent. That is all. And someone …”, he points the teaspoon in his hand to our second tied up guest, who must have exhausted his ability to scream or cry and just gazed upon us with sheer horror and a slight prayer of mercy. “... took my heart out … CUT IT OUT AND TREATED LIKE TRASH!”, the sudden shift pushed me slightly back. It was not just the volume … I can swear the shadow behind him grew tendrils and stretched across the whole ceiling. His face contorted in anger to the degree that I could see all of his teeth, and in the low light of the table lamp and moonlight from a window frame in the door looked almost bestial.

The young man’s motions turned from terror to whimpers of guilt, looking down and nodding slightly yelling with this pose “Forgive me … I beg!”. I try to interject - “Still, if they are guilty, let law handle it …”, what am I saying? Even I do not believe that. Law here does not work equally for everyone.

My brief introspection was interrupted by the slight poke of something sharp on my chest. Chef’s knife. It already went through my bloodied shirt and a couple of millimeters of my skin, causing a small bleeding sensation, and yet it hovers in that position for a brief second, until it flies through the kitchen into his hands. Did he feel my doubts and changed his mind?

He hums the music blasting from the TV, now it is the tune of a cartoon about some pepper based spy girls. “She must have liked these shows?”, I try asking with a calm and almost meditative voice. The one my therapist used, to make sure I am in safe space, yet it still hard to mask tremble of fear coming from my throat.

“Ah yes, she kept saying she is too old for this, but I hear these theme songs from her room every night before she falls asleep.”, for the first time his eyes look almost human, his reminiscing makes his tired eyes bright and flicker of love for a second.

The phone alarm blasts from the counter throwing me off and almost sending me tumbling down to the floor. “Oh it is time already, alright …” he turns off the alarm, opens up a photo in his phone and puts it next to the lamp so the screen faces the center. It is a photo of her. She looks so happy and sincere in it. Struck contrast between her photo now and archive images from the "incident" remind me that the county police failed her. Her and their past victims too. If that was my case, maybe I could have pushed harder for conviction or further investigation. Or maybe I am just part of this corrupt and broken system as everybody else. Whatever happens to me and my tied companion we sure as shit deserve it.

He takes out the cake from the fridge, an ice cream fudge cake, I guess it is her favorite then. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! …”, he sings the song, never shifting the gaze from the photo with a genuine tearful smile.

Less and less he looks like the monster I know he is. “Eighteen now! I know, I know. A promise was made to give you my gift once you are old enough … I would love to see you turn your first century”, the smile fades, his tears turn into the stream and his face smushes in the grimace of sorrow, “I am so sorry. I got too complacent in this epoch, I was sure this era is safe … daddy failed you … I failed the Promise too, I broke … I let it take control, I begged for it to take control, I needed to punish them …", he glances at me and the last one of the trio, - "Only two left my muffin”.

Well I guess my survival is out of the window. I ... I supposed to jest, but ... I do not want to go. Not yet.

He stands up. Behind the cupboard he takes out the canister - and I do not like where this is going - starts pouring it around the table in a circle. My tied up partner starts shaking in his chair, panicked screams muffled by the towel wrapped around his mouth; he tries to jump away from his chair, but to no avail.

When the circle is finished, he raises the canister above himself and pours it over his body. Next he is behind me. Whispers to me “Thank you for sharing this moment. To tell you the truth I do not want to die, but after all I … broke the Promise … my punishment is this.” I hear the knife behind me, close my eyes, I am grateful he decided to grant me a swift death. Tension drops and my arms and body are free.

I look at him with a dumbfounded face. Is this some kind of a game? Is he giving me a flicker of hope just to take it away? “You can go now. Your ticket to the Stygia is not ready yet”. Well, if it is a game, I will take that gamble. If I die, I die quickly. I throw a glance at the third victim, he looks at me like I am an angel at the pearly gates and he is desperately trying to convince me that his life is worth saving. “No, he stays with me. Broken promises”. The young one pleads with me through his tears and snot, he looks so pathetic with shaking body and rapid breathing, still trying to jump out of the chair. "If I try, he will kill me ...", I think to myself, but not sure if this thought meant for him or I am trying to convince myself. I turn back.

As I slowly get to the door, ignoring scream of pleas from behind. I see from the door glass reflection, a man raises the gas lamp over his head and starts counting down from three.

I book it. The proceeding explosion still catches me off guard, sending my flying for 5 or so meters.

I wake up in the hospital bed after three days. Explosion caused enough of the noise, for the ambulance to get to me before I passed out for good. I find my belongings on the bedside table and some kind of a calling card - “You know what’s out there now. Call us.”