Jack. The Short Story.
He stood there, the fierce November wind whipping mercilessly around his body. The darkness of his blue eyes pierced the evening atmosphere with fascination as a bustle of men in uniform wrapped yellow tape around the futile murder scene. With interest, he listened as the chief barked out orders for nothing to be touched. Many of the police-men wretched and turned away from the stench of the slaughter, for this reached far beyond the run-of-the-mill robbery or break in. This was a crime of a sick and twisted nature, with no apparent rhyme or reason.
Jack cast a glance back over the scene of the crime before he continued on his way. He walked briskly, anxious to get home and out of the cold. A block from the gory scene, he approached his own door. The image he had just observed overwhelmed him, but he easily shook the feeling from his mind. He had not a care for the woman who lay slain down the street. He never knew her and he never cared to, though he could say it was a shame that her pretty ice blue eyes had to close for good. To him she was just the next story on the news. A quick glance to his watch made him aware that he was, in fact, missing the introduction to the 9 o’clock newscast and he slipped quickly inside his home.
Darkness was the only inhabitant of his suburban home other than himself. The stillness and museum-like space made the layout eerie and shockingly impersonal, compared to that might normally be expected of a 26 year-old bachelor. A devoid of pictures and couches made clear that visitors weren’t expected, and he really preferred it that way. All that rested in the living room was a single wicker chair, and a side table with a lamp facing the 40” plasma screen television, which itself was anchored onto the wall. The only decoration was his degree from the University of Washington, hanging on the wall. There was a certain peace having his own safe haven from the people he hated which, in general, was everyone.
His fingers wrapped around the television converter, automatically switching on the screen without a second thought. Jack stepped in front of the screen for a moment, observing the anchor woman as her authoritative voice filled the room. The image shedding light into the living room was the one he had just seen outside in the darkness.
From his book shelf he drew out an album and eased it open. For hours he could pour over the collection of stories he had gathered from various newspapers. Various famous murder stories scattered over the pages. The O.J Simpson trial, the Charles Manson case, among the other thirty contained in the book. There was inevitability in human nature that assured him that he would always have something to do.
On a blank page he scribbled scholarly-like notes, summarizing the information of the murder that he could collect from the woman on the screen.
No witnesses, obviously. Body had been there for 30 hours before discovery, autopsy scheduled for tomorrow, believed to have been senselessly killed; butcher knife to the throat, broken neck, mutilation.
“Every murder has a reason, you stupid woman, you just have to find it.” Jack spoke aloud to the woman on the screen. Her voice became irritating to him as she continued on to other mundane, common subjects that left little to be desired. House fires, break-ins… boring.
But with the information he had, that he could get, he could easily solve the murder case in his mind. He left his notes in an orderly pile, and glanced at the clock reading 10 p.m. No point in staying up any longer, he had to be up early tomorrow anyways.
***
Before the sun was due to rise, Jack meandered into his living room sleepily. Flicking on the T.V, the 5 a.m. news had just begun. He knew without paying any close attention to the newscast that there would be no information regarding the suspect. That meeting was set for later in the morning at the Downtown Calgary Police Station, and he was going to be there. In an exact and timely fashion, Jack prepared to go to the meeting. Five minutes here, five minutes there; brushing his teeth and brushing his hair, getting dressed, the same as he had gotten ready every morning for the last twenty years.
At the second he completed his ritual; he pulled his jacket on, and stepped outside into the cold morning. As he pulled the front door shut behind him, he tugged his collar up to protect his neck from the biting wind. Twenty minutes down the street, Jack approached the station and stepped in, a cluster of weary good mornings mumbling out of the mouths of the police men. Jack kept his notepad tight to his chest as he nodded in reply, flashing a cheery grin as he moved through the room to his desk. It sat in an organized fashion, the paper weight labeled “Secretary: Jack R.” placed straight and even, in-line with the edge of the smooth mahogany wood. Each paper was in a perfect, aligned pile. No pen faced the wrong way in the labeled pen cup. Orderly. Perfect.
“Okay, okay! Meeting is starting!” The Chief’s voice rang out through the room as he led the way into the conference room.
Jack took his place beside the Chief, pen and paper ready. Accurate note-taking was a skill of his; perfect for documenting the verbal evidence, ideas, thoughts and suspect profile.
“We’re looking for a male, most likely,” the Chief started off, the squeak of the white board marker in the background of his voice, Jack’s pen scratching effortlessly in unison. “The lack of evidence, the exact mutilation of two major organs suggests someone top of their graduating class, recent, and a medical student. Probably not practicing. This guy is probably obsessive compulsive. Come on guys, this sicko cleaned up the blood splatter with bleach, and left us only with a rotting mutilated body. The liver and kidney placed in the victim’s hands. This guy did this to mess with us, but more importantly he did this for himself. Fascinated with death and murder, both, whatever. He knows his stuff, knows our units’ weaknesses; knows us. You might have seen him around the station often, outside or in the public court making observations. Come on boys, let’s get him. This is our only chance. He’s probably not going to kill again; he’s already accomplished what he wanted to. He wanted attention, his story on the news.”
The men sitting around the table shuffled uneasily in their seats. Jack finished up his note, and collected his five sheets into his notebook, neatly. The Chief came around, and patted Jack on the back. Startled, Jack shifted away from him uneasily.
“Good job today, Jack. Tomorrow we’ll use your notes to make suspect connections. I’ll call a press conference, too. We’ll catch this guy.”
Jack nodded slightly as he pulled his jacket back on. “Yes, sir. But if you don’t mind I’ve got to get going.”
“No problem, son. See you tomorrow.”
As Jack exited the conference room, and out onto the street, he could feel the Chief’s gaze follow him out.
Returned to the security of his house, Jack spread his notes over the floor.
Finished. Completed.
Before him lay the completed suspect character profile, a crime scene analysis in full detail; every inch of it coming together perfectly, like an intricate weave of mental and criminal mastery. This guy was sick, but he was brilliant. Jack had to give credit where credit was due. It took this long for everything to be revealed.
He sat back in his couch, his weary body sinking into the leather. It was only a matter of time. He knew all of the details of the murder, so surely they did, too. A small sigh passed his lips, pursed with expectation.
The slam of the front door being kicked open shattered Jack’s peaceful silence, but not a word escaped his throat as his wrists were bound tightly behind his back.
“Sir, you are under arrest…” the rest of his rights were a blur in Jack’s mind. A sinister smile was his only reply.
Shoved recklessly out the door, head forced down, body slammed down onto the seat into the police cruiser. Only a single question pierced the air the entire way to the police station. Jack’s friend from the station, David, turned around in his seat to cast a confused gaze upon Jack through the bars blocking the back seat from the front.
“Why, Jack?”
Jack giggled at first, and then his adrenaline busted up his throat into a hearty laugh.
“Well…there was nothing else to watch on the news.”
And so here is my short story. Thanks for reading =)