“Doctor, it seems we found something more at the latest crime scene.” The looming detective carved from a solid chunk of granite handed the redheaded pretty woman behind her desk as she put on her glasses to read the document inside a clear plastic bag.
She noticed the blood on the document which is nothing more than an otherwise blank sheet of typing paper, “We didn’t get any DNA except for his latest victim’s blood and a print that he no doubt put there from the victim’s middle finger, telling us to ‘fuck off’ or something.”
She smirked slightly at the detective’s last statement. “He’s getting really bold in the things that he has been doing…” She looks up at his blue eyes and notices the Deadwood detective’s eyes are wondering down her supple breasts.
She leans back into her chair cutting off the feeding of his eyes upon her remarkable body and supple ivory cleavage. Her dark brown eyes seem to redden and for a fraction of a second, a supernatural maroon.
“Seems he’s a poet and artist…” She concludes as she closely examines the artwork of some sort of symbol.
“Is it some sort of demonic or some sort of satanic symbol?” The detective said realizing that he has been caught gawking at the beautiful woman, a twin, a psychiatrist. Her sister also a psychiatrist is working up at the Whispering Pines Sanitarium and is involved in the “Black Hills Cannibal” or what the world now knows as, Scott Solomon Dean.
As far as the psychiatrists sisters who are Identical twins that “…too many can’t tell the two apart…” some people say. One of the sisters is now a national celebrity and no doubt will write a book upon the subject of Dean when it is all said and done.
Both the twins drive matching black and red 2013 Shelby Mustangs with the eight-hundred horsepower engines. Some say other than the fact they are both psychiatrists, both born and raised in the prairie of South Dakota. However, one has a taste for good old fashion rock and roll, and the other, the one now busy looking at the symbol, that is pleasantly listening to her iPod in the small docking station with beige Bose speakers lowly of Ugly Kid Joe’s latest album playing as a backdrop before the police arrived.
There are other similarities with the twin sisters; both have an I.Q. over 190. However, one is left-handed, and the other, is right-handed.
Scarlet, the one reading the document and feeling the detective’s eyes feeding on her body again flashed a quick smile. “I think demonic and satanic are pretty much the same, least to me anyways. That would be something for a priest or some minister to discern as for its meaning is concerned. Not someone in my profession, not someone who doesn’t believe in such things.” She added, as her words seemed rather bitter towards the end of her remark.
She lays the document down, “It is detective Dick Johnson, right?” She flashes a quick look up through the glasses.
“Yes?” He replied as she kept from smirking as she thought that man’s parents who named him played a vicious to say nothing of a cruel joke on him through his naming.
“Dick Johnson, the third actually…” He added with a casual smile as his smaller darker partner sat down quietly in a chair up against the further wall from her and Dick remaining quiet with his notepad and pen writing as the two others talked.
Must have been one fucked up family then… She thought to herself nearly breaking into a beautifully beaming smile in the process.
The whole family must be some sort of redneck-inbred fucks or something. She thought again to herself now paying more attention to the symbol, the blood, and of course the writing.
“Interesting to say the least, isn’t it detective?” She rose up slightly over her desk in spite of Johnson’s roaming eyes.
She points down with her porcelain left index finger with a blood-red French manicure at the writing and then down at the symbol. “I’m no writing-expert analyst or something, but it is clear to me that both are done by the same person. However, notice the writing, and then notice the symbol?”
By the way, Scarlet is the left-handed one of the identical twins.
The detective leans over, “Yeah, the writing looks like our killer is left-handed. Just like all the other notes he left behind.”
She looks up at him sharply, “Yes, but the symbol is clearly drawn with the right hand suggesting that this person, this man, is ambidextrous. You see, when you first came to me via the FBI as in needing my help as a local criminal forensic pathologist. You have shown me crime scene photos and other elements of the killings…”
Without waiting for the slower-minded in the room, “He cuts using both hands in his work post-mortem. However, he is predominately the left-handed for his killing or death-blow striking. Just like with the woman he killed down at the Spearfish Wal-Mart. You know, the one they found in the meat-locker all carved up and looking like the rest of the ‘beef’ on the hooks, if you know what I mean.” She added.
“How could I forget?” The detective leaned back on his heels standing in front dark oak desk smirking, “That was gruesome. Then some Asian woman found the victim’s head in the cabbage. Damn!” The detective reflects.
“Right, and the cut, or the decapitation rather was made from left to right showing he killed her with his right hand.” She made the gesture across her own neck in doing so.
“So it looks like we got a real Rembrandt here with the artwork.” the detective is sarcastically referring to the writing and the new artwork on the document.
“Yes, this person, well, with the former evidence shows that he is a man through the sparse DNA and of course the physical strength shown, that he works mostly from his right mind, or the right side of the brain. You see, he sees his killings, his sees all of this in his mind’s eye. He plans this entire act, this ritual of his out in great detail from selecting his victims, his choice, or method in the killing – There is nothing random about it. Then of course, the creativity in the gory tasks at hand, and what he does with their remains afterwards. All premeditated and played out long before he delivers his first fatal blow. It’s all worked out before he actually commits the crime. Not some simpleton, I assure you. He leaves nothing to chance.”
She stopped talking only for a moment.
“Unlike many things Scott Solomon Dean may or may not be, this one here is a clever one and much more intelligent. He’s growing both in the creative morbidity if you would as well as in his artistic, and literary talents.” She pauses once more looking up at the detective.
“You did check to see if this is unpublished, the writing. You know, to see if it is genuine, and not quoting from some poem or book?” She asked pointing with her beautiful left index finger.
Dick Johnson turned to his partner with a like-minded blank look before turning back to the doctor now opening up her powerful Alienware Laptop that the keys began turning red as the detective took notice.
“No, nothing like that? We haven’t had much of a chance into yet. Besides, the feds will be brought into this bullshit sometime next week or so.”
“The FBI?” Scarlet quips.
“Yeah, orders by the police chief with all the other bullshit going on with our workload and pressure from the public or what’s left of it here. Really, we need all the help we can get right now. So, it’s not like a jurisdiction pride thing going on or something.” He added.
“Damn, Doc, is that some kind of gaming laptop or something?” He smirked.
“It’s an Alienware Mx18 R2 actually. Yeah, a gaming rig, but I use it for the brutal power. I can’t stand ‘slow’. I am all about performance.” She smirked as the large screen of over eighteen inches lit up instantly.
“Yeah, like your car.” He looked out the window to see the menacing dark black tinted windows and the sunlight glaring off the black and red paint.
Looking back at her as she was typing away at what was written on the bloody note into Google’s search engine, the detective asked, “So what does a laptop, you know, something like this cost a guy?”
Without looking up at the detective as she spoke, “More than a month of your salary…” Dick’s silent partner giggled as Johnson turned around glaring at him and then back to the doctor.
“There are several references, but I am afraid all in all, it is his work, or at least, unpublished by anyone else out here in the world so far. You see the tone, with the blood, and the fingerprint of the victim, and I suspect a woman’s middle finger by the way?” She asked the detective.
“Yeah, a positive match belonging to Tonya Parsons. You may know her, doctor?” The detective can see a puzzling look on Scarlet’s face and then he can see she realized the name.
“Oh god no…!” Scarlet exclaimed looking seriously into the eyes of the gloating detective. She could see that detective Dick Johnson relishes in one’s misfortune, a sign of being pathological to some degrees not to mention a sadomasochistic leading up to the divorce of his wife who fucked nearly half the town of Deadwood before she left him as she thought to herself.
“Yeah, I know, I mean, knew her. Parsons worked here in the hospital. She was an LPN or something.” Scarlet added now with somewhat of a blank look of shock.
“That’s right. We found her body, well, pieces of her scattered all over the fucking woods behind Stewart Street right here in town. I real goddamned mess of it all. I’m sorry about it all doctor, I mean, we get rid of one fucking wingnut and it seems three more come out of the damned woodwork.” It is Johnson’s shallow way of references to both Scott Solomon Dean and the questionable suicide of Raven Blackstone found face down and rotting in a stainless-steel tank of his own bleach.
She quickly overcomes the look of shock as another picture in her mind shows her the picture of Blackstone’s naked bloated body bobbing up and down ever so slightly oddly caused the slightest of a smile like a whisper of a ghost crossing over one’s own tombstone.
“Listen, ‘Dick’, if you’re gonna say ‘I’m sorry’ and be in the least bit genuine about the whole affair, I suggest you quit your fucking gloating and wipe that shit-eating smile off your fucking inbred face!” Scarlet begins lashing out to the Neanderthal standing before her.
“And while we’re at it, detective Dick, why don’t you keep your fucking eyes up here with mine.” She leans back in the chair.
Johnson is quite taken by the sudden change and tone to say nothing of her near-predatory attack.
“Is that’s why you’re bitch-wife fucked every stiff dick in town, Dick?”
Okay, it is obvious to a deaf man that the conversation is now a predatory attack as the shocked detective as the other one sitting back behind them began a burst of laughter. His laughing partner attempts to catch himself as best as he could as Detective Johnson turned once more a heated glare at this man and then turns his direction right back to the doctor still sitting in her chair.
“Yeah, I am sorry about what happened to little Tonya Parsons. I really am, Doctor Jennings. However, let’s just try to keep my personal life out of things. Can we do that? Can we do that, doctor?”
Doctor Jennings fully realized she is out of hand but the vision in her mind is like a redheaded tiger she lashed out with her claws slashing his throat and cutting both jugulars not to mention, the fresh arterial spray jetting all over her. The mere vivid thought made her a bit excited as she would then watch him struggle and die as she would be standing over him with a bit of his neck, flesh, and windpipe in her clutching left hand.
Instead, “I’m dreadfully sorry. You’re right of course, Detective Johnson. I had no right whatsoever to lash out like that.” She paused only to see that her verbal strike hit deep within him and in this fact alone, excited the doctor as her nipples began to harden slightly.
Realizing this, she swivels around in her chair out of the view of Johnson and his partner as she gleams a cold smile and fondles with her ipod in the docking station. She selects, “When The Planes Fall From The Sky” by Monster Magnet and as it begins, she adjusts the volume where it is comfortably and the conversation would not be overcome.
“Okay, let’s make this quick, the killer likes big breasted women, these women, all of them have augmented breast operations, all of these women are between thirty-two and forty-two. The women are all white; they are all naturally dark brunettes or raven-haired. We can also deduce that these women are in some profession that requires something much more than a high-school degree. So, you’re police women should be safe?” She smirked.
The detective took the last as an insult and the doctor could see this and of course, pleased her as she went right on talking.
“He likes to draw, something like a tattoo type of art, but I am certain you have already looked into the tattoo shops in the area.” She can see that is some sort of revelation to him as well as to his partner sitting in the chair.
“Really…?” She asked sarcastically, “You’re kidding?”
She pauses, “Alright then, we know he’s white, serial killers choose their victims within their race. The next sample of DNA will show this if Deadwood’s finest doesn’t fuck that up too. We also know he can write, and his penmanship shows to me at least he is educated and takes pride in it – Just a reaching guess at the very last on my part, I’m afraid.”
She hands Detective Johnson the protected document, “There is something else as well. It’s what and how he says what he says…” She pauses as the detective takes the document from her.
“When Night comes, no one comes out into the Dark. No one likes the Night and despises the Dark. You will find no one among the Dark. You will find no one lurking in the Night. Death is only what you will find in the hearts of these and the Promise. I am the child of the Night and know only of the Dark. I am the Promise that they created.” The doctor read from memory as the detective followed along with the writing on the document.
“So, what is this lunatic trying to tell us?” He asked as his partner rose up from the chair.
“Notice the grammar. Some may think the usage of the words, ‘Night’, ‘Dark’, and ‘Promise’ are miss-capitalized or something. It’s not. I mean, I don’t think it is a mistake in the least. I believe these are capitalized because these are proper nouns; at least, he is using them as proper nouns in his mind. More of like people’s names rather. I believe, I mean to say, the killer believes he is the ‘Promise.’” She pauses as her eyes dart back and forth on the surface of the table.
“Sure, we know all the killings and mutilations have happen during the night, some right after sundown.” Johnson added.
“Yeah…” Scarlet is deep in thought and on the verge of some personal revelation on this case.
“He’s killed five women, all at night. Four from Deadwood, one from Spearfish, and of course, all from the Black Hills…”
“Doc, we checked and tried to connect the dots as far as what these women have in common other than the fact they are all brunettes, the age proximity, and all have breast augmentation surgery.”
Scarlet looked sharply up at the detective as she was going to blurt out what she just figured out. The killer couldn’t know about the breast augmentation surgeries unless he had access to all these women’s medical records. These were all local killings, and the killer has to be local not to mention, the facility is as well.
She keeps this to herself. However more importantly, she realizes who the killer is as the symbol on the paper is indeed tattoo art and seen on the shoulder of a man, a man she most definitely knows.
It isn’t a coincidence; the man works at a plastic surgery clinic, a private firm in Spearfish, South Dakota as a X-Ray technician.
Keeping her composure, she looks back up at the detective as he is expecting something more of her to say.
“Wow, I just forgot what it was. I don’t know what I was going to say?” She’s obviously lying but the tall detective can’t tell.
“We’ll you have my card if it comes to you, right?”
“Of course, I have it in my drawer.” Her mind is pre-occupied as she shows the men to the door leading back into the small beautiful waiting room.
“Let me know as soon as you come up with anything else, Detective Johnson.” She forces as smile as she turns her back from him. She can feel his eyes on her perky ass as she closes the door.
Immediately she goes to her computer and through the heavily encrypted database of her patients, she finds a name, picture, and a number along with some of her clinical notes.
“God damn it to hell. It’s you isn’t it, fucker?”
She opens the top drawer of her desk and grabs the card of Detective Johnson and from in her purse she pulls out a little bag and her cell phone removing a chip and replacing one from her black bag and dials a number.
“Hey it’s Scarlet…” She pauses as a man’s deep gravel voice is heard, “Good afternoon, doctor. What in the hell can I do for you, today?”
“I need for you to kill me two motherfuckers right away.”
“Yeah and who might these two unfortunate fucks may be?” The man half-heartedly asked.
“That god damn Dick Johnson…” She is cut off by the man’s voice.
“The fucking Deadwood cop…?” The voice asked sharply.
“Yeah, that motherfucker…!”
“Okay, not much of a problem, doc leastwise for me, and about the other one?”
She looks at the large brilliant screen on her laptop monitor, “The second is the one doing all the killing with the women as of late. A real sick motherfucker that I would do personally but I’m his doctor.”
“Doctor? Oh shit… Okay, what’s his name?”
“I’m sending all the info your way now.” Scarlet says pressing a few keys.
“Someone attempting to follow that data being sent will think I am all over Europe and North Africa.” The man’s voice then laughed a bit.
“Got it…” The man’s voice said.
“Good. Do you need Johnson’s information?” She added.
“Fuck no. He’s easy enough to find. He kind of stands out like a motherfucking dick, a limp dick at it too?” He said.
The doctor smiles, “After all this bullshit is over; it’s all fucking even, Scarlet. Or I mean, unless you want me to fully come out of retirement completely.”
“Sounds good to me and I will be seeing you very soon, Raven.” She adds warmly.
“Good enough, Baby.” The call ends and she once again changes the chips out in the phone and puts it all carefully back in her purse next to the desk as her office phone’s intercom buzzes.
“Yes, Laura?” Scarlet answers professionally.
The clinic’s receptionist answers right back, “Your 1:30 PM is here. Would you like me to send Dougie in now?” the appointment immediately causing a smile to beam across Scarlet’s face.
“You bet, Laura. Show the man in.”
The All-American Horror Continues!