He didn't expect him to find him, but he did. He also didn't expect what he did.
|He just wanted to get some sleep. It’s been another long day of investigating another murder. There’s a serial killer on the loose. There doesn’t seem to be any lead to find him, and there’s no end in sight.|
The killer stalks his prey then strikes, no one victim having any relation to one another, and each with a different method. He has become so feared that everyone just started calling him Mortem: death. His signature is slashing crosses onto his victims eyes, and cutting open their mouths to gape.
As he walks through the kitchen, he leaves his keys and phone to charge on the counter. Starting to take off his tie, he heads up the stairs to his room. As he reaches the door, he notices a upside down crucifix marked on the door.
It’s brown, but the smell is unmistakable. Blood. But whose?
Realizing who's it must be, he rushes into the room. He finds his wife lying prostrate, face up on their bed. The mark easily found in the light from the moon through the window.
He killed her, and used her blood.
Shortly after, his blind hatred drives him to find the killer. To punish him for this crime, for his sin. He rushes to the front door to chase him.
Upon seeing the door, he finds it wide wide open. Mortem must have been inside when he arrived, and left when he was up stairs. He was waiting for him, lying in wait as a predator waits for its dinner.
But how did Mortem knew where he lived? This isn’t a coincidence, he has become the prey.
Looking out into the night, he doesn’t notice the figure coming behind him.
“Close the door and take a seat. Don’t do anything rash, the choice is yours for whether or not you want to join your wife.”
There wasn’t even a weapon that he was being threatened with. Not one that he knew of at least.
He complied, taking a space on the love seat. The murderer took a stool from the kitchen to sit in front of him.
The room was too dark for him to see the face, or to see if he was wearing a mask. He couldn’t make out if the murderer was holding a weapon or not. He has no choice to comply.
After sitting for several minutes in the dark, in the silent dark, he asks “what do you want from me?”
Leaning forward, Mortem responds “nothing from you. I just want to prove my point to the world.”
“What is that?”
Several seconds pass before he hears anything back. “Do you know how everyone’s days go? Wake up, eat, work, entertainment, sleep, and repeat. It’s the same for everyone. They don’t think, they just do. Life has become a habit, and I want to break it.
“Everyone is just wading through life. One day after another, struggle after struggle. Until death takes them away. They take no thought about it, they just simply live.”
“But what does this have to do with me? Why hunt me down, and kill my wife?”
“Not even you are immune to the disease. You think your life is filled with meaning by hunting down the monsters of the world, without realizing that your work is the only meaning in your life. The hunt gives your life meaning.”
“You’re wrong, my wife was the most important person in my life. You killed her, and I will make sure that you get what you deserve!”
“Yes, death comes to everyone. Even me. We all face it so differently, but we all shove it behind our minds until it’s time.
“Do you want to know how your wife handled it? She didn’t even realized it until the very second she died, not even suspecting a thing. Like how you didn’t expect me being here.”
Suddenly filling with more anger, he tenses and scoots closer to the edge of his seat. “Shut up, you have no right!”
“I have all the right I need. I found where you live, and now you suffer. Death doesn’t care about rights, it comes when it feels like it.”
Leaping out of his chair, he throttles the killer, shoving him to the ground. They rolled around, knocking over everything that was around them.
Several minutes they would, as it seemed, take turns to choke each other. Suddenly, he lets go of his attacker’s throat, and breaks his wrist.
Mortem cries out in agony, and lets go long enough for him to grab the nearest object. Proceeding to bash his skull in, he doesn’t stop for several minutes. The killer was well dead before he stopped.
Breathlessly, he stands above the beast he slain. There was only one more thing left to do to get his revenge.
He walks into the kitchen, and picks the biggest knife. Returning to his kill, he stoops down and starts his delicate work. Starting with the eyes, then the mouth.
Once it was done, he dropped the knife. And just cried until his co-workers came.