Deputy Newsome knocks on the open door of Sheriff Northrop's luxurious office. Northrop glances at Dave over the rim of his reading glasses and nods toward a chair.
"Come in, Dave. And shut the door, will ya?"
Dave obeys his superior's command without hesitation. He is already on thin ice, being late for that call. No point giving old Jeffrey another reason to bust his balls. He quickly sits down in a chair across from Northrop, not giving the wily fella a chance to take a surprise whack.
With a loud sigh, Sheriff Northrop removes his black rimmed glasses and draws in his bottom lip. This particular facial expression usually means the sheriff is mauling something over. Dave waits patiently for the slightly older man to spill it. He doesn't have to wait long.
"Like I said, Dave. I've got a real bad feeling about this murder. I don't think we've seen the last of this guy."
"What makes you say that, Sheriff?" Dave says incredulously. "We've found girls mutilated before. This one is no different."
Sheriff Northrop roughly closes a folder on his desk and glowers at Newsome. He shakes the pencil in his other hand in the air threateningly.
"But it is different, Dave. I can feel it," Northrop insists. "I've been doing this a little longer than you have, Dave. I've developed an instinct about these sorts of things. This guy...This psycho. He's not finished. There are going to be more victims. Mark my words, Dave...More girls are going to be found. We need to catch this son of a bitch. And we need to catch him now!"
"Until we get that girl's blood work back, and until we get a lead on any possible missing persons...There's not much to go off of.
The sheriff continues to glower at Dave. He taps his upper lip with the eraser of his pencil. Dave can sense the evil thoughts zinging around in Jeff's head without the man uttering a single word.
"You think I don't know that, Dave?"
"No. No. Just stating...The obvious. I like to hear myself talk. Especially, when I'm stressed out about a really bad case."
"I know that too, Dave. You've been the same insufferable bastard since the day I laid eyes on you. I don't see as how that's ever going to change."
"Thank you, Sir," Dave says with a sarcastic grin. He shuffles his thick eyebrows up and down. "It's nice to know I'm consistent."
Sheriff Northrop leans forward on the desk, his eyes narrowing once again. Dave swallows the spit suddenly collecting in his mouth.
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"And another thing. The next time you decide to get laid...Keep your phone close by."
"Well...Sir--,"
The sheriff points his pencil at Dave again and Dave grows silent. Sheriff Northrop wags the index finger of his other hand in disapproval.
"Nuh-uh. And don't you ever show up forty minutes late to a call again. I'm a father. I expect people to lie to me. Tell me what I want to hear. But not having the guts to own up to why you'd be late...Is a whole 'nuther thing. Especially, in the line of work we're in. You pull some crap like that again and I'll have you strictly behind a desk for six weeks. And don't even think about riding out in that big ole department issued truck you like so much. That privilege will be gone too. Do you understand me, Dave?"
"Sure do. Clear as a bell, Sir."
"Good," Northrop says with a cryptic smile. "Now, Gladys has some photos for me down at the lab. Will you swing by there and pick 'em up for me, Dave? I've got a press conference in a little over twenty minutes. Everyone is gonna be there. The mayor, and the Chief of Police in Castleton. Like I said, everyone...Who's anyone."
Dave blanches at the idea of picking up the sheriff's crime scene photos. He grips the armrests of his chair and slowly stands up. A soft chuckle from Sheriff Northrop draws his attention to the elder gentleman's face. It is the sheriff's turn to shuffle his eyebrows.
"Did you have a good time? Was she pretty?"
"Very pretty, Sir?" Dave admits, his heart thudding in his chest.
"Anyone I know?" Northrop prods.
Dave pretends to search his mind, twisting his mouth to one side and peering sideways up at the ceiling. He shakes his head, hopefully not too enthusiastically, and rubs the prickly stubble on his chin.
"I...I don't believe so. No, Sir. But then again, I don't know everyone you know either."
"Hmmm," Northrop grunts, placing his rimmed glasses back on his face.
Northrop pushes the glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose and reopens the file folder on his desk. He feigns disinterest in Dave's continued presence, slowly turning the pages of the file. Dave winces, watching the sheriff lick his finger before every page turn. Yuck a million.
"Well, uh. I'll go get those photos from Gladys. Be back in a bit," Dave says.
"Yeah, that's a good idea," Sheriff Northrop agrees without looking up.
Dave releases a loud sigh and strolls toward the door to Northrop's office. He glances back at his superior one more time before opening the door and exiting the room. He doesn't bother to shut it.
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Darkness completely envelopes almost every inch of a large enclosed space with metal walls. Somewhere, water can be heard dripping. Very slowly. Drip. Drip. Drip.
In a corner of the nearly dark room, a figure wearing all black stands before a large canvas. The figure's strokes are jerky and erratic, going up and down seemingly with no particular rhythm. Against the chaotic background, the painting which has emerged on the canvas is a freakish version of a nude woman, her face distorted and streaked with blood. The woman in the painting lies on her side, the dark room behind her. She is completely devoid of hair, both arms are crossed over her chest, and her legs are also curled. She resembles a child in the womb, only much bigger.
The figure stops painting and places the brush on a filthy countertop nearby. He chuckles sadistically and traces the curves of the woman in the portrait.
"So pretty. I have made you that way. You are like me now."
The figure moans as he imagines touching the woman who once was. But who is not anymore.
"Yes. You are like me now."