Silent: A serial killer story

It was morning the air was cool and the time was around 7:45. A man not too old was on his morning walk in the park stretching and greeting people as he walked by. He was just walking through a more secluded part of the park when he smelt something foul like decaying flesh.

"What the f***k is that smell?" he muttered, stopping in his tracks.

He looked around looking for the source of the smell. He checked a few stumps, and as he got close to a tree the smell hit him much harder he looked to his left and saw a log hollowed out. He crouched down and his widened in terror. 

"Holy sh*t," he yelled stumbling away from the log. His heart hammering against his ribs.

He ran as fast as he could till he reached the main path. Joggers and dog walkers turned their heads in curiosity as to why this man was running so fast.

The man fumbled for his phone, his hands were trembling uncontrollably. He barely managed to swipe to the emergency dialer. "H-Hello, I found a body and it smells awful! Oh God no no no!"

"Sir, please calm down and tell me what happened," the operator asked, calmly.

"I was jogging in the east side of Riverview Park and I uhh smelt something," the man, stopped to catch his breath "And I went to look and then I just the f***king hell it's terrible." 

******

By the time the police arrived, the park was cordoned off. Yellow tape fluttered in the morning breeze, and curious onlookers gathered, murmuring in hushed tones. Detective Jacob Collins stood at the edge of the scene, his yellow eyes scanning the crowd before settling on the crime scene. His rookie nerves from the last case hadn't entirely faded, but this time, there was a spark of determination in his gaze.

Hensley was already there, crouched near the hollow log with latex gloves on. "Morning Col," he said without looking up. "Hope ya didn't eat a heavy breakfast."

Collins ignored his jab and put on his gloves. The sight was gruesome, very gruesome, but he forced himself to focus on the details. "Victim looks young. Late teens or early twenties," he observed. "Judging by the state of decomposition, she's been here a couple of days."

The corpse was barely recognizable—a young woman, her body contorted unnaturally, with her skin mottled and pale. Her hands were bound with a rope, and her mouth gagged with a torn cloth. Deep gashes marred her torso, and her lifeless eyes stared blankly into the abyss. 

"Good eye," Hensley remarked, before pointing at the woman's wrist. "Take a look at that."

A faint mark on the woman's wrist, just visible beneath the rope. A tattoo—half-hidden by dirt and decay—of a small crescent moon.

"Seems like a tattoo," Collins said. "Might help us identify her. Any personal items? A phone, purse?"

"None, the killer took them," Hensley said. "The only thing we have is a tattoo."

Collins stood up, his mind already racing. "Whoever did this wanted her hidden but not too far off the beaten path. They needed privacy but weren't afraid of being seen while moving the body."

"Means we have a cocky killer on our hands," Hensley nodded, taking out her gloves.

Collins's gaze shifted to the onlookers beyond the tape. "Think the killer's watching us right now?"

Hensley smirked. "Rookie, you've got instincts. Let's hope they're right like last month."

******

Back at the station, Hensley and Collins had pored out all the missing cases for the past week or so. They were looking for anyone who looked like the victim's description, the tattoo they hoped would narrow it down for them it was a native american tattoo and there weren't many natives in Ridgewood.

A few hours later, Ellie from the forensics team burst into the room, holding a printout. "Got a hit on the tattoo," she announced. "It's registered to a Mia Carter. Twenty-two years old. Went missing three days ago."

Collins grabbed the file, scanning it. "Last seen leaving a local coffee shop after her shift had ended."

Hensley leaned and peered over Collins' shoulder. "Dig into her personal life—friends, family, boyfriends. Someone close to her must know something we don't."

Collins nodded, but his gut told him this was just the beginning. The killer wasn't done—not by a long shot. And if they didn't act fast, Mia Carter wouldn't be the last name in their files.

******

The Nerss estate was a sprawling mansion, with its manicured gardens, sleek modern architecture, and a driveway long enough to park an entire fleet of luxury cars. Inside, the atmosphere was a mix of calculated elegance and carefully curated chaos, thanks to Sarah Nerss.

Sarah herself, was in her early forties though she looked no older than twenty-five. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes and she was lean and tall (6'1). She was dressed in a casual white shirt and black pants and scrolling through her emails.

"Daniel!" She called out. "You're going to be late for your appointment, and I am not rescheduling it again just because you were busy hacking into NASA or whatever it is you do."

A soft sound of footsteps could be heard descending the staircase. Daniel Nerss her only child, fourteen relatively tall for his age (5'10), with tan skin and glasses. Behind those glasses, piercing brown eyes. 

"Mom," Daniel said, in a calm tone. "I wasn't hacking NASA it'd be too damn easy." 

Sarah smirked. "Of course. Because that's the reason not to, not that it's illegal."

Daniel ignored her jab and sat at the counter, opening a book thicker than most law textbooks. It wasn't schoolwork—it never was with him. Instead, it was a treatise on human psychology, with dense paragraphs filled with diagrams of neural pathways and studies on behavioral conditioning.

"Another 'light' read?" Sarah asked sarcastically.

"Understanding people is the key to controlling outcomes," Daniel replied matter-of-factly, turning a page.

"You are sounding more and more like you're grandpa," Sarah teased, taking a file and sorting its contents. Which, I suppose, isn't entirely a bad thing. But maybe throw in a video game once in a while?"

"You know I do Ma," Daniel responded.

"Yeah, yeah, the entire basement is filled with recliners, a giant flat-screen TV, and a computer," Sarah said, rolling her eyes. "But still, I mostly see you there in the evening and night when you should be sleeping."

Daniel didn't respond, though a flicker of amusement crossed his face. He adjusted his book slightly, hiding the faint smirk.

Just then, Sarah's assistant entered, holding a folder. "Mrs. Nerss, your meeting with the board is in an hour."

Sarah groaned and stood up and pointed at Daniel. "Don't forget your appointment at 2 the driver will take you. For God's sake if you lied about your arm hurting you're grounded."

As she left the room, Daniel closed his book, his grin fading. He stared out the window, his expression unreadable. The gears in his mind were always turning, calculating, analyzing. While other teenagers spent their time worrying about grades or social media, Daniel Nerss was crafting strategies, solving problems, and, when it suited him, manipulating outcomes.

Daniel stood up and descended the stairs to the basement, the dim overhead light casting long shadows on the stone walls. Each step was slow and deliberate, the creak of the wooden stairs the only sound in the otherwise silent house.

At the center of the room was a man—maybe in his thirties— who was gagged and tied down to a sturdy wooden table. He was almost naked except for his boxers. He struggled weakly against his restraints, his eyes darting frantically around the room, finally landing on Daniel.

Daniel stepped closer to him and removed the gag. The man took a deep breath and begged.

"P-please," the man stammered, his voice cracked and desperate. "You don't have to do this—whatever this is. I-I won't tell anyone, I swear!"

"Ssh," Daniel shushed, a finger on his lips. "Ever wondered what would have happened if you didn't peek around?"

"P-please, I didn't do anything I promise," the man begged even more desperately.

"If you hadn't told Mia Carter, I wouldn't have," he paused, a smirk appearing on his face. "...removed her from the equation." 

The man's pleas grew louder, more frantic. "Listen! I didn't do anything—I swear! Whatever you think I did, I didn't—"

Daniel ignored him, walking over to a small metal cart next to the table. On it lay an array of meticulously arranged tools: scalpels, syringes, pliers, and a notebook with scrawled diagrams and notes. He picked up the notebook, flipping through its pages before looking up, his expression cold and analytical.

Then he picked up a scalpel and then stepped closer to the table with a malicious smile. The man struggled at the table his eyes wide with terror as he watched Daniel step closer ever so slowly.