I’m sitting in the interrogation room with Lowe.

  This time, we’re not partners discussing a case. We’re suspect and cop. Well, I don’t have handcuffs...that’s a good thing, I suppose.

  I stare at her, my eyes half closed. I’m still processing what the fuck I saw at Claire’s house.

  She was being followed, after all. And I left her house shortly before she could be killed. What if I-

  “I highly suggest you start explaining how you and the victim were involved with each other. You were calling her on her phone while we were at the scene.”

  I shake my head profusely, “Claire was a client, she reported that someone was stalking her, and she said the police wouldn’t believe her.”

  “Yes, I have her file here,” Lowe opens up a folder, “Claire Eisern...she reported that she was being followed and harassed multiple times. Every time we put a patrol on her, nobody showed up. We discovered soon after that she was affected by schizophrenic episodes and didn't bother.”

  “Then why was she killed?!” I exclaim, slamming both my hands on the table.

  “That’s the question I am asking you, Detective D’arbie,” her gaze sharpens, “you rushed here and were in abrupt shock when I told you she was dead. Did you perhaps know she was in danger?”

  “No,” I reply, “I started protecting her yesterday evening, and when she pointed out at someone who wasn’t there, I reached the same conclusion as you guys...especially after I found her medication inside her purse. I told her I wasn’t going to pursue the “stalker” and brought her home. We chatted a bit, and then I left her house with the intent of closing the case.”

  “Why did you call her this morning?” Lowe writes everything down while she asks the next question.

  “I just…” I trail off, sighing, “I wanted to check on her. She looked pretty desperate when I left.”

  “Hm,” Lowe nods, “the crime scene doesn’t suggest the murder was a robbery. The girl was first raped with violence, then suffocated to death. After that, a clean cut was made on her stomach, from which several organs were pulled out post-mortem.”

  “Fuck…”

  I left her to die like that. I should have listened to her.

  “I’m sorry to say that for obvious reasons you’re under investigation, Edward. Autopsy points out that her death occurred around midnight. Do you have anyone that could cover for you around that time?”

  “Yeah. My assistant…” I nod, biting my lips.

  “Hm? Were you working late?”

  “Yes.”

  A slight chuckle escapes her lips, “alright, you’re fucking her.”

  “That’s not-”

  “Then you’re probably not the culprit,” she stands up and leans against the wall.

  "Probably?" I raise my brow.

  She sighs, crossing her arms, “got anything useful for us?”

  “Well...she said many times that the person who was following her was an Other One girl with blue eyes…that’s it,” I shrug.

  “I see,” she bit her fingernail, her foot tapping on the floor nervously, “a ghost...huh? That’s what they are in our culture. Blue-eyed Other Ones are drained of blood, drained of life. It's weird she had such a specific hallucination as a human.”

  “Illusion or not, someone raped and killed that girl,” I stand up without Lowe’s consent and stare right into her eyes, “we gotta make him pay.”

  “We? You haven’t been assigned to the case.”

  “She was my client!” I retort.

  “Did she sign anything?”

  “No...I rushed to her place when she called me on her phone,” I sigh, sitting back down.

  “No chance. We’re gonna handle it, don’t worry.”

  “Yeah…just like Marie, right? Another cold case,” I scoff, “whatever, can I go now?”

  “Sure, I don’t think I have any other questions…”

  I rush outside before my anger builds up too much.

  When I’m out of the station, I see Elima by her car, waiting for me.

  “Hey…” she sighs.

  I ignore her and get in the car. She gets in and puts on her seatbelt, keeping silent.

  “I left her to die.”

  “You thought she wasn’t in danger.”

  “She was, though,” I say, my legs shaking up and down more and more, “she fucking was.”

  “You can’t blame yourself, Edward. She was a complicated case and you-”

  “Elima, just...it’s useless, okay? What you’re doing right now,” I raise my voice, “no matter what you say, she’s still fucking dead because I didn't care, just like the Other Ones."

  Elima bites her lips, nodding and turning the ignition key, “right. Sorry.”

  The drive back is silent, uncomfortable. Elima’s grip on the steering wheel is tight, she knows nothing will get through me right now, even if she’s dying to calm me down.

  When we reach the office, I get out of the car before she even parks properly. I open the door and go straight into my office, grabbing my bottle of whiskey and my glass.

  Elima rushes inside, sensing what I’m about to do, “Edward, I’m not letting you get drunk."

  “Not in the mood, Elima. Take care of the customers for a while, I’ll be busy.”

  “Busy doing what? Going through useless what ifs?”

  My breath shakes after I gulp down half a glass in one go. I slam it on the desk and turn around.

  “Elima...drop it.”

  “No!” She yells, “You gotta stop punishing yourself for every little thing you can’t control! You’re not a cop, or a bodyguard!”

  “I AM A COP! THOSE FUCKERS STOLE MY JOB!”

  Elima reacts to my loud voice with a fearful step back, making me immediately realize what I’m doing.

  “Fuck...sorry...I-”

  She rushes over all of a sudden, grabbing my face with her small hand. She gently rubs her thumb on my cheek.

  “Please...don’t do this to yourself.”

  “Elima…” I shake my head, “get off me, what are you doing?”

  “Taking care of you,” she replies with conviction, “now...let’s get back to work. Let’s take other cases, let’s move on. Okay?”

  I stare into her eyes, the whiskey still burning down my throat and doing absolutely nothing to make things easier.

  Move on.

  Yeah.

  It’s easy...she was just another client. Since when I started getting so emotional about clients?

  I close my eyes and exhale slowly, pushing her away from my body gently, “you’re right. Sorry. Let’s get back to work. When’s my next appointment?”

  She looks at me for a bit more, trying to find signs of hesitation. When she finds none, she pulls out the ledger out of her bag, “you got one in an hour, Ross Becker, a man concerned that his wife is using his divorce money for gambling and not for his kids.”

  “Great, another family drama.”

  She chuckles, “want me to postpone?”

  “No...let him in when he gets here.”

  “Alright...this comes with me…” she says, grabbing the bottle of whiskey swiftly before heading to the door.

  Before closing it, she stops and turns around, looking at me with a smile.

  “I’m here if you wanna talk, okay?”

  I put up a half-smile, it feels forced, “yes. I know.”

  She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t insist. She closes the door behind her, leaving me alone in my office.

  I sit down and lean back into the beat-up chair, I grab a cigarette and light it as I look at the ceiling.

  As the smoke rises and makes everything foggy, my mind walks backwards to Claire’s entrails, all over the floor.

  Someone either wanted to send a message with that...or they did it for personal satisfaction. Claire didn’t mention anything about people close to her. Maybe the boutique-…

  My head jolts back down, I look outside my door’s window at Elima. I realize how I’m already betraying her. Claire’s murder case isn’t mine. There’s no point thinking about it. I should focus on my next one.

  It’s Friday...last client for the night, a closing case. My favourite type of Friday.

  “So, Mr. D’arbie...you’re sure about what you saw?”

  “Yes Mr. Kujo, your daughter is, in fact, using your tuition money for drugs. I’m forced to bring this case to narcotics.”

  “W-Wait...there must be something we can do so that you don’t resort to such a drastic move, right? D-Double the fine you’re charging me?”

  I shake my head, lighting up a cigarette and placing the papers of the case on the desk, “sorry, no chance. If she gets busted, they’re gonna look into you, and then they’re gonna know I turned a blind eye.”

  He grabs the edges of the desk, shaking his head in denial, “she’s just a kid…”

  “She’s nineteen. Old enough to know better. You gave her the opportunity to go big, and she went small with goddamn drugs,” I reply, taking a long drag out of my cigarettes.

  “You should have warned me!”

  “About?”

  “You should have told me that if you found out she was buying drugs, you’d send this to the cops! You didn’t tell me!”

  I straighten my back and furrow my brows, “first of all, you asked me to find out anything about how she spent money, we never talked about drugs specifically. I would have warned you if I knew it was going to be like this.”

  “I understand but, please...she’s too young to serve time! Her life would be ruined!”

  I stare deep into his eyes. A truly concerned dad, who loves his daughter so much that he’s willing to break drug related laws.

  I roll my eyes and sigh, “how do I know this doesn’t ricochet into my ass when she gets busted?”

  He hangs his head. He knows I’ll never be sure he doesn’t rat me out for some mundane reason.

  “You’re asking me to break the law, Kujo. In a society where humans can barely administer justice anymore. I’m not losing my badge over a junkie girl.”

  He stands up abruptly, shaking with frustration, “my poor babygirl...she can’t go to prison…” he storms out of the office.

  “The payment is due tomorrow, Mr. Kujo!”

  “Fuck you!”

  Elima walks in my office, her eyes still tracking the building’s exit, which closes automatically.

  “He tried to bribe you, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. I refused, obviously. I don’t want narcotics to shut me down.”

  Elima nods and looks around with a sigh, “well, last case of the week! Unless you want me to work overtime.”

  “Nah, I don’t have serious stuff going on right now. Let’s wrap it up,” I say, standing up and grabbing my coat.

  “Mhm, wanna grab dinner?” She asks, almost looking excited and the prospect.

  “Go to your parents, Elima,” I shake my head and chuckle, “we’ve been spending week-ends together quite too often lately, don’t you think?”

  Since Claire’s incident, she’s been quite clingy. I get what she’s trying to do, but there’s truly no need. I’m over that.

  “It’s what I want to do! Do you really want to go against my desire?”

  “I just think you’re doing this to cheer me up. I’m fine, really.”

  “C’mon…!” She giggles, nudging me with her elbow, “just dinner! Okay?”

  I rub my eyes, feeling the weight of the week already. I keep trying to push Elima away, but she’s so persistent that I always end up softening too much.

  “Just dinner, alright? Then you go back home.”

  “Just dinner!” She chirps.

  It wasn’t just dinner.

  Next morning. Elima’s lying on my chest, sleeping like an angel. I get her off me carefully and get up, dressing up as fast as I can so that I don’t have to watch myself being naked with a 24 year old.

  I walk outside the bedroom and look at the front door. I go outside and check the mailbox, grabbing the daily newspaper and going back inside.

  I toss it on the table and head to the kitchen, sighing.

  “I got it!”

  I turn around, Elima steps into the kitchen, taking over.

  “You sure?”

  “Of course! Just sit at the table, we’re going to have breakfast together.”

  “Alright…”

  I head back to the living room, grabbing a cigarette from my hanging coat and lighting it. I go to the table and grab the newspaper. The headline doesn’t jump into my eye immediately since my eyes are still groggy.

  When it does, I freeze.

  Young Woman Found Dead in the City’s South End district. Details Suggest a Disturbing Pattern.

  In the evening of the 15th of October, 21 year old Lila Berniech was found dead by her tenant, after missing payment day for several weeks.

  The corpse was found in a decaying state, suggesting the murder took place a while ago. The autopsy revealed that the girl was first raped, suffocated and desacrated by the killer, who dug out all her entrails in a frantic manner, scattering them all over the crime scene. Law enforcement is still investigating, and further information were denied by the leading detective of the case, Bethy Lowe, who immediately classified the case and prevented any more information from being leaked to the press.

  Claire Eisern, a 23 year old girl who worked at a boutique near South End’s plaza, is a murder victim who was killed in the same way, suggesting a pattern that we fear is not going to stop at two victims.

  Is this a new danger we should be scared of as frail humans? Is this the work of an Other One, given the gruesome circumstances of the death?

  The cigarette sits still between my fingers, forgotten. Elima’s voice, who’s asking me how much sugar I want, goes through my ears unnoticed.

  Claire wasn’t the last one. And she probably wasn’t the first.

  This is the work of a serial killer.