The Crescent Killer

Nothing to fear, but fear itself.

The water rippled as the wind rustled the leaves on the trees, sending a shiver down my spine that reminded me all too much of the beginning of one of those horror films that Renier loved so much. I stood, brushing dirt covered hands on my slacks and turning towards the detective next to me. "Call Mosier," I said, sighing heavily. "Looks like we're going to need an ME." It was the third murder this week, the twelfth in the past two months. Each one was more gruesome than the last, but our killer left the same mark on each body, thus leading the papers to dub him the "Crescent Killer." He certainly seemed to be a fan of that. 

We knew nothing about our guy; we'd had FBI profilers in to help us formulate an idea, but even they'd come up short in that department. He'd left us nothing to go on, besides the extremely dark and grotesque way he left the bodies. Mangled, beaten, and covered in their own blood, the victims looked like they'd come straight out of an episode of Supernatural. And that didn't give me a good feeling about the situation.  

As my partner and I pulled back into the station, I looked over at him, shaking my head. "What are we going to do about this, Jace? We haven't got a single lead. We're coming up empty handed every time we think we've got something!" I frowned, climbing out of the cruiser. Jace shrugged. "We're screwed, dude. We're gonna have to call the FBI back soon." "Right. Because they helped so much the first time." I sighed, slamming the door to the cruiser shut. 

The town of Rose Hollow was set in the far corner of North Carolina, a dreary, close knit town where everyone knows everyone else. Which led to the papers, both in town and across the state, to spread panic by claiming that the Crescent Killer came right from our little town. Which, as much as we'd hoped that wasn't true, that was about as much information as we had. It was somewhere to start. I trudged into the station, my boots tracking mud in behind me. The rain covered Rose Hollow as though it were a blanket, and it gave me a chill, to know that this casual drizzle the town had always been accustomed to worked as a cover for the killer. 

After grabbing a cup of what I could only assume was coffee, I headed towards my desk, stopping for a short conversation with Captain Rucker. I sat, a flash of a memory shooting through my brain. I caught a glimpse, but within moments it was gone. "Monroe! You in there?" My eyes snapped up, glancing at the officer above me. Though she was tiny, Callie Buhari held herself in a way that made  you not want to cross her. "Huh? ---Oh, yeah, I'm good. Guess I needed a bit of a restart." I laughed, taking a sip of the brown sludge that sat in my cup. I set it down, scrunching up my nose at the taste. "Mosier get back to you?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow as she seated herself in the chair beside mine. "Yep. But it's the usual deal; stomach's ripped open, bruises cover the body, and there's a crescent carved into the right hand." She paused, looking at me. "She had her ID on her, Sam. It was Chloe Lewis." I turned towards Callie, raising an eyebrow. I'd gone to high school with Chloe, but of course the whole town had gone to high school together at one point. She was the girl everyone loved to hate, myself included. I was surprised, because the brunette girl who had classified herself as Queen Bee of the class of 2003 had disappeared right after graduation, gone off to do "better things with my life", as she'd so lightly put it. She's shown up for the ten year reunion, boasting her fancy husband and bratty children like she was the queen of England. And then she'd gone again. 

"What was she back here for?" I pondered. "Her dad just died, I think. Sad to see the old man go; he did a lot for this town." Callie shrugged, standing up. "I better get back to work," she said, turning towards her desk. "You and Hunt should canvas her neighborhood, try to find where she was last seen," I replied. "Maybe we'll finally catch a break and get a lead." 

I grabbed my jacket off the back of my chair, giving a few quick goodbyes as I left the station for the evening. I took the long way home, stopping by the town cemetery. The rain had stopped, but it still left a dark mist in the twilight, and I almost switched on my flashlight as I slowly made my way to the back corner of the graveyard. I crouched beside one of the graves, using my sleeve to wipe away some water droplets that were running down the front. My hands placed down the flowers I'd been holding, and I swallowed back tears. The first victim of the Crescent Killer had left the case personal for me, though I managed to keep my anger separate from my work as much as possible. I couldn't let it affect me the way it had my mother, who had been left in a catatonic state since, or my father, who drowned his sorrows in the stereotypical bottle. My work was too important to let the death of my sister bring it to a halt; I'd found a different way to channel that rage, and still keep my job so I could hunt him down. 

A movement in the trees caught my eye, and my hand shot to my hip, fingers curling around the holster. There was a small flash of white, like someone wearing a white dress had darted behind the trees. I stood, walking slowly towards the woods, calmly drawing my gun and gripping it tightly.  

I found myself standing in the woods, hands covered in blood and a body beside me.