11-23-2014, 08:59 PM
Old Man Lev got up at his usual 4:30 and started futzing around the house. Olya, his wife of 47 years, had passed earlier that year and he was still getting used to all the quiet. The kids didn't come around much, so he pretty much was left to himself. Truth is, he didn't mind that so much. He was never much for smalltalk or people to be content. While Olya was around he really didn't mind the quiet. But now, well now it it got a little much, especially this early.
He lived off in what some might call the country and had a few neighbors a ways away. It was mostly quiet out here. The one old couple up the road, the Stoyovs, he'd known for years. Friendly enough folks anyway. The guy on the other side, Risova, was another story. He'd known him as a kid. Sad story that. Some's just bad seeds he thought. Well more'n some really. That mom of his was a piece of work too. But kept to himself, for the most part, so not bad for all that.
It was about time for him to head outside and feed some of the animals that were scratching in the ice next to their heated pens. Time used to be when winters could do in half your animals if you weren't careful. Nowadays, though, what with cheap heated enclosures and whatnot, his chickens and goats kept pretty much warm through the worst of it. Still needed food though.
It was still mostly dark when he went outside. He noticed a dog sniffing around. Didn't look to be a stray. It wasn't scrawny or mangy or nothin. Well, there was something on its coat. He squatted down to check it out as best he could in dark of the yard. His hand came away tacky. He took the dog over to the porch where it was lighted and saw blood on his hands. He looked the dog over, searching for a wound but found nothing. It wasn't his blood.
He stood there for a moment, chewing his lip and looking out from his porch. In the distance he saw the lights from the Stoyov's place. They had a couple dogs and this could be one of them. But it was dark at the Risova house. He thought for a moment and then put on his hat and heavy jacket- suited for walking in the snowy ice- and stamped his boots as he took the dog over to the Stoyov's place. It was a walk of maybe a mile and a half, but he'd been here most of his life runnin this place and even now walking it barely got his heart pumping.
Thirty minutes later and a belly full of hot coffee and cakes, he left their house and had to tramp in the entire opposite direction to the Risova house. He was glad for the food and drink since being outside for any length of time sucked the heat out of his old bones. It took him another 30 minutes to reach the dark Risova house. The front door was unlocked but no one answered and no one appeared inside when he opened the door. Odd, that.
He walked around back and found the cellar open. He stopped without going in. Something about the place bothered him. He stepped back and looked around. In the darkness he couldn't see anyone but suddenly had the feeling like he wasn't alone. He stood there for a minute waiting. His hearing wasn't what he was used to. Had he heard something? After a few more minutes of silence, he pulled out his wallet and called the CCDPD. Something strange going on here. It took a bit of time but they arrived.
Detective Pushnikov stood in the middle of the the room examing the body. This was all he needed for a Monday morning. He'd been on the force for over 30 years, but he'd never seen anything like this. Room after room of unspeakable horrors. And hanging in front of him were the remains of a man. He'd seen a lot of brutality in his time, but this- this place- was the worst. The smell of cleanser was in the air, for which he was grateful.
It was cold down here to, so there weren't any maggots yet. Dark red muscle, dried from the look of it, covered the body. Or rather, was uncovered. The man had been skinned from his neck down to his knees, including his groin. The man's testacles were shrivled hanging bits, crushed like grapes. On the ground lay the still soft skin, like clothing carelessly dropped on the floor, black-red on the inside. The amount of blood on the ground was minimal, which he could only hope meant the man had been dead when it happened.
But rather than just the expected raw muscle exposed to the air characteristics, he could see darkened strands, singed in places; striated fibers of muscle hardened, shriveled and blackened. He shook his head. He had no idea what had happened or why. But this place....this was a place of pure evil. They'd found their serial killer, the one the media was calling The Butcher. Well, they'd found his lair anyway. The other rooms confirmed it and he had a team already looking at the video recordings there. Hopefully, they'd find the man before he killed again.
But why had the killer switched from girls- at last count 17- to men? Why change his MO? He'd never skinned before either. Burns, cuts, amputations and dissections, brutal rapes, and repeated strangulations were his hallmarks up to this point. But this....this was entirely new. He wondered what a profiler would say about his change in victimology and methodology.
And why abandon this place? It was out of the way and the guy had plenty of privacy to keep on doing what he did without arousing suspicion. For years if he was careful. Why leave it? They were going to have to get their shrink down here to help with this. It would be the only way to catch the guy.
The ME was doing a preliminary post-mortem, occasionally using his med-grade wallet for scans. The man shook his head. "As bad as I've ever seen Seargant,"
he said. He was examining the singed end of some of the muscle fibers. "He's been dead less than a day. I'm still not sure how, but when this man was skinned, his exposed tissue was cauterized somehow. It's why there's so little blood on the ground."
He looked at the captain with pain in his eyes and a twist to his lip. His voice was still. "I think he was alive through it all. At least until the end, anyway. I have to imagine his heart gave out at some point- at least, God in Heaven, I hope so."
He swallowed. "An autopsy will have to verify that."
Pushnikov looked at the body. Skinned alive. Pushnikov wanted to spit.
As bad as that was, it was not the only thing that was done to the man. He'd expected that, if the other victim's bodies were any indicators; after having seen the other rooms. Already, the ME had found evidence of deep bruising and slashes, stressed muscles and joints, broken bones and teeth. He waited for a little while, letting people work, trying to fathom the depth of evil in this place.
The ME was taking samples from the body and its orifices, including from the man's ruined face, and swiping them on the scanner. He frowned at the results of one of them and repeated it. "That's odd,"
he said more to himself than anyone else.
"Eh? What's that?"
, the words shaking him out of his dark mood.
The ME looked up. "Oh? Nothing. Just a glitch. Bad scanner I think. We're going to do a full scan at the morgue anyway so I guess it doesn't matter. I found some fluids on the body. I was hoping to see if there was a match in the DNA database. But my scanner is on the fritz. It's not even coming up as human."
Pushnikov shrugged. He remembered the old days when people had to wait for the ID of victims and perps, just hoping they were in the system. Nowadays, you could ID someone nearly instantaneously- as long as they were in the proper database, anyway. They'd have this guy's ID here- and perhaps the perp's as well, if they were lucky- as soon as the ME got a working scanner.
Poor man, Pushnikov thought, shaking his head and thinking about the body. First those poor poor girls- his heart wrenched at his memories of those crime scenes, broken and butchered bodies tossed away like so much garbage after having been abused beyond recognition- and now this guy skinned alive and what all else. He looked at the man's face- a rictus of agony permenantly etched amid the deep bruising.
With a sigh he walked out of the room. The detective went over to the techs working on the computers. What they had discovered was a collection of videos of the torture, rape and murder of more than two dozen women, though a thorough examination would have to made to see if some of the recordings were duplicates. He hoped so. Even one less girl having gone through that horror would be a blessing.
The one they were fast-forwarding through now showed the back of the man as he stood in front of a chained woman- tears and pain clear on her face- saying something and pointing up to something off screen. The man turned his face and- "STOP! PAUSE IT!"
The tech looked at him but complied, the killers's face clear to the camera. "It's the same guy! The SAME FUCKING GUY!!!
Despite the bruises on the face in the other room, it was clear.
Everyone in the room stopped for a moment, looking at him. But they also looked at the video, shock plain on their faces. He looked around, heart sinking. He knew what this meant. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a vigilante killing."
He swallowed. "I know that a lot of you might be thinking that we drop the ball on this, given who the the victim was- the terrible things he did."
He swallowed. "Yep. I know it because a part of me wants to do that too."
His voice hardened. "But that's not how we do things here. We can't allow someone to go around and do...this kind of thing to people. Even if they did deserve it."
He saw the looks some of them gave him. This was going to be tough, very tough. The things this man had done....well, he understood their lack of interest in tracking down his killer. He hadn't been lying when he said a part of him felt it too.
But the man who could do this thing...even in vengeance...Pushnikov didn't know what to think. It left a pool of suspects, of course- mostly the fathers, brothers, boyfriends, and husbands of the victims. That thought made him sick. What they had been through was already so horrific. He would find no cooperation from them in tracking down the person who had done this; from them or even from some of those on his team. He shook his head. This was going to be one big ugly mess.
He lived off in what some might call the country and had a few neighbors a ways away. It was mostly quiet out here. The one old couple up the road, the Stoyovs, he'd known for years. Friendly enough folks anyway. The guy on the other side, Risova, was another story. He'd known him as a kid. Sad story that. Some's just bad seeds he thought. Well more'n some really. That mom of his was a piece of work too. But kept to himself, for the most part, so not bad for all that.
It was about time for him to head outside and feed some of the animals that were scratching in the ice next to their heated pens. Time used to be when winters could do in half your animals if you weren't careful. Nowadays, though, what with cheap heated enclosures and whatnot, his chickens and goats kept pretty much warm through the worst of it. Still needed food though.
It was still mostly dark when he went outside. He noticed a dog sniffing around. Didn't look to be a stray. It wasn't scrawny or mangy or nothin. Well, there was something on its coat. He squatted down to check it out as best he could in dark of the yard. His hand came away tacky. He took the dog over to the porch where it was lighted and saw blood on his hands. He looked the dog over, searching for a wound but found nothing. It wasn't his blood.
He stood there for a moment, chewing his lip and looking out from his porch. In the distance he saw the lights from the Stoyov's place. They had a couple dogs and this could be one of them. But it was dark at the Risova house. He thought for a moment and then put on his hat and heavy jacket- suited for walking in the snowy ice- and stamped his boots as he took the dog over to the Stoyov's place. It was a walk of maybe a mile and a half, but he'd been here most of his life runnin this place and even now walking it barely got his heart pumping.
Thirty minutes later and a belly full of hot coffee and cakes, he left their house and had to tramp in the entire opposite direction to the Risova house. He was glad for the food and drink since being outside for any length of time sucked the heat out of his old bones. It took him another 30 minutes to reach the dark Risova house. The front door was unlocked but no one answered and no one appeared inside when he opened the door. Odd, that.
He walked around back and found the cellar open. He stopped without going in. Something about the place bothered him. He stepped back and looked around. In the darkness he couldn't see anyone but suddenly had the feeling like he wasn't alone. He stood there for a minute waiting. His hearing wasn't what he was used to. Had he heard something? After a few more minutes of silence, he pulled out his wallet and called the CCDPD. Something strange going on here. It took a bit of time but they arrived.
Detective Pushnikov stood in the middle of the the room examing the body. This was all he needed for a Monday morning. He'd been on the force for over 30 years, but he'd never seen anything like this. Room after room of unspeakable horrors. And hanging in front of him were the remains of a man. He'd seen a lot of brutality in his time, but this- this place- was the worst. The smell of cleanser was in the air, for which he was grateful.
It was cold down here to, so there weren't any maggots yet. Dark red muscle, dried from the look of it, covered the body. Or rather, was uncovered. The man had been skinned from his neck down to his knees, including his groin. The man's testacles were shrivled hanging bits, crushed like grapes. On the ground lay the still soft skin, like clothing carelessly dropped on the floor, black-red on the inside. The amount of blood on the ground was minimal, which he could only hope meant the man had been dead when it happened.
But rather than just the expected raw muscle exposed to the air characteristics, he could see darkened strands, singed in places; striated fibers of muscle hardened, shriveled and blackened. He shook his head. He had no idea what had happened or why. But this place....this was a place of pure evil. They'd found their serial killer, the one the media was calling The Butcher. Well, they'd found his lair anyway. The other rooms confirmed it and he had a team already looking at the video recordings there. Hopefully, they'd find the man before he killed again.
But why had the killer switched from girls- at last count 17- to men? Why change his MO? He'd never skinned before either. Burns, cuts, amputations and dissections, brutal rapes, and repeated strangulations were his hallmarks up to this point. But this....this was entirely new. He wondered what a profiler would say about his change in victimology and methodology.
And why abandon this place? It was out of the way and the guy had plenty of privacy to keep on doing what he did without arousing suspicion. For years if he was careful. Why leave it? They were going to have to get their shrink down here to help with this. It would be the only way to catch the guy.
The ME was doing a preliminary post-mortem, occasionally using his med-grade wallet for scans. The man shook his head. "As bad as I've ever seen Seargant,"
he said. He was examining the singed end of some of the muscle fibers. "He's been dead less than a day. I'm still not sure how, but when this man was skinned, his exposed tissue was cauterized somehow. It's why there's so little blood on the ground."
He looked at the captain with pain in his eyes and a twist to his lip. His voice was still. "I think he was alive through it all. At least until the end, anyway. I have to imagine his heart gave out at some point- at least, God in Heaven, I hope so."
He swallowed. "An autopsy will have to verify that."
Pushnikov looked at the body. Skinned alive. Pushnikov wanted to spit.
As bad as that was, it was not the only thing that was done to the man. He'd expected that, if the other victim's bodies were any indicators; after having seen the other rooms. Already, the ME had found evidence of deep bruising and slashes, stressed muscles and joints, broken bones and teeth. He waited for a little while, letting people work, trying to fathom the depth of evil in this place.
The ME was taking samples from the body and its orifices, including from the man's ruined face, and swiping them on the scanner. He frowned at the results of one of them and repeated it. "That's odd,"
he said more to himself than anyone else.
"Eh? What's that?"
, the words shaking him out of his dark mood.
The ME looked up. "Oh? Nothing. Just a glitch. Bad scanner I think. We're going to do a full scan at the morgue anyway so I guess it doesn't matter. I found some fluids on the body. I was hoping to see if there was a match in the DNA database. But my scanner is on the fritz. It's not even coming up as human."
Pushnikov shrugged. He remembered the old days when people had to wait for the ID of victims and perps, just hoping they were in the system. Nowadays, you could ID someone nearly instantaneously- as long as they were in the proper database, anyway. They'd have this guy's ID here- and perhaps the perp's as well, if they were lucky- as soon as the ME got a working scanner.
Poor man, Pushnikov thought, shaking his head and thinking about the body. First those poor poor girls- his heart wrenched at his memories of those crime scenes, broken and butchered bodies tossed away like so much garbage after having been abused beyond recognition- and now this guy skinned alive and what all else. He looked at the man's face- a rictus of agony permenantly etched amid the deep bruising.
With a sigh he walked out of the room. The detective went over to the techs working on the computers. What they had discovered was a collection of videos of the torture, rape and murder of more than two dozen women, though a thorough examination would have to made to see if some of the recordings were duplicates. He hoped so. Even one less girl having gone through that horror would be a blessing.
The one they were fast-forwarding through now showed the back of the man as he stood in front of a chained woman- tears and pain clear on her face- saying something and pointing up to something off screen. The man turned his face and- "STOP! PAUSE IT!"
The tech looked at him but complied, the killers's face clear to the camera. "It's the same guy! The SAME FUCKING GUY!!!
Despite the bruises on the face in the other room, it was clear.
Everyone in the room stopped for a moment, looking at him. But they also looked at the video, shock plain on their faces. He looked around, heart sinking. He knew what this meant. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a vigilante killing."
He swallowed. "I know that a lot of you might be thinking that we drop the ball on this, given who the the victim was- the terrible things he did."
He swallowed. "Yep. I know it because a part of me wants to do that too."
His voice hardened. "But that's not how we do things here. We can't allow someone to go around and do...this kind of thing to people. Even if they did deserve it."
He saw the looks some of them gave him. This was going to be tough, very tough. The things this man had done....well, he understood their lack of interest in tracking down his killer. He hadn't been lying when he said a part of him felt it too.
But the man who could do this thing...even in vengeance...Pushnikov didn't know what to think. It left a pool of suspects, of course- mostly the fathers, brothers, boyfriends, and husbands of the victims. That thought made him sick. What they had been through was already so horrific. He would find no cooperation from them in tracking down the person who had done this; from them or even from some of those on his team. He shook his head. This was going to be one big ugly mess.