Undying Devotion
It Starts with Four.

Shannara opened the door, the soft bell announcing her presence. She’d just gotten off work and her shift had been exhausting. Lining up, she tucked the case files under her arm a little better as she let her raven black hair free from its bun. She was a regular here now, it was a small reader’s café pretty much in the center of town. She’d been here so much so that they now reserved her a booth towards the back of the café.

This place was unique but cozy, she found she did her best work there. And when she needed a break from the doom and gloom of her case, she could always pick up a cheesy romance novel, it helped to refresh her mind. The café was called Novala, it was nothing like the hustle and bustle of a regular café. It had a peaceful atmosphere that she found alluring.

Finally, it was her turn to order. About when her mouth was too open to ask for her usual, the glass had already been placed on the counter.

She looked up with a half laugh. “Am I that predictable now?”

The women behind the counter laughed. “Well, I mean yeah. Everyone knows what you order now, but so did the fella in front.” She winked.

“How much do I owe you?” She asked shaking her head with a frown.

The women cleared her through as if she were about to perform. “His exact words, ‘Let me buy the cute detective behind me a drink’.” She slid a tiny folded note across the table. “He also wrote down this little old note, quite romantic if you ask me.”

Shannara rolled her brown eyes. Accepting the stranger’s freebie she scanned the room, no one paid her any mind, they all appeared to be engrossed in their books. That’s what she liked about this place, everyone seemed to mind their own business, until now that is.

The guy must be crazy to think she was cute. Her form was far from womanly, and she was still in her uniform. She was pretty tall, not slim, instead she had a well-formed semi-muscled body, she worked out. She never really cared too much for her appearance, and valued strength over makeup. In her line of work being able to defend yourself was far more valuable than a pretty smile.

She sat herself down in her usual spot, settling in well and placing her files on the table. She stretched out her hands and arms, cracking her knuckles, readying herself for an evening of study. Opening the first binder she picked up her chai latte, the small handwritten note floated gently to the table. She eyed it for a moment, considering just throwing it out. Curiosity got the better of her, she unfolded it and read it.

You definitely looked like more of a murder mystery type to me, was a shock to replace we share the same taste in books.

She tilted her head, that couldn’t be right surely? No man in his right mind would be into the smut-ridden things she read. They were so unrealistic, but that was the point, that’s what made them fun and entertaining, it was her guilty pleasure. And why murder mystery of all things, she would never read it, after all, she lived it.

Giving the note no more space in her thoughts, she reached down to pick up the report of the latest crime scene. It was the second one in the three months she had been in this town. She had been called in precisely for this case, the authorities were having no luck replaceing the killer so far. It was a peculiar case even for her, they kept telling her that all these cases were the work of different people, but something about each case had her thinking otherwise.

All in all, it appeared as though four victims had lost their lives to this one person. All women, all in their late twenties, all single, and all killed in different ways. She was yet to make a meaningful connection between all the women and it was beginning to frustrate her. Everyone at the police station thought she was insane for thinking all these cases were related, but she simply couldn’t put it out of her mind.

Placing photos of each of the victims in front of her, she sat back frowning at their pretty faces. “You lot are all beautiful, but that can’t be all.”

Taking a sip of her latte she looked to each girl.

The first victim, which they knew about, was a redhead named Rosalie. She had been found in her apartment tied to her completely set dining room table. Metal nails had been hammered through her hands and feet, pinning her in place. The body had been placed meticulously after her death, no blood or bodily fluids were present in the scene, almost like she had been cleaned and placed there as a presentation. There were no signs of sexual assault or abuse, but her eyes had been removed, maybe as a souvenir.

Victim Two was a brunette called Evelyn. From going through the files she surmised that the poor girl had had her throat slit and was drained of all the blood. Where that blood was thought, was still a mystery. The markings around the ankles cemented in the statement from the coroner that she had been suspended and bled, worst of all, she had been alive while this was happening to her. She had been found lying peacefully in her bed, a syringe lying on top of her covers, unused. After mere days of her friends not hearing from her they called it in after replaceing her. There was an unexplained piece of torn flesh at her belly button, Shannara explained that it was most likely a piercing that was removed and possibly kept as a memento. She remembered going off at the officers for not picking up such a vital piece of evidence in the first place. She later confirmed this with the girl’s friends. Also, again no signs of sexual abuse.

Number three was a petite blonde by the name of Rachael. The first crime scene she attended in this city, she’d never forget it. She’d seen a lot of horrible things in her time as a detective, but this was beyond anything she had encountered. There had appeared to be a struggle in the home this time, but broken vases and photo frames had been glued back together to create the illusion that everything was as it should be. The girl was sitting on her couch, positioned in such a way that she was holding the remote for her TV. The memento this time, her fingernails had been ripped clean off. She had sadly been strangled to death. The very evident scratch marks from the furniture only added to her theory that she put up one hell of a struggle. But aside from the strangle marks and the fingernails, the girl’s body held no other signs of an assault. With so much damage to the apartment, she had expected fresh bruising at least. The corona reported some injuries but they were too, healing bruising and broken bones as though from a beating, but too old to be from around the time of her death.

Emily was number four, she had short sandy blonde hair. This one had been hard to look at. The killer had drowned her in her bathtub, before dismembering her and making her fit perfectly in the bottom of the tub, tetrising her in. Each cut had been cleaned, her hair brushed and tied back and a smile forced on her face. Both of her ears had been removed and were nowhere to be found. If the killer was collecting things, it was beginning to be an old sort of array. The bathroom was in a neatly organized state, even numbers of every product were present even though only one person lived in the dwelling.

There appeared to be a pattern with the way the girls were being killed, even if the others didn’t believe her. The crime scenes all held the same feeling to them. They were works of art, the killer had spent a great deal of time to set the scene, like he wanted them to be discovered. Each scene seemed to tell a story about the victim, which she only started piecing together after the fact. It was the only thing she had found that linked the crime scenes and the girls together. It led her to one conclusion, they were dealing with the same killer.

Rosalie had an eating disorder, explaining why she had been nailed to her dining room table that had been fully set. Evelyn had sadly been a drug abuser, though her friends claim that she was the sensible one and would never overdose, the scene was staged to look like one. Rachael was a victim of domestic abuse, her ex being the problem she was unable to shake. And Emily had chronic OCD that she was hiding from her loved ones. Each problem had been represented in a sick and twisted way. But the killer never once left any evidence or DNA behind, they couldn’t even figure out how the killer was choosing their victims.

Tomorrow, she decided she would go back to the station and look through their personal belongings, she had to be missing something. Maybe they went to the same gym, used the same bank or bought the same earrings. Closing the files she finished her drink as she picked up her latest read. It was called ‘To be one with him’. She needed a refresher, needed a way to look at this in a new light. Losing her mind in an idiotic love story helped to wipe the slate clean.