At the end of the world, or at least what I thought had to be the end of the world, I stood motionless. Staring into the dark, blue, and black expanse lit by a few glimmering orbs of light. A cold, unforgiving chill shook my form. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the shattered remains of… a building? The large grey stones floated aimlessly through the void, but before I could turn and investigate, my mind was ripped from the vision by the sound of sirens. My eyes flickered open, the fog beginning to lift.
"Detective?" A shaky voice beckoned me in the background.
I quickly scanned the room, the hardwood floors creaking under the weight of my steps as I walked down the aisle. The walls lost their color to the red and blue lights strobing from outside the windows. I did my best to focus, to think.
This church finished the star pattern the serial killer known as the saint carved through the city with the bodies of his victims. My jaw tightened as I continued to scope out the room. Wooden pews with white accents on either side of us, three large chandeliers hung above our heads. A tall curved ceiling stretched forward ten or fifteen feet boasting an ornate fresco and under it, the body.
"Yeah, It's him." I finally answered, slowly approaching the corpse that was propped in the position the killer left all of his victims in. Ring fingers missing, laid on their back with arms outstretched, one leg was bent so the foot rested on the knee of the other like an awkward pirouette. Two stairs led up to a glass pulpit with a bottle of oil and water stashed in the middle console just behind the victim's head. "Get forensics here," I said, examining the victim, who appeared to be a woman in her mid to late twenties, ash brown hair and pale skin with a unique feather-shaped mark near her right wrist. Her mouth was stitched shut. I brushed my jacket to the side, putting my hand on my waist, revealing my badge. I gestured with my free hand at the body, frustrated.
"Morgan… was this the copycat or…" Murphy asked, her voice was shaky but held a hopeful ignorance. Biting back my momentary frustration at her naive question, I answered.
"Look closely, Murph… it was the saint." The rain violently crashed against the stained windows. The shadows of the Gothic architecture flashed rhythmically as Murphy brushed past me, kneeling by the victim's side. "I'm sorry." She whispered softly, gently caressing the side of the victim's face. Her eyes widened, and she shot me an intense look. "The body's still warm." She said breathlessly. Putting on the plastic gloves she retrieved from her back pocket, she lifted the arm of the victim. "Morgan, there's no stiffness. This was recent."
I walked onto the stairs, kneeling I tilted the victim's head to the side, revealing her cervical region, noting there was no bruising or indication that she had been injected with anything. Meaning the saint hadn't finished his ritual. I stood, the ends of my jacket fluttering with a fury. Murphy looked up at me.
"You think he's still here?" She asked. My eyes tracked across the room, looking for any disturbances or signs that could tell me the answer to her question. "I doubt a narcissistic sociopath like him ever leaves a crime scene before police arrive." We spent days planning this operation, and he still managed to outmaneuver us. He's playing with us. My thoughts brought my temper to a boil, I bit down on the nail of my thumb. "Murph, who called this in?" I asked, when the wooden double doors at the back of the sanctuary began to creek open. The tall, gaunt priest sheepishly entered the room, his robes dragging on the ground and his thin grey hair clinging to his wet skin. He, along with two crime scene techs, approached us. Before he could speak, I asked.
"You weren't here when this happened?" I attempted to sound cordial, but my tone was accusatory at best. His eyes darted from side to side. "Is he mute?" I asked impatiently, looking at Murphy, who wore an expression that meant I needed to calm down. I closed my eyes, the scene of the void quickly flashed in my mind's eye. My eyes shot open. I refocused my vision on the priest, who nervously scratched the back of his wrist.
"W-well you see," he started, "I had been called away from the church…" My eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Someone reported an abandoned child a few blocks from here. Even though you folks warned me to keep a close eye on the church, I didn't think twice after receiving that call… that's how most of the kids in the orphanage were found." He said, his gaze finally meeting mine.
It was immediately obvious to me that the saint had made that call. But why did he? Creating an opening rather than taking advantage of one. He never disturbs the environment of his hunting ground. That includes people. Could he have known we were setting a trap here? Is there a mole in the department?
"Who called in the body?" I asked the priest, dismissing his story. Only the bottom and top collar of his robe were wet. Strange, I thought. "I'm not sure. I just got back, and there wasn't even a child at the location I was sent to." The priest spoke shakily while leaning to try and peek over my shoulder at the body. He all but confirmed my suspicion. "Murph, Could you tell the uni outside to radio the airship and have them keep a close eye on this church and the surrounding area?" I asked.
She nodded, beginning to make her way to the double doors. Her Auburn hair was wrapped in a tight bun, and a few locks fell like bangs at the sides of her face. Her long beige trench coat stopped midway down her calf. She had coffee brown slacks and a white collared shirt on. Her coat was the only thing you saw as she cut through the aisle. I thought about our earlier conversation about the saint still being here. A ball of anxiety threatened to form in my chest. I looked back at the two techs when I noticed a loose wooden panel on the floor at the back of the stage in front of a row of chairs placed against the wall.
"Is there a basement under here?" I asked, my gaze still trained on the piece of wood.
"No.. I mean, not really." He played with the cuff of his sleeve. "But there's abandoned tunnels from the old mines and an access way in the back."
I turned so my back was facing the loose paneling and, in a hushed whisper, "Do the tunnels run under this room?" He shook his head yes. I couldn't be sure, but I had a feeling he was watching us from under there. "Ok," I announced unusually loud, catching the priest off-guard, who looked a little startled. "I'm gonna check the perimeter, starting with the front." Confused, the priest simply shook his head. I spun on my heel, racing for the stage and picking up a chair, hoisting it over my head and smashing it against the floor near the panel.
The techs and priest winced in surprise. The floor splintered, and wooden shards flew past my face. I raised the chair again, and when I reached the apex of my swing, I heard something scurry. Sounded like someone running. I slammed the chair down again. The wood erupted, and the chair split apart, but the hole was big enough for me to slip through.
I jumped down into the dimly lit tunnel. Jagged rocks protruded from the wall. Two thin, brown wires with light bulbs placed in even intervals spanned the hall. No more than four feet wide. "Freeze!" I yelled as I began to sprint. The figure moved swiftly through the tunnel. An opening came into view. Must be the mines. I thought about firing my weapon, but I could have lost him in the time it would have taken to draw and fire.
Reaching the mouth of the tunnel, I was met with a shoulder check, which knocked me from my feet. "Detective Morgan…" The distorted voice said, "You're a little disappointing." Ignoring his taunts, I grabbed at my shoulder, feigning injury and propping myself on one knee. In one smooth motion, I removed my jacket with the hand on my shoulder, standing up and throwing it at the man's face for cover. I launched three powerful jabs. Only two connected before he dodged. "Since sneak attacks seem to be your style… Saint," I scoffed.
We squared off, our fists raised. I wasn't going to wait for him to attack. I lunged forward, throwing a right hook as a feint for a knee, which he seemed to read. Even behind the black mask, I could feel his eyes tracking my movements. He dodged the hook, clasping his hands and pushing them downwards, stopping my knee, successfully evading my assault. He pivoted quickly, using that momentum to propel his elbow aimed at my temple. I barely raised my left arm fast enough to block.
"Still disappointing." He said almost melodically. I threw a flurry of punches just to see if any openings appeared in his defense, to no avail. He was frustratingly good. He had a black skin-tight suit made out of some light material covering his whole body under what looked like a customized military uniform and strange form-fitting shoes. His jacket was open, exposing his muscular torso covered by the skin suit and a belt with several pouches.
"You had the chance to run and hide," I said, my breathing shallow. "But you didn't take it… Why?" I aimed a kick at his ribs but he simply batted my foot away. My forearms ached at the spots where his blows connected. His fists were heavy. I was trying to find a way to stall him until backup came. But I wasn't the one in control here.
"Your suggestion assumes there's someone worth hiding from." He responded, allowing me a moment to breathe and recover.
There were no wasted movements with him. He stood calm and collected, the opposite of me. My mind whirled with ideas in an attempt to find a way to end this fight. He was like a lion stalking its prey. I threw a straight right. He didn't attempt to dodge it. Instead, he responded with an uppercut that connected with my forearm, shattering my radius. A vicious cracking sound disrupted all thought as a searing pain radiated from my arm.
I reeled back in pain, letting out a tired grunt. Murphy, now would be a good time for one of your last-minute appearances, I thought. I fell to one knee, gripping my broken arm. With my back against the wall, I slid my hand into my jacket in a move of sheer desperation, reaching for my sidearm.
"Looking for this?" He said, clicking his tongue. He then removed the clip and cocked the gun, the chambered round jumping from the firearm as he tossed the components in different directions, hitting the ground with a dulled thud. "Had I known it would be this easy here. I would have done this ages ago, heavens aberration."
What is he talking about? The confusion for a moment louder than the pain. "I'll bite," I said, a grin forming at the corners of my mouth. "Heavens aberration, the saint," I mocked "Don't tell me you're just another cliche psychopath with delusions of grandeur. Let me guess, you believe you're saving us from ourselves? That you're on a mission from some sort of higher power?" He seemed amused, but it was hard to tell with that mask on. Regardless, even a toddler could guess I was stalling for time. He started closing the distance between us. "Nothing can save you from what's coming," he said.
I pushed myself to my feet, letting my injured arm sag and readying my right fist. He let out a laugh "Still got some fight in you?" He asked, the black cloth outlining a sadistic smile where his mouth was. He moved in quickly, aiming a kick at my inner thigh I raised my leg and blocked his attack. My body reverberated with pain. He threw a combination of knees and elbows after switching his stance to something unique. A stance I'd never seen before. He finally broke through my defense, slamming his elbow into my ribs. I felt them crack as I winced and stumbled back. I was about to become the saint's next victim.
Each breath was more painful than the last. Hunched over, I clutched my broken ribs while my arm hung lifelessly by my side. The man gave me no breathing room this time. He swept my feet, sending me crashing to the ground. The side of my head hit the floor, which caused a ringing sound in my ears. The sound of my impact echoed through the large cave lit by half a dozen work lights. My head began to swim, and the world shook, splitting into a distorted mirage.
I thought about the families I promised to take the saint down for. Promises that were just empty words now. Desperate, I cried out to any higher power to do something. Any force. Any deity. Not for my sake but for the lives he has and will take. A warm liquid reached the side of my face. The familiar copper smell in the air. It was blood, my blood. There was a sharp pain coming from my side. Pained gasps replaced my breathing. The rocks and rubble crunched as the man approached. With what strength I could muster, I flipped myself over. Blood was pounding in my head like it was trying desperately to escape. When I looked down, there was a bloodied gash on my side next to a crimson-stained rock. My body screamed at me, but I now looked the killer in the face.
"That's enough, Melrez." A familiar voice spoke in a cool but commanding tone. The man froze and immediately fell to his knee, bowing his head. "My lady," he said, his voice lost its playful callousness. He spoke with reverence. Was this some kind of cult? It would contextualize the ritualistic killings. "My apologies, your grace. I thought that since this was the last body, it was finally time." His head still faced the ground.
"I don't care what you thought." She said sharply, cutting him off. Could my profile have been off? The saint was a woman? I quieted my mind. The steps that came from the direction of the voice finally reached me. A familiar beige trench coat brushed past my shoulder. I looked up and it was… Murphy.
My eyes widened in shock, but that was about all I could do. I propped myself on my uninjured elbow, staring into Murphy's eyes, which only reflected a deep sadness. "This was my responsibility, Melrez. Mine alone." She said, turning to look at the man. She turned back to me, but both their forms began to blur. "Mur.. ph.." My lips attempted to form words, but there was no strength left in me. The film at the edge of my vision intensified as my mind drifted into nothingness.
And I was back in the void. This time, I had some kind of ethereal form. I turned in the direction of the ruined building. It appeared to be the remains of a castle hall. There were books strewn about near a low stone table in the middle. I attempted to move but only drifted listlessly in the direction I wanted to. Veins of blue light cascaded from behind the hall, coalescing into a fist-sized ball in front of me. A strange force tugged at me, drawing me into the mass. A white flash of light blinded me, and I was once again disturbed by sirens. They sounded more like a cry this time.
When my vision refocused, I was in the arms of a strange-robed woman. She had wheat blonde hair, and her face sagged. The crying seemed to be coming from me. My confusion only made the crying intensify as I observed my stubby arms and legs.
"You need to take the child and leave, Elise," the woman said. She placed me in the arms of another in the bed. A beautiful, dark-skinned woman with pearlescent hair, amethyst eyes, and sharp ears. Sweat dripped down the sides of her face. She almost looked like an elf. If I had to guess, I'd say she is the mother of this baby.