Monday, June 12, 2017


It was a dark and stormy night in the police department with the rain pouring hard outside and the streets barely lit by light poles. Senior Inspector Danny Bluecher stood alongside Chief Inspector James Anders as they faced a table littered with pictures of faces and opened notebooks.

The pair had their eyes fixed towards a certain piece of paper.

Danny traced a finger along one of the lines then said, “Says that his time is come, so he’s gonna surrender then?”

James rustled the thick salt-and-pepper bush on his jaw as he silently read the other lines of the song. The paper contained the handwritten lyrics to a certain song, delivered to the police station last Saturday. It was inside a small cardboard box covered with a pale red wrapping paper. One of the cops got his nose too close to the paper and realized that the whitish crimson wrap was actually caked in dried blood.

Then the carnage started.

The Sunday morning shoppers were greeted by the sight of a homeless boy’s body at the market. He was set on a kneeling position atop a stack of wooden boxes, eyes gouged out and body propped to make it look up to the sky. The boy’s elevation ensured that the wind rustled his long hair in all directions.

The next day a man was found dead in front of a birthing home, shot execution style with a single bullet to the head. Several pregnant mothers whose beds were right next to the windows were unfortunate enough to see the body in the middle of the street, and they were obviously shaken and in tears.

James disproved Danny by moving his finger to the next part, "He doesn't want to die, and besides he doesn't follow the song in order. Remember the clown whose corpse was strung up to look like he's doing the fandango?"

A bright jagged lance of lightning illuminated the dark streets outside the window. After a growl of thunder another bolt struck a nearby power line, cutting off the building’s electricity as bright sparks shoot out of the damaged utility pole.

"Damn thunder and lightning," Danny said as he wiped a bead of sweat from his cheek, visibly shaken by the display of meteorological phenomena.

James fished out a pen light from his pocket and pointed it at the lyrics. The darkness was more of a boon than an impediment to their work. He cleared his throat as he pressed an index finger hard against the paper.

"So, about that priest in our basement? One more ‘let me go’ and I’ll slit his throat ear to ear.”

Danny’s eyes were still wide in fear as he shook his head and protested, “Be patient. We’re almost at the end of the song. And no we will not be slitting his throat, I already have a good set of stones for him remember?”


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