One by one,
The guilty fall,
As I fulfill my duty,
And answer the call.
This boy hating his life,
Shall find no comfort in death,
For awaiting him is Hellfire,
And the Devil's breath.
Because forsaken are those,
Who shun the light,
And do not believe,
In what is obviously right.
No pity shall be taken,
And it is hopeless,
For those caught in my wake,
I shall be MERCILESS.
THE VINDICATOR
Stan read and reread the poem multiple times, until it gave him a headache. It was now four o'clock in the morning, and Stan was looking over his crime scene photos. He was looking for anything out of the ordinary. Anything at all that seemed strange....besides the fact that this was a murder.
He read his copy of the first poem, and then looked at the photo of the boys with the sheet over them, then at the macabre scene that had haunted his dreams. The picture of the first victims, Jake Thomas and Sam Robinson, with a gaze of horror etched on their faces.
Stan felt his stomach tighten as he looked at this picture, and he struggled to contain his burning hatred for the killer. Then, as he looked at Jake, with his bruised face, he had a revelation.
"Jake was not the Vindicator's intended target," Stan said aloud, just above a whisper. "That explains the bruising on his face."
Stan arrived at the office at 7:30. There was a memo on his desk to report to Chief McFarlane's office as soon as he came in.
He walked toward the Chief's office.
"Morning, Davis. Sit," McFarlane said, and gestured toward the chair.
Stan did as he was told, and sat down in the chair opposite McFarlane's.
"I'd like to know why you felt the need to take John Richardson off of the Vindicator case?" McFarlane said angrily.
"As you know, I am heading up that investigation," Stan said. "Instead of notifying me immediately with the new information on this case, ho took it upon himself to take charge. He knowingly and willingly withheld this information based on an ignorant personal grudge."
McFarlane seemed to think over what Davis had just said. "Very well. But in the future, do not make such a decision without approval from me. You can leave now."
"Chief, last night I came up with a new theory on this case," Davis said. "I'd like for Brian Baker to be present while I explain it."
Chief McFarlane called Brian Baker into his office. Stan began to explain his theory.
"Last night, as I was looking at this photograph," he showed them the photo, "I began trying to figure out why the killer beat Jacob Thomas, and did not beat the other two victims."
"I came to the conclusion that the killer's intended victim was Samuel Robinson, and that Jacob Thomas was just a bonus."
"I made a very late-night call to the mother of Samuel Robinson, miss Ellen Robinson. I asked her if Sam had received any suspicious letters or parcels in the mail. It turns out that he had received an anonymous hate letter. Robert Jamison had received an identical letter, but Jacob Thomas had not."
"But why did he beat Jake so savagely?" Brian asked. "Couldn't he have just killed him and left it at that?"
"I had that very same question," Stan replied. "What I came up with was that the killer was trying to make a statement that no one was safe around his victims."
McFarlane didn't look convinced. "That's a little far-fetched."
"Consider the poem that he left at Robert Jamison's body," Stan said. "He said, `It is hopeless, for those caught in my wake, I shall be merciless.' Jacob Thomas was simply caught in his wake.
When the doctor finally decided to let me go home, I couldn't have been more relieved. I had begun to feel like a permanent resident at the hospital. However, I was dreading seeing my father.
As my mother and I were driving home, she said, "So, Michael, now will you tell me what really happened to you?"
I was a little shocked by this question. I hadn't prepared myself for it.
"I told you, I fell off the attic ladder," I said.
"Come on, Michael, I'm not stupid," she said. "The ladder was still up when I got home. And besides, you don't get a black eye, two broken ribs, and a dislocated shoulder from falling down. Who did this to you?" she demanded.
I began to cry. I so desperately wanted to tell her the truth, but I was deathly afraid of what my father might do. Finally, I broke down and told her the truth.
"It was dad. He was drunk when I got home from Dave's house." She remained silent, but looked very angry. I looked out the window, and realized that we had passed our street.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my words barely audible.
"To your friend Dave's house. I am going to ask his mother if you can stay there, and I'll call the police," she replied. I was relieved that I didn't have to face my father.
When we arrived at the Wilson's house, my mother wasted no time and explained the situation to Dave's parents. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were both horrified, and agreed to let me stay.
My mother and Dave's parents then engaged in a long, boring discussion, so Dave, Josh, and I went into another room.
As soon as we entered, Josh threw his arms around me and started lightly crying. "I'm so sorry, I wish I could've been there," he said.
I wiped a tear from his cheek and said, "Look, Josh, what happened is already in the past. No one can change it now. You cannot blame yourself for someone else's actions."
"Sorry to break up this Kodak moment, but have you decided whether or not you're going to go to Jake Thomas' funeral tomorrow? Whatever you decide, we'll be there for you," Dave said.
I replied, "Yeah, I'll be there. It just wouldn't feel right if I didn't go."
"Well, in the meantime, how about we go see a movie tonight?" Josh asked. Dave and I agreed, and after much persuading our parents, they decided it couldn't hurt to let us go.
thats it for chapter 7. lol. please e-mail me with any comments