By Brett Matthew West
He was going to commit murder...again. Nothing pleased him more.
It did not matter which of the three subspecies of the two-legged variety he encountered. Man, woman, or child. He had killed them all before. Leaving a long trail of blood in his wake.
The best part of his diabolical plot, as he saw it any way, was no one even suspected he could be the villain. But, he was. And had been. For a long time. The face that runs the place. At least, that's how he fancied himself.
From Baton Rouge, to Seattle, east to Buffalo, and then in Chicago. Wherever the circus travelled. He was an equal opportunity killer. Now he was back in Portland, Oregon. Where it all began. Biding his time. Waiting to strike. And he would. Soon.
The phone rang three times in the home of Detective Wyatt Holt before the lawman answered the call. He hoped the noise would not startle his sleeping baby. The boy, Tyler Holt, was in an uphill battle. Fighting Meningitis, and losing the war.
"Miss me?" the familiar voice tauntingly asked.
Wyatt Holt was in no mood for small talk. Especially with the sinister monster he hunted. Or, perhaps better stated, was being stalked by. He was not sure which event was occurring more often. What he really desired was to catch the madman before he could strike down any more victims. Somehow, the killer seemed to stay one step ahead of him.
Detective Holt did not immediately respond to the question he was asked. This angered the caller, who warned him, "Tonight I will leave you another calling card!"
"Talk to me. What do you want?" Holt asked his adversary. The killer's message was the last thing he needed to hear.
Like all the other calls before, in an instant stone cold silence eerily came on the line after these few words were exchanged. Detective Holt slammed the receiver down hard on his house phone. It had been a particularly long and grueling day. Most of them were. He also knew every time he received one of these off-the-wall telephone calls another case soon followed. When it came to murder the killer always kept his promises.
Knowing the call could not be traced, Detective Holt tossed the bills he'd extracted out of his mailbox upon arriving home that evening onto the kitchen table. He would attend to them later. Snatching an ice cold beer off the bottom shelf of the Frigidaire, Holt headed into his workroom in the rear of his small A-Frame house. A stack of manila folders were scattered on top of a mahogany desk in the far corner of the room.
Joining them were gruesome photographs of the four most recent victims attributed to the unknown assassin he pursued. They consisted of what was left of two males in their mid-forties. One Black. One White. There was also a twenty-something redheaded hooker and a pimple-faced teenager.
The MO's were the same. After being slaughtered each of them suffered various mutilations. And lost an assortment of body parts. Claimed trophies of the kills: fingers, toes, ears, and in the hooker's case, feet.
Led by Detective Holt, a Special Task Force was assigned to the case by Mayor Joseph Carradine. The menagerie of law enforcement officers labored non-stop around the clock to connect the pieces of the puzzle together. So far more unanswered questions remained than had been resolved.
Never had The City of Roses experienced a crime spree as intense as the one that gripped it now. Or a more massive manhunt. It seemed no one was immune from the threat haunting the city. Settling down onto his black leather, high-back chair, Detective Holt picked up a folder he had studied several times before. Something caught his eye. Had he found the missing link?
| Author Notes |
This is the story so many FanStorians have asked me to tell.
I now present it to you in full living color. Mr. Creepy, by MaryCathlene, chosen to compliment my story. So, thanks MaryCathlene, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Mark Bannister watched Detective Holt's house from a safe distance in the middle of the darkened street. Through his high-powered binoculars he saw a light on in a rear room of the structure. Many times Bannister had observed the Detective's home. He knew lots of things about what occurred there.
Bannister remembered how good of friends he and Holt were when they were young boys. As well as the escapades they shared. They had been best friends through the good times and the bad. Until the fateful day of their high school State Championship baseball game. That changed everything.
Slotted to be the starting pitcher for his team, Mark Bannister was completely wound up the night before the big game. Finally, a dream had come true for him. Then, just before the game began, his bubble burst.
Coach Meathead, as Bannister has since called him, inserted Wyatt Holt as the starting pitcher instead. Why? That fiery question has haunted Mark Bannister since the day of the game.
"Because Wyatt has a much better curveball than you do, Mark," Bannister remembered Coach Meathead telling him. The words were burned into his brain forever. He would never forget them.
The coach's decision shattered the friendship Mark Bannister and Wyatt Holt shared. Tired of playing Second Banana, Mark Bannister turned away from Wyatt Holt. Even though their team won the game. Bannister wrote that off as so much collateral damage.
Then life left him behind. Now approaching thirty, all Bannister cared about was playing video games. Particularly Mobile Strike and Game Of Thrones. Occasionally he worked as a Freelance Writer for the Portland Gazette. Mostly he watched Wyatt Holt. And plotted.
Sitting in his rusted-out VW, Bannister wondered what Detective Holt was doing? Should he bust through the door of the house? His snub-nosed .45 in hand. Blasting away! Like he wanted to. Or should he wait?
Mark Bannister had plans. Big plans that would rock Downtown Portland. And, give Wyatt Holt plenty to think about.
Bannister had learned a few tricks since his high school days. Ones that took him ten years to perfect. But, he was good at them. Real good. With the help of his prized collection of disguises, Mark Bannister could be anybody he wanted to be. Any time he wanted to. He also taught himself to speak in four different voices.
Detective Holt did not know about Bannister's special talents. He had not even crossed paths with him for a dozen years or more. However, the good Detective would soon find out all about Mark Bannister's dirty little secrets.
Oh, and there was one other thing Detective Holt did not know about either. Earlier that evening, Mark Bannister had struck a match. He really liked things that went KER-BOOM!
In his workroom, Detective Holt picked up the black and silver remote control. Rummaging through the channels he stopped on Batman Versus Superman: Dawn Of Justice. The movie starred Ben Affleck and Henry Cavill in the title roles.
Tossing the remote back down on the top of his desk, Detective Holt picked up a manila folder. He was researching details about The Phoenix. That was the code name the Police Task Force dubbed the madman they pursued. Given because he always seemed to be rising.
Suddenly, a live cut-in appeared on the television screen interrupting the movie Detective Holt tuned in. The noise broke his concentration from the file he was reading.
Channel KPOR Anchorman, Rod Gabon, grimly appeared on the screen solemnly saying, "We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming for this special news report."
The announcement grabbed Detective Holt's attention and Gabon continued speaking, "Police are reporting three employees of Portland's oldest paper mill died tonight when a fire ravaged a store room containing several flammable liquids and assorted paper products."
Gabon drew a deep breath. He continued his report with, "The fire rapidly spread through an elevator shaft and consumed a car with three workers trapped inside. The confirmed dead include Miranda Simmons, the Night Manager of the unit. Alison Carmichael, and Leslie Alexander, two long time employees of the company, also perished in the blaze."
Detective Holt downed the last contents of the drink in his glass. Then heard Gabon add what he already suspected.
"Fire Captain Darius Robbins confirms the fire that claimed the lives of these three women was arson. He went on to say that it is also quite possibly the work of the terrorist stalking our fair city."
Pausing briefly to catch his breath, he completed his news flash with, "This has been Anchorman Rod Gabon reporting from our KPOR studios. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming."
Mark Bannister watched Detective Holt rise from his chair. He knew where Holt was going and could almost hear the lawman ask himself, "What will this madman do next?"
Bannister thought to himself, "You ain't seen nothing yet, Dweeb-Face!"
Another long night awaited the Detective. With the Phoenix on the loose they occurred regularly. The notion brought a smile to Bannister's face. He knew this fire was only a dress rehearsal for the major event he planned.
The question remained: did he have the cojones to pull off the caper?
| Author Notes |
With friends like Mark Bannister who needs enemies?
This is the story so many FanStorians have asked me to write. I present it to you now in living color. Mr. Creepy, by MaryCathlene, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks MaryCathlene, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
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