Rose Killer

Chapter One: Friday night; Feb. 24, 2021

The night is young. Still have much, much killing to accomplish. My latest victims – been dead for exactly five minutes now – should get the police scrambling to their feet. But, like I said, the night is young. By the time I am done here, with this city Americans call Knoxville, TN, the FBI will be swarming all over this city to find me. Yet, I feel, I will get bored with them, and must move on. American police are not as fun as the police in the UK. Man, do they scramble to their feet fast.

:ROSE:

It's about midnight, and my shift is about to end. Why is it that I must patrol late at night, while the new hotshots get all the fun day shifts? I have been on the force since 1987 – which puts me on 33 years, going on 34 this October.

All of this is going on in John Pilots mind, as he gets a call that will alter the direction of his life, as he knows it.

"John, are you there?"

What? Was that the radio? John thinks to himself. No, it can't be. Can it?

"John, ARE YOU THERE?"

"Holy crap, it was!" John shouts out loud, and then thinks himself as an idiot.

"Roger, sorry. I, eh, was..."

"Forget it John, don't explain. Get yourself to Adair Park. There's been a killing. Looks like the Rose Killer is involved. And, as it seems, you're the only experienced detective available. The FBI is asking for exactly that: an experienced cop. They want you to look over things until they get here."

John ponders on this for a moment or two. He clicks his walky-talky and puts it to his mouth, then speaks. "Ehh, roger. When is the FBI comin', eh?"

"Should be about two days at max. They are still investigating the 20 murders he's already committed around the US. Homeland Security is busy enough with terrorists to help out, even though the CIA thinks he may be linked to several terrorists groups..."

At this time, John Pilot turns his police cruiser around, turn on his lights, and goes to Adair Park as fast as possible.

"So, basically," John interrupts," I am being called, and Lance Smith isn't. That about it?" Lance Smith is one of the new hot shots who solved a murder recently, and his favorite hobby is mocking John Pilot.

"Yep, that's about it. Now I'll let you get to the park. Shaun out."

"John out."

"Wohoo!" John screams for joy, as he zips past traffic, nearly wipe out some idiot who was stupid enough to run a red light. Normally John would pull this freak over, be as rude as possible for the heck of it, and then go on his way. But today is the idiot's lucky day. Tonight I fly to my freedom. Tonight I fly to my fame. John thought, as the idiot screeches to a halt. Maybe I should give him a ticket. A quick ticket. John quiets his mind as he thinks on this, then adds: Nope, tonight really is Mr. Stupid's night. Because I ride to freedom. My freedom. .

:ROSE:

"I wonder where that cop is headed?" Emily Green wonders, as she waits for the cop to rush past her gold '97 Ford Ranger. As she does so, she hears the cop scream on the top of his lungs, "Wohoo!" But that couldn't be right. Cops have dignity, pride, and honor. They wouldn't scream 'Wohoo', would they? "Well, where ever he's heading, he's going there in an hurry. He almost had a wreck with that guy down there. He must be a dummy. The dummy even slammed on his breaks after the cop had cleared the intersection..." Emily mumbles to herself.

Traffic started up again, and the dude behind Emily is going crazy with the horn. Maybe he should be a musician when he grows up. Emily starts to pull off the side of the road, but the future musician decided to zip right past her. Oh, looks like he is all grown up. Emily thinks to herself.

She gets back on the road, and speeds up to the speed limit: 40 miles per hour. By the time she gets into third gear, she is at the intersection were all the commotion happened. She glances at the dummy that has apparently turned around and seems to be waiting for his light. Interesting, he seems to be taking an interest in my truck. Wait, no, in me. Well, I am a pretty one, aren't I? Once she gets up to speed, she notices something weird: a black 2020 Kia Optima is on her rear end like a pervert would be with a woman's behind. This infuriates Emily, and she slow’s down.

Even weirder, this is the same idiot who ran that red light, and almost crashed into that nice policeman.

:ROSE:

Looks like I found my next victim. Maybe she won't be my next, she's too pretty. When she was staring at me back there, I saw her innocence, and that trustful gaze. Although she didn't trust me – of course not, I was the idiot who almost got into a car fight with a cop, yet I could see, in those sparkling blue eyes (yes, I can see those things a mile off if I had too), a general trust in people. The question is how should I crush it? How should I bring her to my knees, begging for her life? Oh well, not enough time to think about it tonight. The night is young, and I must kill. It's my calling, that Allah has called me to do, to kill all the infidels. Good thing too, for it's the funniest thing I have done since I murdered my own father.

:ROSE:

Finally that creep got off my tail, Emily thinks as she turns on her street. She starts counting to herself, "One...two...three...four...there! That's my house." She has to count the houses to her house, and not because she doesn't recognize her beautiful, big brick home. It's the only two story on the street. No, the reason is because it is a habit. She has tons of little weird habits that she just can't stop. She thinks it is rather annoying. Her loving, handsome husband thinks it is sexy, even cute at times. Boy, do I love my big, strong Jim. God really did bless me with him; I'm a lucky one.

When she walks into her house, with the dark and rather creepy hallway greeting her with that eerie feeling that she is being watched. You know that feeling. The feeling where you keep glancing over your shoulder to see if any one is there, and no one is there. Yea, that's the feeling she gets at night, when she comes in this hallway, coming home from work. And she hates it. So she sighs, skips past all that 'looking over your shoulder' junk, and walks to her bedroom. When she gets there, she is greeted with a little more of a 'welcome home' greeting: her husband on the bed, looking sexy, and awaiting his lovely Emily.

:ROSE:

Who should I kill? Where do the infidels hang? Can I find one alone? These are the things that wonder in my mind, the questions I thirst to find answers for. If no answers come, well, the night is not only young, but also it is dead as well.

Ah, my true next victim, walking the sidewalk. She's a pretty one, isn't she? Does she deserve to live? Not unless she's a servant of Allah, and, if she is, she deserves to die anyway. Showing too much skin. Man, do I hate America, I think as I gaze at this woman's chest. But how should I kill her? What is the worst possible way she can die? She really deserves it. As I ponder on this, I slow down, roll my window down, and ask if she is a prostitute. She smiles and says, "I'll be one for you. How much money do you have?" I ponder on what I should say.

"As much as you need, honey." Then I smile, and covey my eagerness to her. Though, I am positive she thinks I am eager for her service, but it is I who will give the service tonight. It is I who will be paid. Paid in pleasure, that is. The pleasure I get in slitting her neck. In cutting her eyes out, while her mouth is duck-taped. Heh, I have to keep the screams away, don't I?

:ROSE:

Man she was a feisty one, wasn't she? Wouldn't stop moving. I had to tie her up and everything. Heh, guess I have to do that with every victim I have, don't I? Oh well, it's fun either way. I laid her body at another park, didn't catch a name to that park, though. I laid it right on the playground, with a rose lightly taped on her forehead. A little more flashy then what I usually do, but hey, I want this to be a fun night, not a dead night. Knoxville will be screaming with agony by the time I am done here, oh yes. Now what should I do with this now dead girls pants and shirt, if that is indeed what you call these skimpy things. Looks more like underwear. American woman, all about showing and not hiding. They should conceal their bodies, but no: they flaunt it. I despise this place.

Time to find yet another victim, before the night fades into the light, and Allah creates yet another miracle: the rising of the sun.

:ROSE:

"Pilot, come over here. Now." John Pilot walks over to the cop named Frank Walker. He's a good cop, and he works with homicide. I am going to...Oh Jesus, help me God. John Pilot had indeed heard about the Rose Killer. How he is the most gruesome of killers since Jack the Ripper to walk the earth. But he wasn't prepared for this.

He saw a dead man on the ground, with blood all over him. The woman was hanging by her feet. Blood dripping from her mouth and from her belly - slits on her belly, making an upside down cross. The killer left her bra on, but her shirt is ripped and on the ground. She falls to the ground as Pilots eyes gazes over to her. It is horrid. No, that makes it sound like a kids story. It was the bloodiest crime scene he'd ever saw. But why did they think the Rose Killer did this? There is no.... Holy... A little girl was dead by the playground, with a rose in her mouth. There was a note on her forehead. Has anyone read it? John wondered.

"It's sick, I know. There was just a report that another girl is dead over on the west side of Knoxville. A rose taped to her forehead. Worst of all, she has no eyes. We don't know where her clothing is, and the same with her eyes. We are looking Detective." He called me 'Detective'...wait, how can I think that in a situation like this? John coughed to clear his throat.

"Alright Frank. Get this placed cleaned up by morning. Can you do that?

"Once we search for clues, maybe. But I think we should wait until mid-day. Close the park. Same with the other one. The guy had to left a clue somewhere. I don't buy the 'he's perfect' argument, he's human John."

"Yea, you’re right. I'll start looking for any clues." John Pilot said in a grim whisper. He couldn't do this. He thought he was riding to his fame, his freedom. But no, he was riding to hell on earth. Wait, no, he'd prefer hell over this place. And, as it seems, the Rose Killer thinks Knoxville is his playground. And it's time to play. All right, you son of a gun, this is my playground. And I say you can't play. But that wouldn't be enough, would it? I am going to catch this guy, and lock him up. Lock him up for good – for life. He deserves it. John leans over the dead girl, as a tear slips from his face. This may have been my little Suzy. He pauses. He forgot to put his gloves on. He reaches into his pocket, grabs his gloves, and puts them on. Now it's time to read this letter. Time to reveal its secrets. As John unfolded the letter, tears came more frequent. His eyes were hurting, but that pain was nothing compared to the pain his heart felt the moment his eyes laid upon the inside of the letter. John froze. And, another first (they just keep comin', don't they?), John is scared. For the letter threatened his family. His wife. A tear crossed his face, which was followed by a river of tears, as this next thought rushed into his mind: this maniac threatened his Suzy. David. His children. Now the Rose Killer truly is, a son of a gun.

:ROSE: The Letter:

The night is young. And Knoxville is indeed my playground tonight. And will be for the next couple of nights, maybe even weeks – but that's only if you are fun. Did you like my work of art I left you? I hope you did! I made it just for you . Are you ready to admire the rest of my work? For sure, the one you witnessed already must be my best, but I will surely out do it all within the coming days. So let's play, but be warned. All who play must suffer the consequence. For not you will pay with your life, but your family. The main detective who is working on this case, I will learn your name. I may already know it. For my eye is everywhere. So let’s play, if you dare. For you’re in for the time of your life. Your family? Well, as they say, it's a matter of history. Good day folks.