The River Killer

The Ritual of a Thousand Suns hit my desk with a thump. I lowered my cold coffee, and thumbed the stack of pages. ‘What’s this?’

Price was pacing. ‘Accessed one hour ago from public library servers, computer 34. Charlie - it’s his motive.’

I rose to stand in that airless room, our conversation witnessed by the eyes of twenty-three dead women and two men, their photographs pinned to the wall alongside case notes and interview transcripts. Hurriedly, I scanned the printed pages for any mention of a stone relic. ‘No, no - we’re tracking his home computer, his phone - his shift ends at 9…’

‘Swapped last minute,’ said Price. ‘Only flagged because he used his sixth victim’s library card. Charlie -’ He placed two open palms on my desk. ‘Computer 34 is by the window overlooking Arlington Heights.’

Price and I ran out of the station into the night.

The media had struggled to name this one, settling lately for the River Killer. A bogeyman, terrorising the city for months, he’d broken into homes and left messy scenes, seemingly at random. We narrowed in on some suspects, but let them all go. After another batch of killings we found new suspects and revisited old ones… but with little evidence, questionings were ham-fisted and we let him slip. He went quiet. We were praying for a break, if not a corpse... last week, it happened - it was botched and she fought, and his blood was smeared on a broken window. Matched a recurring suspect.

And that’s when things started to fit. This guy knew every single one of his victims - but at first, not so well. Connections were tenuous. But every batch of killings brought him closer. Like concentric rings, the killer was circling acquaintances, then friends, then his loved ones, picking them off one by one. The last had been his sister. His ex-wife lived in Arlington Heights.

It seemed ridiculous. But the killings may have been ritualistic - to appease something, some force. As the patrol car sped towards a situation where we didn’t yet know the outcome, I couldn’t help lock my eyes on the night sky lurking between the tall buildings and wonder what the hell kind of stone was worth killing everyone you loved.

Price held up two fingers and nodded at the team with the battering ram. He glanced at me and I braced, the hardened shell of armour pinching my side as I held up my gun.

‘Police! On the ground!’

The cheap door exploded inward, splintering across the hallway of the flat. We entered with disorienting noise, but we were too late. The ex-wife was on the ground, unresponsive, our prime suspect standing over her.

‘It didn’t work… it didn’t work!’ Babbling, a thread of drool fell on his shirt. ‘Why doesn’t it stop?’

Price screamed for him to drop on his knees. Pathetic, he complied, dropping what he had in his hands - a knife, and a stone.

‘No one left,’ he moaned. My shaking hands kept a gun trained on him as Price put his surrendered hands in cuffs and the other guys swept the flat. ‘All gone… I failed… I don’t love myself, how could I…? Why couldn’t I do it?’ His voice rose to a shriek, tugging at Price.

‘Call it self-preservation, you shit,’ Price muttered, and hauled him to his feet. I didn’t notice. My eyes were fixed on the stone. It was glowing, quietly, pulsing.

‘You…’ The River Killer saw me. ‘You can help! Listen to me - the only way to destroy it is to sacrifice everything you love! Everyone! Don’t touch it - I swear, I loved them! Write it down! I swear!’

‘Hey!’ Price was wrestling with him now. I snapped my attention back into the room, and reflexed my gun, stepping out of his path.

‘Do it!’ The River Killer screamed. ‘Destroy it! Kill me!’

He wrenched himself from Price’s grasp, and before anyone could stop him, he was nearly on me. I shot.

The bastard fell on top of me, on the carpet, five feet from his dead ex-wife. He didn’t move. Groaning, I pushed him off, and Price helped me to my feet.

‘That’s that,’ he muttered, over the gently babbling radios. ‘All that over a stone. They just get crazier.’

‘All his loved ones?’ I asked him, repeating a question from earlier.

Price fixed me with a sorry look. ‘From the till girl he fancied to his favourite bus driver,’ he said. ‘Including his sister and ex-wife. Guess the ritual’s complete.’

He clapped my shoulder and headed off to talk with another officer. Massaging my undoubtedly sprained wrist, I looked at the stone on the floor. It was shaking, vibrating, and then it was quiet and cold. Just a stone.

I stooped to pick it up. In my hand, it began glowing. I felt how powerful, how monstrous it was, the things it had seen. I knew I had to get rid of it. Quietly, it told me how.