Prologue
Copying is an art that very few have mastered. It requires a certain precision, the eye to catch fine details and to be able to reproduce the details as such. Without a mistake.
There was one such, who wanted to recreate things their own way. Who wanted it to be just like before, just like how it was the first time around. Every nook and cranny would be the same, no scope of error.
Someone who weren’t in their right minds, but were in their right minds.
Someone who had finally mastered the art...
They had struck again.
Who was it?
Nobody knew, but it was someone. Someone foul enough to glorify themselves by taking away innocent lives. By making a show out of these innocent lives.
The Copycat, they were called, whoever they were.
The person started at the young woman across from their table. She was busy cleaning another one, immersed in the songs playing on her earphones. The persons heart soared, a newfound happiness flooded them.
The search was finally over. They had found their victim. She was perfect, with her lush brown, short and curly hair. A beautiful blush coated her soft skin, a slight tan was visible where her neck met with the collarbone. She was shorter than the person observing her, 5′4". A near perfect.
“Yes. She will do.”
The young woman hadn’t lived her life yet, gone too soon as they say. Her beautiful face marred with scars, her beautiful brown hair spread out, framing that face. Her pale body discarded like it meant nothing, as though it were a piece of trash. Severed at the waist with a surgical precision, every last drop of blood drained out from her system.
The naked body of Olivia Smith lay there on the cold, hard ground of an empty lot near Ridgewood Ave, Los Angeles. Her hands positioned above her head, bent at the elbows and her legs were spread apart.
A chilling smile was carved on her face, the knife had created a path on the flesh from all the way beneath her ears to the edges of her lush lips.
She looked just like the other one had, all those years ago. Like a pale discarded store mannequin. Discovered just like the one before, by a passerby on a morning walk.
She looked just like Elizabeth short, the Black Dahlia. And she was lost just like her.
Olivia, a waitress at a local diner and a UCLA student had lost her life that day. But the world had lost a bit of humanity that day as well.
Her striking hazel eyes would never see the light again, her voice would never be heard on campus again and her loss would remain in the lives of people forever.
It was crazy just how accurate the copycat had been. She resembled Elizabeth, was a waitress just like she had been prior to her death. Her body found in an abandoned lot, mutilated just like her’s was.
It had a horrifying beauty of it’s own of some sorts. For the Copycat at least.
They felt like the proud creator of a masterpiece.
The Copycat had started a game, a lethal one at that too, with no intentions of stopping anytime soon.
