Chapter 1: Red Stained Water
“ He struck again.”
“He” is actually a woman but of course.
“The victim was stabbed once in both kidneys”
And was given poison in case the dagger ceased to do the job..
“But he left footprints, red to be exact”
Strange, I don’t recall it being that messy…
“Are you up for the case detective?”
“Yes sir.” Finding myself would be easy.
September 15th, 1986
It’s been roughly 35 days since I killed that girl and as I always have, I continued my role as detective. Staying seamlessly innocent was one of my specialties and perfection is one of my top priorities. Anne Cassidy, Age 25. She was one of the chief editors for the newspaper at a small rundown workhouse near 56th street. Cassidy came by the office regularly because “things″ kept happening to her. She saw things. Unexplainable things. The causes of these unexplainable things remain unknown but we call it Schizophrenic disorder.
Cassidy told me about her travels. She had been moving from place to place for what had now been 7 years. We met at the local coffee shop every Saturday just to discuss how she was doing. She was nothing less than suspicious of me at first, I was distanced, closed off. I realized that no one would find interest in a shell of a human being with only stories to fill the silence. I started smiling, nodding and showing signs of engagement. That’s what she wanted. I wanted to make her happy, and maybe at the very least, bring her some sense of comfort in her life. She was a shot of espresso. A battery I could never let die. Ironic, isn’t it? But, with time, even the cruelest of people can feel like a home to you, a distant memory of something you once longed for, maybe nothing more than a haze from a life you once lived. I was Cassidy’s home, her distant memory, I was what she longed for.
We grew close, she constantly hung out around me and would give me small trinkets from time to time. Mostly things like sweets, boxes of tea, and sometimes jewelry, like lockets and rings.
She was constantly asking about my schedule as if she knew what I had been up to. Her curiosity continued to grow the more she asked me questions. As they say, curiosity killed the cat. Of course, her being near me also had its drawbacks and for some time I was a prime suspect in Cassidy’s murder. Afterwards, I believed that wasn’t a wise option if I wanted the police to take me off the suspect list. It wasn’t until October 23 that the police offered me a part in the investigation.
