January 1st, 1992

Detective Anderson slammed the case file shut and rubbed his eyes. Ten deaths over the past decade, all young women with similar profiles. It was too systematic to be a coincidence.

He called out to his partner, “Martin, get in here!”

Martin walked into the room. “What is it, boss?”

“Come look at this.” Anderson shoved the case file across the table. “Ten victims, all fitting the same mold. We’ve got a serial killer on our hands.”

Martin opened the file and started flipping through the pages, his brow furrowing deeper with each face. “Jesus, this is depraved. But why haven’t we made connections before now?”

“There wasn’t anything obvious linking the cases. Different detectives worked each one as they happened years apart. But something told me to take another look at the cold files.”

“Well, at least now we can pool our resources to find this sicko before he strikes again,” Martin rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “Any leads in the file that jump out at you?”

“A few possibilities.” Anderson’s brow furrowed as he scanned the notes. “Three of the victims had an ex-boyfriend named Derek Everest in common. Says here he dated Emily Hayley in 1990, Amelia Kent in 1981, and Natalia Martinez in 1982. All three ended things, according to their friends and family. Could be our guy.”

Martin nodded. “Worth looking into at least. Where can we find this Derek Everest guy?”

Anderson riffled through some notes he had jotted down earlier. “Last known address was an apartment on 5th street. Let’s go catch that bastard!"

The detectives arrived at the apartment building and climbed the creaky stairs to the third floor. Anderson knocked on the peeling red door of apartment 3B.

After a moment, the door opened a crack, revealing a sliver of a young man’s face. “What do you want?”

“Derek Everest?” Anderson inquired.

Martin flashed his badge. “We need to ask you a few questions about some previous relationships of yours. Can we come in?”

Derek hesitated, eyes darting between the detectives. “I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I? Come on in then.”

He opened the door wider to reveal a furnished apartment. Anderson noticed photos of several young women on the mantle and a chill went down his spine.

“Nice place you have.” Martin scanned the room. His eyes fell on the photos. “Friends of yours?”

Derek followed Martin’s gaze and shifted. “Oh, those were old girlfriends,” he reacted with a nervous chuckle. “Old flings, I guess.”

“Three women are dead,” Anderson added. “Emily Hayley, Amelia Kent, Natalia Martinez. You dated all of them, is that right?”

Derek paled. “Y-yes, but I had nothing to do with what happened to them, I swear!”

“Funny how none of your exes seem to be alive anymore,” Martin pressed. “Where were you two years ago when Emily died? And in 1981, 1982?”

“I—I don’t actually remember exactly where I was. It was so long ago.”

Martin leaned forward intimidatingly. “Try harder to remember, Derek. Three of your ex-girlfriends turn up dead and you can’t recall where you were? That’s quite a coincidence.”

Derek ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I know how it must look, but I swear I didn’t kill them!” His eyes swelled with tears. “Emily... she was so beautiful. We had a fight at her place near the lake. Things got heated...”

“What are you saying, Derek?” Anderson prompted sternly.

Derek hesitated, taking a shaky breath. Then a strange smile spread across his face. “It’s all a joke, of course!” he said with a high-pitched laugh.

Martin and Anderson exchanged worried looks. “This isn’t a joke, Derek. Three women are dead,” said Martin firmly.

“Oh, I know. Terrible business.” Derek’s smile didn’t falter. “But my part in it... that’s the joke! You see, during our fight, Amelia screamed and slit her neck with my knife. It was an accident, I swear. But then an idea came to me...”

He giggled maniacally. “What if I started killing all my ex-girlfriends? A real knee-slapper! So, I helped Emily and Natalia to the afterlife, just to watch them face death head-on!”

Martin’s jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the arm of his chair. “You’re telling us you murdered these women... as a joke?”

“Well, not just a joke,” Derek said, his voice taking on a disturbingly calm tone. “It’s art, really. Like a grand performance. I wanted to see if I could get away with it, you know? And I did. For years.”

The room fell silent as Derek’s eerie laughter hung in the air. Martin’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenching tighter, ready to pounce on the man he now knew to be a cold-blooded killer. But Anderson held up a hand, signaling for him to hold back.

“You’re confessing to murder, Derek. Multiple counts,” Anderson said, his voice like steel. “We’re taking you into custody.”

Derek’s smile faltered for a moment, but then he shook his head, sending his dark hair flailing. “Oh, you don’t get it, do you? I’m not confessing. I’m just having a bit of fun. See, the real joke is on you two.”

Anderson felt his blood boil. He had dealt with murderers before, but something about Derek’s casual demeanor and twisted sense of humor set his teeth on edge. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tightening. “We’ll see about that, Everest.”

As if on cue, the room’s temperature dropped several degrees, and a chill ran down the detectives’ spines. Derek’s eyes widened, his laughter cutting off abruptly. “W-what was that?”

Martin glanced around, his hand unconsciously reaching for his holster. “I don’t know, but it felt like...”

A figure stepped out from the corner of the room, startling the two men. Tall and hooded, its face remained shrouded in the shadows of its cowl. In its skeletal hands, a scythe appeared, the ominous sound of metal scraping against metal echoing through the space.

Derek’s eyes gleamed with a sinister delight. “Well, if it isn’t my old friend, Reaper. Come to collect me, have you?” He cackled, a sound that sent shivers down the detectives’ spines.

Anderson and Martin exchanged bewildered glances, unsure if they were witnessing a twisted game or something far more supernatural.

The hooded figure took a menacing step forward, its scythe glinting under the dim light. “You’ve led quite the life, Derek Everest. Ten deaths on your hands, and you dare to call it art?” The deep, raspy voice seemed to echo from within the hood, as if the darkness itself was speaking.

“Oh, come now, Reaper,” Derek sneered, his eyes glinting with madness. “You know as well as I do that art is subjective. Some might call it a masterpiece.”

“A masterpiece, you say?” The Reaper’s voice was like the scraping of rusted metal, each word a painful rasp. “But you’ve provided quite the spectacle. I wonder, will your last act be as grand?”

Derek’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of madness and delight. “You’ll just have to stick around and see, won’t you, old friend?”

As the Reaper’s words hung in the air, Derek’s laughter echoed through the apartment, sending a chill down the detectives’ spines. Anderson and Martin exchanged glances, their instincts screaming that something was terribly wrong.

“Let’s get out of here,” Anderson said, his voice steady despite the unease creeping up his spine. “This guy is more than we bargained for.”

The detectives turned to leave, but Derek’s voice stopped them in their tracks. “Oh, you’re not going anywhere. Not until I’ve finished my masterpiece.”

Before they could react, the room plunged into darkness. An icy wind whipped around them, carrying an otherworldly chill. Martin fumbled for his flashlight, clicking it on to reveal a terrifying sight.

The Reaper stood behind them, its scythe raised high, the blade gleaming with an unearthly light. Derek, no longer cackling, stood beside the hooded figure, his eyes ablaze.

<To be continued>