Ansel Madik. White male of 158 lbs, height 5’9, slim fit. Cut on lip and slight acne scarring on cheeks. Victims: Three women, all aged early twenties. Two victims show signs of PTSD, the last has moved on and married. 

I placed the file down and picked up the scalpel. The muffled voice of Ansel stirring something within… or below? I turned to the cold steel table and tapped my fingers against the side as I looked into his widened blue eyes. I trailed the dull end of the scalpel down his collar bone to his bare nipples and watched him squirm. He screamed from behind the taped gauze, they all screamed but he was softer and less threatening. I dipped the scalpel into his iliac furrow and made a small incision. He jerked to the side and the flesh tugged at the blade and tore open. Blood dripped onto the table and mixed with the blood that had dried there just moments before.

“Oh my. What have you done now?” I clicked my tongue and his eyes welled in tears. “I wouldn’t start that up again. You know what happened last time you cried and I’ve already been finished off today. I never double dip.” He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw as the blade sliced open the adjacent side. Ripples of laughter burst from my lungs as the blood spilled on the table. Sweat formed at his brow before they straining muscles softened and all life escaped him. “Well, that wasn’t as nearly as fun as the one before. Lets see who is next?” I smiled and lifted the binder in search of the next victim.