Estimated reading time — 15 minutes

I stood in the ice-cold morgue, looking down at the butcher’s latest victim. Her naked body lay upon the metal gurney, her appalling wounds clearly visible – evidence of the horrendous torture she’d suffered before her brutal murder.

My partner Mike stood by my side, barely controlling his emotion as he read the coroner’s report aloud, going through the victim’s long list of injuries.

“Teeth extracted – five in total, pulled out one-by-one with plyers. Three digits removed from her left hand. Half her tongue has been cut out. Numerous cuts and burns across her body. Internal haemorrhaging too. The cause of death wasn’t from any one of these injuries however. Her life was ended by lethal poison injected into her veins. They’ve sent a sample away for testing to identify the substance used.”

I looked over the body in closer detail, trying hard to hold my stomach as I took in the sheer horror. I could imagine the young woman’s terror and pain during her final hours of life…the agony she must have felt with every fresh cut from her psychotic captor.

My blood boiled at this latest atrocity. It would be easy to disassociate from the victim. In here she was just a slab of dead meat, the soul having exited its flesh prison. But this young lady had been a real person – she’d had a life, passions, loved ones, and dreams…but all this was so cruelly snuffed out by an act of unspeakable evil.

“What was her name?” I muttered solemnly, as I focused upon her now shut eyes.

“Emily Grant.” Mike replied with a barely suppressed emotion, “A twenty-year-old student nurse from the west side. She was reported missing by her roommate three days ago. They found the body dumped in woodlands five miles out of town. An anonymous tip led local police to the location.”

Mike cast me a suspicious look which I did my best to ignore. I knew the last part already, since I was the one who’d made the call, confidentially from a payphone without CCTV coverage. But no-one could know this…not even Mike, who I’d known since the academy and trusted with my life. Not even he would understand how the knowledge of the body’s location had come to me, and I couldn’t reveal the truth without bringing unwanted scrutiny.

“So, victim number six then?” I stated, as I looked my partner in the eye.

“Six that we know of.” Mike answered whilst shaking his head.

“They found the note with the body?” I asked cautiously, even though I already knew the answer.

“Yes.” Mike confirmed, “The same note as the last five, and the same phrase – ‘For the Greater Good’. This sick bastard! Does he really thing he’s fooling anyone?”

I looked away from the corpse, focussing on the clock adorning the tiled wall of the sterile morgue.

“I don’t know.” I said thoughtfully, “I think he actually believes what he’s doing is necessary.”
Mike rolled his eyes in frustration.

“Oh, come on Annie!” he exclaimed, “Are we really going to have this conversation again?”
“What?” I replied defensively whilst turning my head to face him.

“You know.” Mike answered, “This is the part when you tell me he isn’t your usual ‘garden variety’ serial killer? That his motive isn’t sexual…”

I sighed and shook my head. This was indeed a familiar argument between Mike and I – one we’d been having ever since we’d been assigned the case. I had better information than he had of course, but this was more than I could reveal.

“None of the victims showed any signs of sexual violation.” I reiterated, “No trace of semen has been found on any of the bodies. And he doesn’t keep trophies from the victims. Even the body parts he cuts off are left with the corpses when they’re dumped.”

“Yes, I know all this.” Mike replied, “But the profilers say…”

“I don’t care what the damn profilers say!” I interjected angrily, as the pent-up frustration got the better of me. “They’re all wrong about this guy. Nothing about this bastard fits! Just look at the victims – three male, three female. All from different races and social classes. There’s nothing that links them.”

“Nothing except that they were all kidnapped, tortured, and butchered by a psychopath.” Mike added flippantly.

“Well, that’s another thing.” I stated, “All the victims were killed brutally – but never in the same way. The method of torture changes every time, and so does the coup de grace. Travis and Matthews were shot, Sanchez and Kane were strangled to death, Ali’s throat was cut, and now this girl…”

I pointed down at Emily’s mangled body. “A homemade lethal injection? It makes no sense.”
“He’s changing his MO with each murder.” Mike stated without much conviction, “It’s a strategy to try to avoid detection.”

“Then why leave the notes?” I interrupted, “We haven’t revealed that detail to the press, which rules out copycats. The notes prove he wants us to know it’s him.”

Mike nodded his head in agreement. “Sure. I guess he must be trying to assuage his guilt. You might be onto something though. Perhaps he really believes he’s doing this for some greater cause. I guess it just proves how sick and delusional the son-of-a-bitch really is.”

“Maybe.” I answered thoughtfully, “But I think there’s something deeper to this case. A piece that we’re missing.”

“Oh yes.” Mike said sarcastically, a sly glint in his eye as he shot me a look. “So, it’s all a vast conspiracy huh? What makes you think that?”

I could have kicked myself, because once again I’d revealed too much. Mike surely knew I was hiding something from him, but I had to keep up the pretence.

“I don’t know. It’s just a hunch.” I answered.

Mike laughed at this. “Ah…one of Annie’s famous hunches! With all your insight and wisdom, I’m surprised we haven’t caught the killer already.”

I took the facetious comment in the good humour it was meant, slapping Mike playfully on the back as I drew the morbid conversation to a close.

“Don’t worry partner. We’ll get this asshole! We have to…for Emily and the others.”

We both took one last mournful glance at the young woman’s mutilated body, using our shared anger as fuel whilst we silently vowed to end the butcher’s reign of terror.

The remainder of our long workday was emotionally draining and ultimately frustrating. Mike and I interviewed multiple witnesses, none of whom were able to give us any useful information. Speaking with the victim’s family and friends was always the toughest. As the lead investigator, you have no choice but to confront their shock, raw grief, and anger. But the worse thing was that we had no answers for Emily’s devastated parents and were no closer to delivering the killer to justice.

Mike and I parted ways that night, despondent but not defeated as we arranged to meet the next morning to continue our investigation. I don’t know what Mike did once he went off duty. Maybe he hit the bars and chased after women. If so, I couldn’t blame him. Our job wasn’t easy, and a man needed some way to blow off steam.

But there would be no relief for me on that night. Because, after I drifted off to sleep, the real work would begin.

The purpose of this account isn’t to tell my life story. This isn’t about me – it’s bigger than me. But the special abilities I was born with are the reason I am where I am today.
I became aware of said abilities shortly after puberty. It was then that I realised I could connect with people in a way others couldn’t. And my dreams…they had deeper meaning – showing me events and places I shouldn’t have known about.

The psychiatrist I went to during my teenage years didn’t believe in my abilities. He said I just had an enhanced level of empathy, and that’s why I could read people’s hidden pain and detect their darkest secrets. I knew this wasn’t the case however.

No-one could understand my power and so I vowed to keep it a secret. Nevertheless, these psychic abilities have shaped my adult life. My choice of a career in law enforcement was an obvious one. My visions and dreams…they’ve shown me the best and the worst of humanity. I’ve seen and experienced the pain of victims and looked into the twisted minds of vicious predators. My goal is to stop evil wherever I can.

But the butcher we were chasing was a killer like no other. Because I knew he was like me. That is to say, he shared my psychic abilities. And his power was strong, because he’d been able to penetrate my sub-conscious and invade my dreams.

The killer controlled what I see through the telepathic link he’d established. I witnessed horrifying violence in my nightmares. But it was all a blur. I had glimpses of the killer etched into my memory, but never enough to identify him.

One thing he did give me was the bodies. I saw the burial sites in my dreams and obtained the details necessary to locate them. But I couldn’t go directly to my superiors. I couldn’t even tell Mike. How could I explain it?

And so I’d taken to calling in anonymous tips with the body locations. These actions put me at risk of course, but I couldn’t live with myself if the victims weren’t brought home. At least then the families could achieve closure.

But of course, it wasn’t enough. All I could recall from my blurred nightmares were flashes of violence, cold bodies buried in shallow graves, and a faceless killer who repeated the same phrase over and over…Judge me not Annie. I do this for the greater good.

But, after Emily’s murder, I’d had enough. When I went to sleep that evening, I was determined to use all my mental powers to break through the killer’s walls and discover the truth of his identity. Although, as it happened, I didn’t have to fight very hard, because this was the night when the butcher let me in.

Once I entered the dreamscape, I was instantly dropped into an unfamiliar and frightening place…one which I’d never visited before and hope to never see again.

I would describe the nightmarish environment as a labyrinth – a network of subterranean tunnels which I was forced to transverse, guided by a dim light illuminating my path through unspeakable horrors.

My senses were alert, and even in this dream state I could smell the stench of death, feel the sticky and uncomfortable heat, and hear the bloodcurdling screams echoing down the dark tunnels. I’ d never experienced a nightmare so vivid and could only assume this hellscape was the product of the butcher’s twisted mind.

He wanted me to see all this…wanted me to follow the lights down to the end of the tunnel. I dreaded what awaited me but couldn’t turn back. I needed to know the truth and so I walked forward through the narrow passages, ignoring the distant screams and foul smell as I approached an entryway illuminated by burning torches.

What I found inside was a literal chamber of horrors. The rocky walls were covered in blood and the cave floor littered with body parts. The stench of death was nearly overwhelming and the heat was close to unbearable. But I pushed on, hiding my disgust as I approached the stone altar at the centre of the chamber, where a dark figure stood over a fresh corpse, carefully applying his bloody trade as he cut into flesh with a scalpel.

The butcher surely knew I was standing behind him, but he feigned surprise when he turned around to face me. I didn’t need to act surprised however. This was the first time I’d seen the butcher’s face, and what I couldn’t believe was how normal he looked.

He was a clean-cut man in his thirties; his black hair short and slicked back, his white teeth perfect as he smiled, and his blue eyes sharp and focussed…intense, but a far way from madness.

I suppose I should’ve known. I’d built up this image in my mind – one of a monster…a demon from the pits of hell. But, despite his unusual abilities and proclivity towards violence, the butcher was just a man.

There were some theatrics to his welcome, his eyes lighting up as he greeted me with a mocking bow.

“Ah! The famous Agent Annie. So glad you were able to come. Please make yourself at home.”

I scoffed, looking the killer over and noting the blood splattered apron he wore over his suit.
“Nice place.” I said sarcastically.

“Thank you.” he replied whilst keeping up the act, “All this…it’s not real of course. All the product of my imagination. Not in everyone’s taste, but my work has taken me to some dark places.”

He laid his knife down beside the body, wiping his bloody hands on his sleeve. I swallowed my fear as I spoke my next words.

“So, you know my name. Are you going to tell me yours?”

The butcher lowered his head and broke eye contact. “I think its best I don’t, for now.”

I scowled, wishing I had my sidearm…or indeed, any physical agency in this dreamscape. All I had was my wits and my voice.

“I don’t get it.” I said, closely watching the butcher’s every move. “You’ve brought me here. Let me into your inner sanctum. I’ve seen your face! Why are you giving me all this?”

“I’m willing to give you everything Annie.” he said with a twisted smile, “You want to catch me, and I’m going to let you.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because my work has hit a wall.” the butcher answered with an evident frustration in his voice, “I can do no more, and the time has come to move on.”

I racked my brains, trying to figure out why the killer would turn himself in. Why now? But what interested me more was this talk of his ‘work’.

“The greater good – that’s what you wrote in your notes, right?” I asked, “You really think you’re doing good work by butchering these people?”

“I know I am.” the butcher replied confidently, his eyes narrowing with a fiery intensity. “Why do you think I choose you Annie? We share the same special ability…the same power. I’ve reached out to you through your dreams to let you know the truth. Yes, I’ve done terrible things. I realise this. I’ve tortured, murdered, and mutilated human beings. But their sacrifice is not for nothing. Every time I’ve taken a life, I have learnt something new.”

“What do you mean?” I interrupted in annoyance, “What can you possibly learn from all this pain and suffering?”

“Honestly Annie, I’m disappointed. I thought you would have worked it out by now. Like you, I can see into other people’s minds. I can experience what they experience. When my subject is on the verge of death, something very strange happens. I hold their hand, and in that moment we are connected. I can see through their eyes…See to the other side!”

I saw his eyes widen and noted how his tone was becoming increasingly excited. He was on the verge of becoming unhinged, but I didn’t believe the butcher was crazy.

“The other side…” I muttered.

“Yes.” the butcher confirmed with a thin smile. “This is my life’s work – to see, to document, to study…”

He sighed deeply, the passion suddenly leaving his voice. “I have learnt much about the afterlife, but my research has reached a dead end. I can’t make the breakthrough to confirm my theories. Perhaps my abilities are lacking. In any event, my time on this world is coming to an end.”

“Let’s cut to the chase.” I interrupted.

My tolerance for the horrid cave was dwindling, and I doubted I could stay embedded in this dream world for much longer.

“You say you want to give yourself up?”

“Yes.” the butcher replied after a brief pause, “My location. Can you see it?”

I could, as suddenly an image came into my head – a street name and a house number.
“So be it.” the killer said with a regretful tone, “I look forward to seeing you in the real world Annie.”

With that he clicked his fingers, and a moment later I was taken from that wicked place, awaking in my bed with my forehead covered in cold sweat. I shot up, struggling to control my breathing and regain my composure. I knew what I had to do, and the next morning would be the time of reckoning.

I stood on the street pavement shortly after dawn, staring at the house I’d seen in my dreams with something close to disbelief. I hadn’t fully believed my vision was real, not until I saw the building in real life.

The house was non-descript and unremarkable – a detached home in a quiet suburb. On the surface, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the property. Sure, the grass on the lawn was a bit too long, the paint on the door was peeling, and the windows were covered by black-out shades. But otherwise the house was identical to every other on the block. That was only surface level however, because I knew the truth about this house of horrors. I could see through those walls and knew the evil which dwelt within.

“I still don’t understand why we’re here Annie.”

That was Mike, who was standing on the sidewalk beside me. My partner was with me, but there was no-one else. We didn’t have a warrant. How would I have got one? Judges don’t recognise visions as probable cause. Besides, the butcher said he wanted to surrender. We shouldn’t need a SWAT team to bring him down.

Mike was the one I trusted more than anyone, but still I couldn’t reveal the truth to him.
“I have a hunch about this place. I think there’s a connection to our case.”

Mike shook his head and laughed. “Another one of your famous hunches. I should’ve known!”

I grabbed my partner’s arm and forced him to look me in the eye.

“Listen Mike. I know this is crazy, but I just need you to trust me right now. There’s somebody inside who we need to talk to. I know we don’t have a warrant. I only want to knock on the door. Are you with me?”

Mike must have seen the intensity in my eyes and he knew I was serious.

“Okay Annie.” he said with a firm nod, “Let’s go knock on the door.”

We walked slowly down the pathway as I reached out for the doorbell, but then something hit me – a terrible foreboding that something wasn’t right. Mike saw my hesitation and looked puzzled.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asked.

Mike pushed past me and approached the entrance.

“Weird, its already open.” he announced.

That’s when I had a premonition – one of imminent violence.

“Mike, get down!” I screamed, whilst simultaneously grabbing his shoulders and pulling him away from the door.

“What the….” Mike cried.

But a moment later and there was an almighty boom before buckshot tore through the thin door.

“Jesus!” Mike swore.

He should’ve retreated to cover so we could call for back up. But Mike must have forgotten his training in that critical moment as he drew his 9mm from its holster and charged inside of the house.

“Freeze asshole!” he screamed whilst advancing down the corridor.

“Mike, don’t!” I called after my partner, but there was no stopping him…and I had no choice but to draw my own weapon and follow.

I ignored my instincts and the stench of death as I ran into the darkness.

Mike was ahead of me, at the end of the corridor and facing towards an internal doorway. I saw the fear in my partner’s eyes as he raised his gun to fire. But the butcher had the drop on him.

BOOM. I could only watch in shocked awe as my partner was struck in the head by buckshot and his skull exploded in a gruesome display. A second later and Mike’s headless body collapsed onto the floor like a lifeless ragdoll.

Grief and guilt would follow. But in that moment I reacted with rage, pushing past Mike’s body and entering the doorway. I found the butcher inside a darkened room, desperately trying to load new shells into his double-barrel shotgun.

“Drop it!” I screamed whilst aiming my pistol.

The butcher stopped what he was doing but didn’t comply with my order. Instead he met my gaze and smiled a twisted grin. I saw red in that moment, thinking of Mike’s mangled corpse and the promise the butcher had broken.

And I squeezed the trigger, firing two shots in quick succession. The butcher was hit in the chest, and he dropped his shotgun before collapsing against the far wall. Meanwhile I moved forward, my gun still aimed as I advanced upon the gravely wounded killer.

“You dumb bastard!” I screamed in fury, “You said you wanted to surrender!”

The butcher managed to smile despite the pain, blood in his mouth as he spluttered his reply.

“I said my time was done…and so it is.”

I saw the two holes in the butcher’s chest and the blood pouring out of him. In all likelihood he would bleed out within minutes. Part of me wasn’t too concerned. He had murdered Mike after all. But I was still a law enforcement officer, and my duty was to secure the suspect and call for back up.

So, I took out my cuffs and reached forward. But the butcher surprised me by using his last ounce of strength to grasp out and grab hold of my arm. I tried to break free but it was too late, because suddenly I was transported to a hellish realm.

I found myself underwater, surrounded by the cold and the darkness. The water was filling my lungs and yet I could not drown. That would have been too easy a death. Looking up, I saw a distant white light at the surface. And beneath me was the butcher, his eyes dead but the twisted smile still on his blue lips.

The killer was slowly sinking and made no effort to swim upwards. But, to my horror, I felt an icy grip on my ankle, as he seemed determined to pull me down with him…down to the black abyss. But I wouldn’t accept this. I could not surrender to the darkness.

I screamed in fury, even though the water drowned out my cries…and I kicked out and fought for all my worth. The butcher’s grip was strong, but my determination was stronger.
I slipped from his grasp, feeling a burst of elation but also a strange sadness as I watched the butcher slowly sink into the dark depths. But I only paused for a second before kicking my legs and swimming up towards the light.

It’s been weeks since the shoot-out at the hell house, and I’ve had to deal with the aftermath. Mike’s funeral wasn’t easy to get through. He received full posthumous honours from the agency. But I couldn’t bare to look his parents in the eye, such was my guilt.

I also could not explain what had brought me to the butcher’s location. I told my superiors that we received yet another anonymous tip about the house. It wouldn’t hold up to much scrutiny, but they didn’t ask too many questions. And why would they? I was the hero of the hour…the agent who’d brought down the butcher.

When the house and grounds were searched, they discovered two fresh bodies in the basement and the remains of a further five victims buried in the back yard – confirmation that the killer had been more prolific than we knew.

A collection of horrifying videos were found on the butcher’s phone, during which he recorded and documented the torture and murder of his multiple victims. But one piece of evidence didn’t fall into the investigator’s hands, because I removed it from the scene for my own personal use.

As I write this I can hear the screams of my bound victim from the cellar. He can cry out as much as he likes, because no-one will hear him. I can’t fully explain what happened to me when the butcher died, but I guess some of his darkness rubbed off on me.

I like to think I’m a more just killer. Because, while the butcher abducted the innocent, I only target the guilty.

Take my current guest – the man screaming in the cellar. He’s a multiple rapist who walked free from court on a technicality. Nobody will miss him.

But punishment isn’t the point of the torture. You see, I inherited the butcher’s journal after he died, including all the details of his experiments into the afterlife. His mission has now become mine, as I continue his important work.

Once I find the link between this world and the next…then it will all have been worth it. Because now I understand – the bloodshed and the slaughter…it’s all for the greater good.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an experiment to conduct.

Credit: Mark Lynch

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