The takings of Kaitlyn Becker

The Third Taking

This was the first time I had seen a patient die in the hospital. As a detective, seeing death isn't new. But watching two officers fight for their life inside an operation room—is something I have never seen before.

Twenty minutes after arriving at the hospital, the surgeons stepped out and said, 'They were shot too many times, we're sorry, but both the officers have died.'

The rage inside me reached new levels then.
And the wife of one of the officers held her tears and said, "Detective Wolff, make sure whoever did this burns in hell."

I drive back to the bureau and demand for everyone's attention. They look at me and watch on in silence.

"In another one hour, that phone is going to receive a call."

I point towards the landline at the corner of the room.

"The killer is going to talk to us, it's what he always does."

I take a pause, imagining Kaitlyn's tongue and the other parts he had carved out.

"There's no point in tracking the call because he doesn't talk for long. So what we're going to do is this. I want one squad with the lieutenant surveilling the sewer beneath the hospital. I want another to bring back her boyfriend."

'What about you, detective?' asks one of the officers.

"I'll be waiting right here—, someone has to pick up the phone."

I wait.
Patiently. Analysing everything the killer has done.
To do this to a woman, he must be psychotic. And he must be someone she knows.

The phone rings.
It pierces the stillness around it.

I swallow my anger, and pick up the phone.

"Hello detective, it's me again."

'You sick son of a bitch.' I say beneath my breath, 'Where have you left her this time?'

I hear laughter.

"Oh detective, where are your manners."

'What joy do you get in doing this? Why are you targeting her? She's a hospital nurse, she does good for humanity and she doesn't deserve this.'

"Who are you to say that detective? Who are you to say what Kaitlyn deserves? You're no god. You're just a woman with a badge and a shirt."

'So is that what this is about? Some sick interpretation of God?'

There is a silence that lingers for a couple of seconds.

"I'm sorry, I don't have time to talk."

'Where the fuck is she?'

He breathes heavily. "You better ask her boyfriend."

The line disconnects.

I call the squad that's gone to retrieve her boyfriend. Nobody picks up.
I enter my car and drive to his residence as fast as I can.

It is late afternoon, the sunlight is at its peak. There is a glare striking from one of the windows, as I constantly replay what he had said.
"You better ask her boyfriend."
It can't be. He was with us during her second taking. He has no motive to do this.

The squad calls me back. "Detective, we've found her boyfriend."

"....."

"...somebody has burnt him alive."

I slam the brakes, the horns blare at its loudest. The sun falls between my eyes and my heart races.

'He's dead?'

"Not just dead, detective. He's completely burnt."

'We sent him home last night, how can the killer take Kaitlyn, kill two officers and incinerate the body of her boyfriend.'
I know what the answer is. Oh my god. I answer my own question.
'There's more than one.'

"What?" says the officer

'There's more than one killer. They're taking turns cutting off parts of her. That's why the patterns of the knife are not the same."

Two different handwritings, two different sets of hands. I tremble in my own car, unable to find the words.

And then, my phone rings.

"How do you like your bread, detective? Toasted or burnt."

I don't know what to say, I can't find the words.

"Oh come on Detective Wolff, we've just started having fun."

'How many of you are there?' I whisper

"Louder please."

'HOW MANY OF YOU ARE FUCKING THERE"

He laughs, and just before the phone disconnects, he says, "Check her boyfriend's car."

She is alive, and awake inside the trunk of his car. She is too weak to scream, instead as soon as she sees me, she gently shakes her head.

'They made me watch when they killed him' she says.

I stoop closer and hold her fingerless hands. And I see what they've done now, they've taken her nose.

She is crying. I am too.
I want to give up. I want to surrender and beg them for mercy. But it is only then I realise something.

They're not just cutting any part of her. There are no signs of sexual conduct. What they're doing is very specific. As though they have it all planned out.
It was first her tongue, then her fingers and toes, and
now it is her nose.

They're removing her senses.
The five senses of the human body.
Taste, touch, smell, hearing and vision.
They've removed three.
Senses are what differentiates a living thing from the non living. And that's what they're doing to her, one by one, they're removing it.

Why? I do not know.

But what I do know is, they are not done.
They have not yet completed their plan.

I look at Kaitlyn Becker. And tell her, 'I'm not letting you out of my sight, ever again.'

I ride with her in the ambulance, stay with her as the doctors make sure she's alright. And I eat, and sleep inside her room every day and night.

And then, on the final day of that month, I receive a call.

"Detective, you think you're messing our plan up?"

'Well, she is still here isn't she. She's still with me, and it's been more than a week.'

I hear the laughter once again, only this time it is more chilling.

"You were right. This is more than a one-man operation."

I hear a gun cock, and for a second, I'm not sure I heard it correctly.

"I can't wait to cut you up, detective."
The phone call disconnects.

I turn around, and then I see her.

Kaitlyn Becker, smiling with no lips, holding a gun with no fingers and pointing it towards my head.