The Killer Among Us

Chapter 30

Six days left

Jacob

Modern psychologists agree that, despite the stigma, witnessing violent crimes and enduring terror can change a person fundamentally. Society is always highly aware of the negative effects violence and terror has on the victims themselves, the pain they have to go through, waking up everyday and somehow still being a victim, no matter how long ago the offence occurred. But what about the witnesses, the people who were forced to watch helplessly from the sidelines?

Believe me when I say, witnessing these horrendous acts of torture, watching how The Solemn Serpent enjoyed harming innocent girls and even documenting it for his own sick personal pleasure, changed me entirely. Even more so, it broke me, the person I was and the things I stood for.

I could no longer turn away apathetically, act as if it was justifiable to only fight this in order to save Aria. My heart hungered for justice and most importantly it strived to put an end to the suffering.

In a way, it burned through all my senses, my gut cringed in horror and sympathy, and not being able to help those poor young girls made me feel crippled and useless.

Even more so, knowing that these events had occurred long ago and there was no way to change the past, to dry their tears or hold their hands as they endured inhumane wickedness, broke my heart.

But there was nothing I could do but watch, witness the pain and the fear. I told myself that at least the harrowing events that they had been through, did not remain hidden. At least someone found out how lonely their lives ended, all too soon, and I made it my mission to gather all the pain they endured and memorialize it in my heart, as a way of forever remembering, as a way of honoring.

As I stood in front of the old, dusty monitor, I shuddered in disgust, feeling dirty and useless, as I inserted the last of the labeled cassettes. I had made it through twelve recordings of pure torture and suffering. At what point would I not be able to take it anymore?

The familiar static buzzed through the room and I wondered how many hours I had been watching these cassettes for. I knew, however, that it had too long, every minute felt like a day, every hour like a year.

The early frost of dawn was biting my skin, a welcome distraction of the turmoil inside of me.

A few moments later the video started and again the familiar sting of sympathy crawled through my bones. Immediately, I recognized the blonde girl that was tied to a wooden chair with electrical tape to be Esther Hartley, the youngest victim of them all.

Her raggedy breathing indicated just how afraid she really was. She was still wearing the pink pyjama she supposedly wore before the abduction, the polka dots now hidden by grime and dried blood. Soft, careful whimpers filled the room, the room I stood in just a couple days ago.

I recognized the tiled floor, the chair and eventually the hacksaw that appeared in the frame. Only its polished blade was visible for a few moments, Esther's terrified stare darting between the weapon and the assailant that was not quite visible yet.

She began begging him, "Please don't hurt me," her high voice breaking.

Slowly, he creeped out of the shadows, seemingly a shadow himself, as he was clothed in black clothing from head to toe. Instantly, I noted every single feature that I could make out, remembering each detail carefully, as if I was cataloguing him.

He was tall, abnormally so. Yet, his broad shoulders and lean muscles indicated that he was athletic, capable. With slow and steady movements he approached Esther, like a predator getting ready to pounce on its victim. In his gloved hands he held the hacksaw, as if it was an extension of his arm.