Etched.

Chapter 6

The days and nights of clenching and unclenching his jaws and being restricted to do anything, made his brimming emotions spill over. And he went on a rampage. Finishing off half of his list in less than a week.

While still maintaining a strong alibi. Any man would've been exhausted, but with the number of strong emotions spiraling inside, Arthit was becoming unstoppable.

Because... He got help... He always got help... A genie on his shoulder... Always helping him out.

And to distract himself he decided to play with the police a little. Edge them a little maybe. Arthit decided to send in small notes to the police, giving them clues on the next body. Helping them find each body and laughing at their stupidity.

He'd give them a few simple cipher codes and notes following, laughing at them for their lack of brains. Even asking what they were taught at the police academy.

Asking if they need more help and teasing saying there's going to be another kill. Only to not do so, just to waste their time.

He'd give in false sketches to the police, laughing when they got the FBI involved, only for them to be stuck too. It was humorous, to say the least, seeing the street posts filled with numerous DIFFERENT sketches of the same killer.

Brainless.

But the police hid all the notes and interactions with the portrait killer, and Arthit wasn't liking it. The people should know how efficient the police force is. So he decided to amp up his game, by murdering left and right and leaving notes in random households.

Just to spread a little more terror, because people were becoming more laid back and Arthit didn't know why. He was still very much terrifying and brutal.

Because each day, the carvings became deeper, the murders increased, and the teasings started. Arthit didn't want the people to be afraid, as long as they were innocent. But he can't deny it was so much fun.

Hearing your coworkers and random people at the coffee shop by work talk about the killer. And speaking of their theories. It entertained Arthit.

Until it didn't anymore. He was getting bored by teasing the police. He wanted some thrill but it was like the police were dumb. Completely brainless. Even when Arthit gave concrete clues, they couldn't put two and two together.

So he decided to amp up his game, and take one of their own out. Not before teasing some more. He took pictures of their beloved corrupt special agent, tied up and beaten.

Threatening if they don't round up the other criminals and find the actual criminals, that they'd be next. And the news spread like wildfire.

And the people began protesting, demanding the corrupt officers be held accountable and punished. And barely anyone spoke of punishing the mass serial killer.

The community felt safer once Arthit had begun threatening the police to crack the cases because they did. Because they knew Arthit wasn't lying, having found a few of their officers dead.

And it wasn't brutal, just one bullet straight to the forehead. Sending the message that he wasn't joking nor wasting his time on them anymore.

And even though it wasn't brutal like all the other murders, it sent chills down each of their backs. The killing was so efficient. Not all of them were stupid, some of them had a knack for the job.

And sometimes Arthit would send in "congratulations" notes, praising them for the smallest progress in his case. Only to kick them back down and put them back to square one.

And as fun as it was, he was missing something. And he knew it was his puppy's tears. The cries that sounded like music to his ears. The marked body, writhing under him.