PROJECT MORTUUS: Killer In Silence

Chapter 3: Lawful Good

Mortuus flipped through papers in the folders, reading them aloud. "R. Sanchez served five years for armed robbery of a bank. Not him."

Mortuus tossed the paper aside. It couldn't have been that man. He was too much of a drunk to cut that precise. "K. Lucero. Served twelve years for the murder of several classmates. Definitely not."

He picked up another. This one differed from the others. It was far more brutal and dangerous. "L. Bron. Wanted for the murder of three hundred citizens and twenty-seven police officers." He read aloud. Mortuus looked at the file in horrified shock. This was a mere fourteen-year-old kid who did this without hesitation or guilt.

"Not only is this guy diagnosed with schizophrenia, borderline personality disorder, and extreme paranoia, but he's also missing an arm." Mortuus was astonished by the evil of this kid. Maybe it would have been better for everyone, including him, if he'd died in that bus crash he was in.

Mortuus sighed and lowered the paper as he noticed the first name, "Logan... Yikes. Talk about an embarrassing name for a killer."

As he stared at Logan's file, another file beside it caught his attention. "Kassandra Campbell? Current Status: DECEASED," Mortuus mumbled. "Arrested and sentenced to thirty-six years without possibility of parole."

He finally found what he was looking for as he scanned her file for more information. "Sentence to death by electric chair on May 23rd, 1992."

Mortuus smiled as he noticed a side note that mentioned a love for hunting. He had finally found the killer. Or did he? Officer Lamb ran into the room, "We got the guy. He's standing over a body with the weapon."

The words hit him like a rock on an icy lake. Mortuus grabbed the walkie from Officer Lambs' shirt and spoke very clearly. "10-12, Officers." Officer Lamb pushed Mortuus back; he was shocked more by his sudden actions than by his knowledge of police codes. "They have the guy. Why stand down?" He asked with confusion and irritation.

Mortuus simply walked out of the station. He knew where they were and didn't really need to ask. It wasn't a big town, after all. As soon as he arrived, he saw police cars surrounding a man in a mask, guns raised. Mortuus pulled out his weapon as well. He wasn't usually wrong about the killer, but maybe this was the day he was.

Mortuus slid across a car hood and rolled onto the ground a few yards from the man. The man was standing with his back turned and arms up as if surrendering, but his demeanor said otherwise.

He was able to gather that the police had been trying to negotiate with him for a while, but he wasn't responding. Either way, Mortuus knew this would get ugly quickly if he didn't do something.

"You don't know me, but I'm not like them, Mx. Please just speak to me." Mortuus talked to him very quietly but enough to be heard by him and only him. Still, the man didn't speak or move.

His hand twitched, sending the knife flying out of his hand and into the body beside him. The body was that of a young man, and he was also a criminal from the local jail.

Mortuus held out his gun's barrel at the man, holding it as a safety for himself more than as a threat. "T-turn around..." He stuttered, the gun shaking. The man's eerie silence was terrifying.

The man wore a tattered vest over a plaid shirt and old blue jeans. His dirty blonde hair was slicked to the side with a fade in the back. The man slowly turned, his head pointed down and obscured by a black rag tied to his face as a makeshift mask. His hands were still held over his head.

Mortuus stood there waiting for him to speak, but he never did. After what felt like an eternity, Mortuus said, "Show yourself, don't hide behind a mask."

The man lifted his head. He had a large scar that crossed his cheek and rose from under the mask. Still, he said nothing as he stared into Mortuus's eyes. He simply stared at Mortuus with pale blue eyes.

As Mortuus stepped closer, the man shuddered with fear and backed up. Mortuus stopped and spoke up, "Why won't you speak to me?"

The man stood there, tears forming in his eyes as he heard the question. He slowly lowered the mask, the scar that was just barely visible under the mask growing larger. Mortuus could see why he was so silent as he pulled the cover off. It now made so much sense.

Running along the length of the man's throat was a gnarly scar with ugly black scabs that dripped with fresh blood. All along the scar, in uneven spots, were patches of felt that seemed to be a replacement of skin like some freakish Frankenstein creation.

Mortuus lowered his gun and pocketed it, "You poor soul. You can't speak, can you?"

The man nodded, somewhat shocked that someone understood at last. It was only now that Mortuus noticed his fear was far more than anyone else there. This man was much more afraid of Mortuus than Mortuus was of him.

"You didn't kill those people, did you?" Mortuus asked. The man nodded. Mortuus could tell he was telling the truth.

Mortuus thought for a minute and then signed to the man a question in American Sign Language. "Can you understand me?"

He nodded and signed back, "Yes."

Mortuus smiled and spoke up. "I'm going to ask you some questions, can you sign back the answers?"

He nodded. "What is your name?" Mortuus asked. "Jackson Knight." He responded. "Subject A-9," Mortuus whispered to himself. "Your throat was slit when someone jumped you and left you to bleed out on the ground."

Jackson nodded and began to sign. "I know I seem guilty, but I didn't kill those men."

Mortuus stepped closer to Jackson and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I believe you, Jackson."