The list of sinners

...Donovan...

We live in a moment where the past seems to have disappeared forever, and every day that follows is something new, a step towards the future we dream of. The present is a gift, but there are occasions when it comes like a powerful current, bringing meaningful signs from the past, weaving them into a transformative warning, a blessing, or even another curse.

I still feel lost behind that letter I found under the door. The fact that I thought the past had vanished and that with it everything could have been different, proves to me well that this had only happened in my subconscious.

I stood there, leaning against the window still dressed in my pajamas. I warmed my hands with the coffee I had made a little while ago. The temperatures were below zero and it was likely to snow at any moment. Today, even though it was a Tuesday, the second day of the week, I decided to lounge on the couch amidst the peaceful sounds that my home offered me. I grabbed my laptop and started clicking around on the internet.

I had heard about this cult and its rituals, but I had never thought we would encounter something like this. This cult was accused of many murders of different ages, which the practitioners called sacrifices. I was greatly surprised when I saw how widespread this cult was, even in Norway.

For a moment, I started to analyze and make a connection between the letter and the murders. Maybe this person who was watching me could be part of the cult, and as a sign of revenge, was making me a victim. What fault did those poor girls have to become sacrifices for my past actions? I delved deeper into the information. After some searches, I saw that the victims had strange symbols marked on their bodies. Neither I nor the forensic reports had noted the presence of such signs, so such a hypothesis had to be ruled out.

Another thing that needed to be ruled out was the fact that the killer was not fixated on brunettes, as Savannah, according to the analysis, was blonde; she had just dyed her hair recently. Every time we caught onto a fact, sooner or later, it would crumble like a sandcastle under the fist of the incoming wave. This killer was different from the others, somewhat too professional. He seemed prepared and very precise. I tried to close the laptop, but the image of a red apple came to mind.

The apple itself seemed like the biggest clue we had considered least important. The first thing that came to my mind was to find an explanation for the symbol of the apple. The red apple symbolizes love, passion, fertility, abundance, etc.

"Seriously?!"

I leaned back on the couch, pondering. What did a red apple mean to me? In Greek mythology, I remember that Eris, the goddess of discord, threw a golden apple at the feast of the gods, leading to the Trojan War. But in itself, it seemed like a great foolishness.

"Think, Donovan, think."

They say people are born pure and with a sincere heart, but what was the reason for these angels to grow up and transform into cold-blooded serial killers? My brain resembled a smartphone filled with images at those moments, where one by one the facts we had gathered so far were scrolled through with an imaginary finger. Leaving the laptop on the central table in the living room, my phone slipped from my hand. It had fallen on the screen side, and I immediately reached out to pick it up, afraid it might be broken.

"Wait a moment."

I sat down to grab my phone, but my hand stopped as I looked at its back. On the back of my iPhone, there was an image of the bitten apple. I took the phone in my hands and traced the apple with my guiding finger. My finger stopped at the bitten part, and at that moment, I discovered something.

"An apple... that's it. It's always women who eat the sin, ever since Eve was the first to eat the sin... the forbidden fruit. They were sinners... all of them."

Throughout all this time, we had been so foolish not to pay much attention to the evidence. The killer had been very specific in what he did and why he killed. The apple was the symbol that expressed the fall of the first man: in other words, our sins. Man is created as a sinful being, which sets us apart from angels. We are all slightly sinful within us. Some more, some less.

"Our sins are personal matters, between us and God Himself, but who is supposed to know so much about them?"

Hitting the phone hard against my palm, I looked away from the window. The sun's rays dictated the first flakes of snow for this winter, dancing according to a choreography directed by the gentle breeze. The road would soon turn into a white page waiting to be inscribed by people's footsteps.