The Art Of Death

Chapter 4: Into the Abyss

Scene 1: A New Crime Scene

Setting: A dimly lit alleyway on the outskirts of the city. Police cars surround the area, flashing red and blue lights casting eerie shadows against the buildings. Crime scene tape blocks off the entrance, and officers mill about, collecting evidence. A fresh body lies in the alleyway—another victim.

Ethan stood on the edge of the crime scene, his heart pounding in his chest. This was the third murder in the last month, and the killer had left behind the same chilling signature—an intricate symbol carved into the victim's flesh. It was the same symbol that haunted his father's unsolved cases.

He crouched down beside the body, the sight both familiar and unnerving. The victim was a young woman in her mid-twenties, her lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. Ethan felt a knot form in his stomach. This wasn't just another case—it was personal, and the killer knew it.

Marcus approached from behind, his expression grim. "Another one, huh?"

Ethan nodded, still focused on the body. "Yeah. Same as the others. This one's even more precise."

The forensics team was already on-site, photographing the scene and collecting samples. Ethan glanced at the symbol on the victim's arm—it was larger and more intricate than the others, almost as if the killer was perfecting their craft.

"I've seen this before," Ethan muttered, mostly to himself.

Marcus knelt beside him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

Ethan pointed to the symbol. "In my dad's old files. He was working on a case just like this before he was killed. Same kind of symbol, same kind of victim. Whoever's doing this, they were active years ago and now they're back."

Marcus's face hardened. "So you think this is connected to your father's murder?"

"I don't think. I know," Ethan said quietly. "The killer's leaving these symbols for me. They're taunting me."

Marcus stood, running a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Ethan. This is a whole new level of twisted."

Ethan rose, staring down at the lifeless body one last time. "I'm going to find out who's doing this. And I'm going to make them pay."

Scene 2: A Cryptic Message

Setting: Ethan's apartment. It's late, and the weight of the day has settled on his shoulders. His apartment is dark, lit only by the soft glow of his desk lamp as he pores over his father's case files.

Ethan sat at his desk, the worn leather-bound notebook his father had used for personal notes open in front of him. He had read through it a hundred times, but tonight something felt different. He flipped through the pages, searching for anything that might connect his father's investigation to the recent murders.

His eyes landed on a passage from years ago, written in his father's hurried scrawl: "I'm getting too close. Cross warned me. He knows something about the symbols. But I can't stop now."

Ethan's pulse quickened. Cross. His father had suspected him back then, just like Ethan did now. But Cross wasn't the killer—Ethan was sure of it. So why had his father been so fixated on him?

He grabbed his phone and dialed Marcus. The phone rang twice before Marcus answered, his voice groggy.

"Ford, it's late. What's up?"

"I need to look deeper into Daniel Cross," Ethan said, his voice steady. "There's more to him than we thought."

"Cross? The guy we just talked to?" Marcus sounded surprised. "You think he's involved?"

"He's not the killer, but he knows something," Ethan said. "My dad wrote about him in his notes. I need to figure out what he was hiding."

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Marcus sighed. "Alright. We'll dig into it first thing tomorrow. But Ethan...be careful. This is starting to get real messy."

"I will," Ethan promised before hanging up.

Just as he set the phone down, his computer pinged with a new email. Frowning, he opened his inbox. The email had no subject line, and the sender's address was untraceable.

The message inside was simple, but it sent a chill down Ethan's spine:

"Stop digging. You're next."

Scene 3: Crossroads

Setting: The next morning, Ethan arrives at the precinct, a sense of foreboding hanging over him. The station buzzes with the usual noise of officers moving about, but Ethan feels an unsettling stillness in the air.

Ethan walked through the precinct doors, his mind racing. The cryptic message from the night before replayed in his thoughts. Someone was watching him, someone who didn't want him getting any closer to the truth.

As he reached his desk, Marcus was already there, going over the latest reports. He looked up when he saw Ethan.

"Morning. You look like you've seen a ghost," Marcus said, his tone light but his eyes serious.

"I got an email last night," Ethan said, sitting down. "No sender. Just a message: 'Stop digging. You're next.'"

Marcus's face darkened. "Damn. They're trying to spook you."

"Well, it's not working," Ethan said, though the truth was, it did rattle him. "We need to dig into Cross today. There's something he's not telling us."

Marcus nodded, standing up. "Let's head down to archives. We'll pull everything we have on him."

They made their way to the basement of the precinct, where the old case files were stored. As they sifted through the dusty boxes and folders, Ethan's mind drifted back to the night his father had died. He had been so close to finding out who was behind the murders. If only Ethan could figure out what his father had missed...

After what felt like hours of searching, they finally found a file labeled Daniel Cross. Marcus opened it, spreading the contents on a nearby table. It was a thin file, but it contained records of Cross's arrests and interviews, including the ones his father had conducted before his death.

Ethan scanned through the pages, his eyes landing on a familiar name. "Wait," he said, his heart skipping a beat. "This...this can't be right."

Marcus looked over his shoulder. "What is it?"

Ethan held up a report. "Look. Cross's last arrest was five years ago. Guess who represented him in court?"

Marcus frowned as he read the name: Joseph Callahan.

Ethan's voice was tight. "Callahan was my father's partner."