MR. MANIAC

CHAPTER 3

It was 11pm at night, Layla dedicated about 4 hours to this profile. It was all jammed packed full of multiple files actually. Tug said he wanted Layla to condense. That'd be long and practically endless, but it'd save her in the long run Tug said. She separated them all by the type of files they were. There was a stack for the psych profile, the criminal analysis, and finally the reports on crimes so far. She planned to work on the lighter reading first to get herself prepared for the gory heavy reading ahead. So she started off with the crime scene reports. Newspaper clippings, coroner's reports, crime lab, the works. All details included. Layla couldn't help but feel a presence with her as she read through all this, as if Dean himself were in the room with her, breathing over her shoulder as she gazed into every page. She read about his first series of murders, which were somewhere along the Southern California area. Then they stopped all of the sudden for a couple months and appeared in New York. She could hardly believe some of

the stuff she was reading. '15 total victims. First five were random. Reckless slashes at the throat. Family of 4 killed. Mother & Father were the first two victims, burned as they slept. Door was locked and tampered with, looking as if the parents were locked inside their own room after being set aflame. Two children, suspected to be between ages 4-6. Missing.

While she read the inevitable was occurring, miles away on some desolate highway... a man was becoming another entry into the very profile she was reading. An innocent man... another victim.

Some desolate highway... Dean had the radio on full blast, no housing around so he was safe until probably five or six in the morning when the early birds get up for work. He checked his watch, it was going on 11:25pm he had more than enough time to finish up. He was going 120 on a 60mph speed limit. The guy tied to the hook beneath the trunk of his car was probably screaming his pretty little lungs out, Dean rolled down the windows to check. The wind crashed into his face like an 18 wheeler. He could barely open his eyes, but his mouth opened wide for a grin, he was loving this. He slammed his foot on the brakes and drifted into a full 360. He turned the radio down, carefully listening for the sound to signal his queue. A slightly faint thud with loud cracking sounds burst out. He then opened the door, strolling out to see his handiwork, the man lay there badly bruised, a bone popping out of one of his arms, which was tied to his trunk. He was oddly still breathing, no matter to Dean, he'd have all the more fun killing him.

"Still pumping and grinding eh?" Dean said with a grin, the man unresponsive for the most part amid barely heard whimpers for mercy. Dean bent his knees down to the man's level.

"Road trip?" Dean burst out in laughter, nudging the man with an elbow then raising himself up at full height.

"Buckle up. Wouldn't want to have an accident, now would we?" He said, smiling wide with glee. He hurried back to his car, revving the engine up loud and proud, making the tires skid in place as he adjusted his rear view mirror to see what he could of the man. He let go of the brake and slammed his foot on the accelerator going full speed in zero to three seconds. He laughed the whole way as he heard the man's faint and weakening screams from behind.

Layla's Apartment... Layla had been reading over the last four case files and was on the border of insanity. She was too terrified to comfortably close her eyes and give in to her overwhelming exhaustion, yet at the same time too intrigued by the manner of killer this man was to stop reading. The papers were dubbing him Mr. Maniac, it was blatantly cheesy and insulting, but what was even more awkward to her was how the papers just reported the happenings of these crimes. Never once a call for any police cooperation, no plea for a statewide manhunt. Just media explosion and exploitation of heinous crimes as they come. The papers all report it with a sense of urgency, a hint of excitement. Almost as if the editors were

hungry for more of these crimes... probably just to have more to write about. Prescott found it rather disgusting. But still couldn't shake that cold shiver that ran through her skin as she read the remaining reports and case files. It all had a chilling sense of life to it, as if it could all happen once more over again right in front of her, and she'd be center stage. The very thought of it made her even more afraid to simply put the files down, and go to sleep. But the hours were wearing on, it was almost 1 now. She had to go to sleep, her eyelids were getting like sandbags anyway.