Stalker

Chapter two~ Warning signs

I browse past cases thoroughly on my computer. My eyes scan over ever paragraph, memorizing every word. I hear a knock at the door.

"Boss, can I come in?" Connor stands at the doorway.

I nod, "come in, come in." I give a forced smile and gesture for him to sit in front of my desk.

He stands behind the chair, gripping the back tightly. "Chief wanted me to tell you...." He pauses to think of what to say.

"Tell me...?" I hold my breath.

"He wants you off this case... And off of every Jeff the Killer case in the future... He's leaving Anne in charge when we investigate."

"Wait..." I spend a minute thinking about this. "So... I'm out? No longer part of this case?"

Connor nods slowly.

I drop my head. "Right..."

"He said its because of the personal connection with a past Jeff the killer case." He turns and heads out the door. "I'm sorry, Zach."

I watch him leave and stare at the door. "I can't believe it..." I stand up and close my laptop. "I guess I should get going..." I sigh and pack my laptop and a few files in a messenger bag before leaving the building.

~

I slouch in my chair and flip through the many NFL channels. I hold the remote in my right hand and a beer in my left. I lift the bottle to my mouth and I feel the glass against my lips.
After a while, I give up on football and flip through every channel until I settle on the news.

"We have news that yet another murder has happened here in las Angeles." The reporter sighs. "Here we have the co-chief of the LA CSI. Anne, what can you tell us about this case?"

"Wait, wow wow wow wow WOW!" I turn up the volume. "Anne? The co-chief?! I'M THE FRICKIN CO-CHIEF!!!" I scream at Anne through the TV, though she can't hear me.

"Well, we don't have too much information. But what we do have is classified. What we can share is, this is definitely a serial killer." Anne turns from the camera and returns to the crime scene without another word.

I grimace and take a final gulp of alcohol before throwing the bottle and it shatters against the wall behind my flat screen. "That should be me up there. Not that bitch." I say bitch with a sourness that even makes me cringe.
I attempt to get up, but it takes a few tries for it to be successful. I stumble to the kitchen, running into a wall a few times so I don't fall over. I stagger to the fridge and pull out another beer. I open it with a bottle opener at the side of my fridge and walk back to the couch and flop down onto it, spilling the alcoholic beverage all over my work shirt. "Dammit!" I growl before storming off to my bedroom to change.

While unbuttoning my shirt, I hear a knock at the door. Glancing at my clock, muttering angrily. "Who could that be at this ungodly hour..." I forget about my shirt and walk to the door, holding my .9 millimeter pistol. I look out the peephole.

Nobody.

I slowly unlock the door and peek out. I nearly scream in my drunken state at the man lying on the ground. A man, in his late 50s that lives down the hall, is covered in cuts and bruises. His dimming eyes stare directly at me with intensity.

"Beware..." He mutters with his dying breath.

"Beware of what?!" I fall to my knees and hold the man up.

With his final breath, he mumbles, "Beware of Jeff..."