Life According to the Dead

Zack

He was quiet. He had always been proud of that. Zack Searcy could make it from one place to another without making even a shadow of a sound – not to mention he camouflaged himself well. Very well – he was almost darkness itself, when need be. He prided himself with the knowledge that he could easily sneak into so many places completely undetected.

Sometimes he didn't even need to hide. Zack had a nice, trustworthy, likeable face, and could make himself seem affable enough when it was necessary. Like with the young secretary at the police station. Pretty little thing, couldn't have been more than twenty-five years old. New to the job, and perfectly ready and willing to believe that Zack was a kind janitor who had simply misplaced his keys to the file room. It had been almost too easy, stealing the uniform from a supply closet and slipping it on without being noticed.

He knew that soon enough someone was going to realize he didn't work there, but by that time he would be long gone. Finding his own file proved to be almost no trouble at all – he only had to look at homicide cases from twenty years back, and there was his name, popping out like a marked invitation just waiting to be opened.

A manic grin split across Zack's face as he replayed in his head, for the millionth time, what he was going to do. He had had twenty long years in prison to plan it all out, and now those years were going to prove to have been well worth the wait.

All he needed to know was who to punish. All he needed was a name.

His eyes skimmed over the details of the investigation that had led to his capture. He knew it wouldn't be just any old police officer. It had taken them three days, after all, and he had covered his tracks so seamlessly that he knew they must have had help. Sure enough, at the bottom of the second page he found a brief mention, a barely noticeable side note, of a tip that had been received shortly before his arrest.

On looking over the identity of the caller, Zack did a double take. There had to be a misprint or something. This person was the reason he had spent the last twenty years imprisoned in a correctional facility in Brightfield. He'd always assumed that the man to catch him would have to have been some kind of genius, some private detective or someone with enough experience to make world-renowned professionals jump out of their chairs.

The guy had been eight years old at the time.

Zack knew he couldn't stay and investigate any longer, so he slipped out of the file room and left the police station at a leisurely pace, not quickly enough to arouse any suspicions. He set off aimlessly down the sidewalk, scratching the back of his neck in confusion.

Eight years old. Eight. So how...?

He shook his head. It didn't matter. eight years old or eighty, this person had a heck of a lot coming to him. And he sure as hell asked for it, thought Zack Searcy with a twisted half-smile.

He knew he had already caught the police's attention – first by breaking out of prison, of course, and then by killing that girl the night before. His heart raced with excitement just remembering it, flashing back on the feeling of euphoria that had reverberated through every vein in his body the moment he'd pulled the trigger. And the sound of the bullet ripping through the air, it had been so wonderfully loud.

Oh, but that girl had only been a warm-up. He was just getting started.

Regardless, unlike the last, his next victim would be getting a warning. Hey, remember when you were eight and you tipped us off about that murderer? He escaped from prison the other day. And there's a good chance he's coming for you.