Flash

Dear Detective

Dear Detective,

 Here we are. If you followed my instructions, you're alone. And well, if you aren't I've already left. You better be alone. Well, come on in. I've put my art on display down here, and I'd very much like you to see it. 

Harry put the cassette tape down on the barrel as he made his way down the stairs, deeper into the sewage tunnel. Months had passed since the first disappearances, but Harry had refused to give up hope of finding the people. He found it amazing how these cases worked. When the people had first disappeared there was a media frenzy with every journalist this side of the Atlantic putting their oar in. They picked holes in every action the police made as the days ticked by with no sign of the people or even what had happened to them in the first place, but eventually they went silent. Sure, in a years time they'll do a recap on the anniversary of the first disappearance which people will pay attention to for all of five minutes.

Then silence.

Up to his waist in sewage, Harry continued to walk further down the tunnel when he spotted another cassette tape.

 Dear Detective. I want you to appreciate your surroundings right now. I can only be my true self in a place like this. Life up there is exhausting. Everyday you smile at people who don't care about you one way or another because that is what you do. Down here I really get to live. I am happy to share it with you today, detective.  

What sort of sick bastard was this freak? Despite the case going cold, Harry refused to give up hope of finding the people who had been kidnapped. Then, last night, he received a cassette tape through his letterbox instructing him to head down to the sewers alone. Aprehensive and slightly anxious, Harry was taking a huge risk going down here, but if it meant there could be some sort of conclusion to the families suffering it was worth it. Just ahead of Harry was a door, a third cassette taped to it.

  Dear Detective. I am getting so anxious about our meeting. You know, I think I have only ever wanted someone to know me. And really, I can't think of anyone who knows me as well as you do. I am your object of fascination, and you have become mine. It is humbling, detective.  

With a few hard kicks to the door, it eventually swung open. The room ahead was dark, but Harry entered nonetheless. He looked for his torch but before he had a chance to turn it on, a bright spotlight shone down. The light quickly darted around the room, shining on different corners, each with a different person on show; each one of the disappearing victims. 

One of the victims had had his head chopped off and was now posed to be holding it himself. Another had each of his limbs chopped off and reattached together on metal spikes. The final one Harry could see had been flayed, her skin crudely plastered onto a plastic mannequin. Harry wanted to be sick but just about held himself together. Then, in the final corner, a voice.

Dear Detective. I didn't want to hurt you. I merely wanted you to understand how frail and pathetic the mask of your world is. But I can tell by the look on your face you don't understand. You're like all the others. You don't understand. You don't understand me. Now you are here with me. And we have all the time in the world to get to know each other.  

The lights went out again and Harry was all alone with his worst nightmare.