Do You Fear The Reaper?

f o u r

RJ barged through the double doors of his office and threw the Manila folder down on his desk. The entire station was pulling at straws, pointing and indicting whatever and whoever they can since The Reaper's recent victim is one of their own.

It's been 2 days since Maine was taken by The Reaper and the closest lead they have to where she could be and who took her was a toss up between a 54 year old white caucasian man named Gavin Isaacs and a 28 year old construction worker named Dennis.

RJ groaned into his hands and rubbed his face in frustration as Maine's clock loomed above him and ticked closer and closer to zero.

He and Doctor Mendoza spent months trying to figure out who The Reaper was--going through how he treats his kills over and over again, putting every single piece of evidence under careful observation until they've squeezed out whatever information they could get out of it, calling one person in for interrogation, and then another, and then another. Arguing and bickering over what they each thought was the truth until their exhaustion overcame them and they had to sleep. They've both painted a picture of The Reaper in their heads and none of them came close to the two men he just interrogated. The Reaper wasn't in their looks, nor their attitude, not in their background and surely not in the way they both had solid alibis to excuse them from the night of Maine's abduction.

I've fallen in love with the same woman thrice.

RJ closed his eyes and dropped his head on the table, rolling it from side to side as he let his mind wander, his own thoughts playing as a movie reel that taunted and teased him over his failures as a partner.

He should've known better, he should've listened.

I've fallen in love with the same woman thrice.

The note The Reaper left in Maine's office a week ago felt heavy inside his breast pocket, searing a hole through the cotton and embedding itself on his skin. He clutched on his chest and pulled it out for the nth time since Maine disappeared. The entire page was wrinkled from being folded and opened repeatedly, the ink fading, some smudged by coffee stains, an "I" dotted with blood from Maine's roommate, but he could still read it.

I've fallen in love with the same woman thrice.

I loved her first when I was young,

Enchanting and vibrant, eternally new.

I fell in love with her the second time;

When first she bore her child and mine

Always by my side, the source of my strength,

Helping to turn the tide.

I fell in love again,

With the same woman the third time.

Looming from the battle,

Her courage will never fade.

RJ read over the lines once again, trying to make sense of it all but nothing came, only theories and assumptions he thought would hurt the investigation more than it would help. He scanned for the Manila folder he threw when he came into his office and leafed through the pages to see if things would start to make sense. But none of it did. The Reaper couldn't have killed only 3 because the folder is filled with 16! The Reaper could not have loved anyone; as all serial killers were, he's incapable of it.

I fell in love with the same woman thrice.

"What the fuck are you trying to say?" RJ let go of the folder and turned the note into a paper airplane.

I fell in love with the same woman thrice.

A knock came from the other side of the door and RJ flinched and jumped back slightly. He pinched the bridge of his nose before letting the person in. "What do you want?" he groaned.

The door swung open and in came a tall, 20-something whose face reminded him of those actors from the CW shows he'd sometimes catch Maine watching on the off times he'd visit her at home. The tag on his button down said that his name was Beau.

RJ raised an eyebrow at him and straightened himself up. "You don't look like a Beau, man," he told him as he pushed himself off his desk and spun to his left to face him better. "Can I help you with something?"

Beau nodded. "Just here with the mail, sir."

"Right. You could've just dropped it in the mailroom and had one of the guys sort it out?"

"I am the mailroom, Agent Faulkerson."

"Right, right." RJ took the envelope from him, confusion slowly dawning on in face. "There's no return address. Who's it from?" He turned the envelope in his hands and looked up with wide eyes when he realized that Beau wasn't there anymore. RJ scratched his head and shrugged. Right.

He opened the envelope carefully, not wanting to rip it's contents. There was a small ripped piece of paper inside. A note:

Three blind mice,

Three blind mice.

See how they run!

See how they run!

They all ran after the farmer's wife,

Who cut off their tails,

With a carving knife.

Did you ever see such a thing in your life,

As three blind mice.

I am having too much fun with you and Tanya, Agent Faulkerson! Let's play some more.

--T.R

Red. RJ's chest heaved with the jagged breaths he took, anger coursing through his veins completely and pulling all sense of rationality and logic.