Night Stalker

The Second Kill

Night Stalker|Chapter Three

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Is it the knowledge of knowing or that of not knowing, that kills?
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The man paced up and down the room. He was clearly in a sour mood.

He shouldn't have called the woman, he kept telling himself, but the urge to do so was quite overwhelming.

Someone dear had been taken away from her and she needed comforting. That was what he'd done, although he'd done it anonymously.

Something else laid deep within the crevice of his heart, something troubling and thought-provoking; how will he go about finding the killer?

It was tiresome to say the least. Nobody knew what made the killer strike. Nothing could be done. It was just a futile effort of trying to catch someone you've never known.

As the man rested his back on the wall and let himself slide to the floor, unbidden, an idea entered his mind. It was a trifle little idea and if too much thinking was to be done, it seemed ludicrous, but the man shrugged, determined to give it a try.

He knew many streets in the town, from the richest to the poorest; the cleanest to the dirtiest and the noisiest to the quietest at night.

..

The yellow of the sun streamed down onto the bed through the open window.

Leo laid on his back with his eyes half closed, but he was wide awake as any cab driver at work.

He turned to his side and looked out the window. The azure sky was charming as ever and black birds hovered all around.

He pushed himself off the bed and sauntered over to the window. Placing a hand over his eyes, he shielded the blinding rays from penetrating any further.

The fading morning was in its peaceful state and the clear voice of a neighbour reached Leo's ears.

'Haven't you heard about it?' The first voice spoke.

'Heard about what?' Another voice asked tentatively.

'Its all over the morning paper... About the murder'

'A murder,' the second voice gasped.

'Yes. It has been suspected that the murderer might strike back.' The first voice continued.

'Why is it so?'

'Its because he left something on the body of the victim which I can't decipher...'

Leo stumbled backwards immediately, not wanting to hear the rest of the story. He flung himself on the bed and buried his face on the pillow, as he tightened his eye lids.

For a moment he was afraid,
but then he smiled as he lifted his face up. The full meaning of what he'd heard came to him in a rush. They expected him to strike again.

Leo stood up from the bed and pulled himself to his full height as he walked out of his room, ready to buy the morning paper for himself.

..

Leo plopped down on the living room couch. Placing the newspaper on his laps, he read the words written on the front page in big bold red letters. MURDER STRIKES. The body of the essay read thus:

Murder prowls the night. It has taken with it one victim, but has left something else in its wake...