Chapter Thirteen

229 17 0
                                    

Charlie was still in the police station when everyone else had gone home

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.



Charlie was still in the police station when everyone else had gone home. He was determined to solve this case, even if it risked his life. No one else could get hurt. As far as he knew, Connor and Markus could be the next victims. He would not let that happen.

He was seated at his desk, pouring over evidence and case files; trying to find something...anything that might indicate who the Ripper is. But he was unsuccessful. There was absolutely nothing but the profile that Norman had given him.

He let out an aggravated sigh as he buried his face in his hands. He was getting nowhere.

His mind started to drift until it settled on the topic of mother. The woman who created him, who had him under constant threat of deactivation and being torn apart every single day. He was wrapped around her finger, and he knew it.

He started recalling certain things about her and the house she lived in. It was a surprisingly nice house...a mansion, actually. It was quite nice. But she seemed out of place in the mansion.

Her brown hair was messy and knotted some days, while other times it was quite neat and done up nicely. Her clothes were either tatters or she was in an expensive dress. Regardless, she was a sickly pale; and not just the kind of pale caused by being inside all the time. She had deep, purple bags beneath her sunken in eyes. She always seemed to have a sheen of sweat on her skin, her teeth were browning, she was thin. Much more thin than what was healthy. She was around her thirties or forties.

Wait...

She displayed all the physical traits of a Red Ice user. He had even seen a tiny bag of something sticking out of a cookie jar, but he had never scanned to see what it was.

And she seemed to have no problem with the idea of killing and tearing apart her own "son." Lack of empathy. Sociopath.

She sometimes had sudden mood swings.

One moment she was calm, the next? She was waving a knife around and threatening to cut him, laughing all the while.

He shuddered as he recalled the incidents where that happened.

His mind wandered to the photo of a little girl he had seen on her fireplace mantle. He had run a scan on that photo. That was her son, who had passed away some time ago.

Parent.

It all clicked in his head, and he let out a loud gasp as he slammed his hand on the desk. His realization was soon followed by dread and anger.

He stood up, sending his chair a few feet back as he sprinted out of the station and to Hank's car which he had used to get there. Since he still had his LED, he could contact people with it. So he contacted Connor.

"Connor? It's Charlie, I know who the killer is. Get to Lakeshire mansion, the one just outside of town." He blurted out, ending the call immediately afterwards before Connor could even respond.

He started the car, speeding off down the street.

No one was going to die at her hand again.

Another||DBHWhere stories live. Discover now