I Play Murder

                    Drip, drip, drip. The door slammed.

                 "Dad? I'm home." No answer. "Whatever," muttered the young boy. He dropped his backpack and went to the kitchen. He opened drawers and cabinets in search of food. No luck. Then he made his way towards the fridge. He opened it and screamed. In there, propped, was his father's severed head.

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                 It was a clear but starry night as the waves rushed overboard onto the sand. Somewhere out there was music and laughter. Sandy hills rolled downward onto the beach. A collected pile of shells lay nearby. A second of enchantment spread through the shores. Then there were screams—not one, but two. As the moon reflected its light onto the ocean, it bounced off onto two beautifully severed heads.

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          For one New Jersey coast, it was pretty quiet as sirens roared ahead onto the scene. The cruisers pulled up in front of a small group of spectators. A cop stood on the overcrowded beach admiring the work of a murderer.

                 "This is a fascinating cut," said Calliope Makelo to no one in particular.

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                 He was there, in a Cadillac, behind many observers. His key was in the ignition in case of any suspicion. He watched as a female cop inspected the heads and the scene itself. She, nor any other cop, would find the murder weapon for it was buried deep in the victims' souls—like literally. The weapon would be burned along with the bodies. It was time for his next mission.

                 Victoria Brody, he thought. Oh revenge is best served cold.

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"Hey Makelo!" someone called as he ran catching up to Calliope Makelo.

                 "Not now Ash," she replied hurriedly.

                 "Wait up! What's with the rush?" Ash said.

                 "I think I have a lead on severed-heads-and-no-bodies case," she responded. Makelo rushed into a laboratory, turned, and handed Ash two files.

                 "Wha—," Ash started to say.

                 "I think that the murderer from the Lydia Davidson case two weeks ago is the same for this case. In both scenes, the victims' heads are severed with no body or weapon. I've collected excess blood though, matching neither of the victims. So I need you to compare the DNA samples, Makelo said breathlessly. "I've got to go though. Later!" Ash just shook his head.

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                 Somewhere about ten miles away was a woman begging for her life.

                 "Please! I'll pay money, jewelry, anything! But please let me go!" she cried. That 'she' was Victoria Brody, the murderer's fourth victim. She cried and cried. Ropes bounded her feet and hands. The murderer retrieved a curved knife with a silver blade. Engraved on it were the initials: A.M.

                 "You," the murderer decided, "are the only one I've seen alive for so long. It's a shame you have to go now." Suddenly the sounds of sirens were heard. Panicking, he grabbed the knife, slit the woman's throat, and made two mistakes. He cut himself and left the knife by her body. Then he escaped out the back door.