The Symbologist

Chapter 1

A man stared across the bar at a tiny TV screen that hung from a grey, concrete wall. What was once egg-yellow wallpaper that had adorned the walls had now long since peeled off, leaving behind tiny blots of old glue. However, in his mind, they would always be egg-yellow, as they were when he was just a child. The only thing that had changed in his mind were the types of people that came into the bar and leaned against the worn walls. Instead of the usual stylish but appropriately dressed ladies that came with men who would always end up too drunk to think properly, cops now swarmed the place. They had claimed it with their numbers; they were the new norm.

As he looked around now, he saw their eyes hooked to the TV screen, as were the few regular customers who worked plain, unexciting jobs. The man walked closer to see what all the fuss was about. Ah, the latest murder was on TV. He had wondered how long it would take for the murder to be all over the news. In fact, he had even made a bet with himself. He now realized he had lost, but as it was a bet with himself, he won either way.

"I'll take one beer." The man walked up to the bar and took a seat to wait for his drink.

"Coming right up!" Ronny, the bartender who had been serving customers here since it opened, clapped the man on the shoulder and got to work making his drink. "I see that as the place is getting older, you are only getting younger my man!"

The man didn't reply as Ronny went on to chat with another customer, and when his drink came, he thanked Ronny and went back over to watch the news.

"I'm Lana from TheNewsToday and here with us today is DI Jones with yet another murder. Ms. Jones, is it true that there is a serial killer on the loose?"

The DI patted down her uniform and remained expressionless as she was handed the microphone from Lana. "I am not authorized to disclose any information as of right now, but we believe this was done by the same culprit who murdered Jane Cutters."

The man instinctively reached down to rub a spot on his leg. It was a bullet wound from many years ago. It didn't hurt anymore, although sometimes it felt like it was screaming out to him.

Lana grimaced. "What is something these two cases have in common?"

Jones turned her head towards the commissioner and he nodded. "Our killer has a signature mark that he leaves on his victims, a square with triangles extending from each corner."

The man's expression remained stony as Jones' voice captured everyone's attention. She was a celebrity in the world of crime. There wasn't a case she couldn't solve and there was certainly no detective better than her. She had the frame of an eight year old girl, but one look from her could send you reeling. Her strawberry blonde hair, bright green eyes, and tall, lanky figure caused her to stick out like a sore thumb. Yet, that wasn't the thing about her that bothered the man. It was her expressionless poker face, one that she was famous for. You could never tell what she was thinking, and that made plenty of people uncomfortable, especially if they had just cracked a joke.

"...are currently working on the case."

The man looked up and realized he had gotten carried away with his thoughts. Watching the detectives and police squirm and flail, watching the people stare with wide eyes filled with fear, it amused him. So much so that he would move forward the date of his next mission, just so he could watch their baffled, frightened faces whispering about it when it took the spotlight as the top news on TV, the most covered event for many years to come.

He wondered, did his mother feel this way too? Like mother, like son, he supposed. Suddenly, an image came crashing back to him, causing his whole body to freeze. He felt the cool metal of the gun on his fingertips, his eyes squeezed shut as he turned and ran. I had to do it, he told himself....I had to do it....