The Vigilante

The Vigilante

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing17m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Tue, Jan 18, 2022
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Fiction
Romance
She showed me the picture. It took my eyes a while to focus, the alcohol still running through my veins but as soon as my eyes adjusted my eyebrows scrunched in confusion. I gently took the photo out of her hands. I stared at it. "Who is this?", I asked still staring at the picture. It was a picture of the brutal crime scene i was apart of that had happened not even a day ago. Nothing unusual about it but in the corner, in the shadows, there was a person. It would be hard to see if you really didn't look hard enough but they were definitely there. They were wearing black and a mask to blend in but their eyes, oh their emerald green eyes. I remembered those eyes. Empty. Cold. Lifeless. They were staring at the bloody crime scene that was laid out in front of them. "I don't know. God, my father would kill me if he knew I showed you. I just saw it and it just creeped me out and I don't know I just-...i don't know." She ranted. She was hugging herself, looking at the floor. I looked up from the picture and directed my eyes toward her with an eyebrow raised giving her the 'you're my best friend and I'm a detective, I know when you're lying' look that alway makes her crack. She sighed and looked at me. "My father said..." And the next three words that came out of her mouth made my blood run cold. "He's The Vigilante."
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The first body was left drained of every single drop of blood. It could have been mistaken for a bloodless crime if it weren't for the crimson streaks on the girls' face. Her terrified expression was frozen as her pierced eyes glared into the nothingness. What looked like her real tears blended in with the crimson streaks on her pale cheeks. It looked random until we learned that it must be the M.O. of the killer seeing as his second victim, my sister held those same markings. It had been an odd sight; she had looked peaceful and unharmed except for the bloody tears that couldn't be washed off no matter how hard they tried. My father, the head sheriff of the Southwood's police station, swore that he would bring my sister the justice she deserved, but things escalated fast. A new body was found nearly every month; Girls would go missing and would later be found with unremovable blood streaks on their faces. The blood was always old, and it belonged to other victims he killed. The stained faces of his victims led most parents to hold closed casket funerals. Only after nearly a year since the murders began did the cops learn that most of the bodies of the bloody faced victims had disappeared. It was a secret that they had yet to reveal to the public in fear of the people of Detroit making a mockery out of them. Surely, they had enough experience in their fields to not be outsmarted by one guy!

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