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I dropped the letter on my desk, the words staring back at me sent chills down my spine. What could it mean? Was he now going to
target me? Somehow that didn’t make sense because that would put him out of his “comfort zone” of killing young males and castrating them. I didn’t fit the profile for one of his victims. The letter gave me an uneasy feeling throughout the rest of the day, so much in fact that I decided to go home early. I went home about 5pm and walked into the house. When I walked into the dining room my eyes beheld the sight of my wonderful husband Brett sitting at the dining room table covered with a wonderfully prepared meal and candles adorning the centerpiece. Soft music was playing in the background to set the mood. He stood, approached me, kissed me gently, then hugged me and whispered in my ear, “Happy Anniversary Honey”. I kissed him back and returned the hug and commented on how wonderful the dinner looked. I felt so bad because with my mind so consumed on this Serial Killer case, I had completely forgotten about our Anniversary. Brett understood and I promised that I would make it up to him. We enjoyed the dinner and the rest of the quiet evening of being alone and having the time to ourselves to relax and enjoy one anothers companionship. We ended the evening and decided to go to bed. Brett showered and came out and laid in the bed. I removed my nightgown from the drawer and entered the bathroom, turning to Brett Saying “I wont be long my dear”. The warm water of the shower helped my body to relax and ease all of the tension from the days work. I finished and dried myself and put on the nightgown. When I went back into the bedroom it was dark. I figured Brett had turned out the lights and already went to sleep. I made my way to my side of the bed and laid down. I felt Brett laying close to me, so I turned to him and laid my body across his chest to give him a kiss goodnight. Suddenly something felt wet against his body and mine. I wondered if maybe he didn’t dry off well enough from his shower. I whispered to him “Brett, why are you all wet?” there was no answer. I reached over and turned on the light and the feelings of Horror and Shock fell over my body. Brett had been slain. His throat was cut and blood was everywhere, including all over me. I threw the blankets off the bed and I couldn’t move from the shock of the site that Bretts pants were pulled down to his ankles, he had been castrated, and the number “6” was printed in blood on our bed sheets. The rest of what happened was a blur. I was blinded by confusion, shock, panic, horror and anger all rolled up into one binding emotion. How could this happen? How could the killer know where I live? How did he get into my home? A short while later my Police associates arrived and tried to comfort me. They sealed off the house and were taking pictures of Bretts body when I was escorted out of the house by a fellow officer named Ryan. “Lets go out to my car, you can sit and try to relax and tell me everything that happened.” I did, and Ryan took notes and I tried to recall the events of the evening. Suddenly I looked up and about half a block down the street standing under a street lamp I saw him. The tall dark figure wearing a trench coat. I tried to speak, nothing came out. I pointed to him, and Ryan looked up from his paperwork. He turned to me and said; “What? Is that him?” I frantically shook my head yes, and Ryan exited the vehicle, drew his weapon and ran toward the dark figure of a man. I screamed out “NO! Ryan, wait!” I was so weak and emotionally drained I could not get out of the car and follow him. I reached for Ryans Patrol car Radio and screamed into it; “OFFICER NEEDS ASSISTANCE, OFFICER NEEDS ASSISTANCE!” Immediately a small group of police officials came out from my home. I pointed down the street and told them that Ryan was chasing the killer. They all proceeded down the street, some on foot, some in their police cruiser’s, all in attempting to help Ryan apprehend the suspect. I sat alone in the patrol car for what seemed like 10 minutes when suddenly the car door opened nearest me and someone reached in and pulled me out of the vehicle by my hair, and began dragging me behind my home into the dark alley. It was him, the dark trench coat wearing killer. I reached down to retrieve my pistol that I always keep on my pants, only to realize that I was still wearing my night gown covered with blood. As he dragged me further into the dark alley he spoke; “I’m tired of you fucking with my plans, and tonight bitch, you die!” I screamed out a loud yell. He turned, rolled me over on my back and sat on my stomach. He was once again wearing the dark ski mask, so I could not see his face. He drew a large blood covered knife from his pocket and held it to my neck. “Too bad you don’t have any nuts for me to cut off!” The next thing I knew, he slit my throat with the knife and everything faded to black. I awoke in the local hospital with the police chief sitting next to my bed. My throat was wrapped and very sore and swollen. I could not speak and it was extremely hard to swallow. The Chief explained to me not to try to speak at this time. He handed me a pad of paper and a pencil and told me to communicate to him in that form if I needed to. He told me that when the patrolmen returned to the front of my home And found the car empty, they followed the path in the dirt where I was dragged from my car. When they went to the back of the house They spotted the suspect on top of me and when he seen them, he fled into the darkness. I have no doubt, that he probably left me for dead and would have completed the job more thoroughly if he were not interrupted. They put a guard at my hospital room door, and I was there for almost two weeks. I still have somewhat of a hard time swallowing and my voice is nothing but a whisper. I wear turtle-neck sweaters to try to hide the scars of what happened. After a month of absence I returned to work. I was sitting at the desk when the police chief approached me and asked me if I was sure I wanted to continue with this case. I told him yes. It had been four weeks since my attack, and strangely enough the killer seemed to be on some sort of vacation from his killings as well. No new murders had been reported since the night my husband Brett was slain. As I sat at the desk pondering this thought, the mailman approached my desk and once again sat a plain looking letter on my desk with only my name on the front. I painfully screamed at him through my raspy voice; “WHO GAVE THIS TO YOU”? Shocked he pointed to the hall and said some man in a trench coat. Panic ran through my body as I opened the letter and read the words “WELCOME BACK!” ((To Be Continued))
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