Good Girl

On the case

*Benjamin*

The sirens flashes silently behind me as I approach the apartment building. The blue and red lights reflect against the brick, creating a chaotic dance of color that seems to pulse in rhythm with the unease settling in my stomach. I’ve seen death in many forms, but every new case draws me in like a moth to a flame, igniting that familiar and slightly unsettling mix of dread and excitement.

Stepping into the dimly lit corridor, I can already hear the subdued murmurs of my colleagues. I push through what seems like a throng of officers, giving a quick nod here, a brief exchange there.

I reach the open door of the apartment, the threshold marked by a stark contrast between the mundane and the horrific. Inside, the scene is a tableau of death, bathed in the harsh glow of forensic lights. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood, and the sight that greets me is enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

The body lies sprawled on the floor, limbs at unnatural angles, a grotesque mockery of life. His jeans are pooled around his ankles, and the blood pooling beneath him forms a dark halo. I swallow hard, forcing my mind to focus. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen something like this in the past few weeks, but each time feels like a fresh wound.

“All right, what do we have?” I ask, my voice steady despite the storm of thoughts swirling in my head.

One of the officers, a rookie I recognize from our last case, steps forward, his face pale. “Victim’s name is Alex Mercer. Late twenties, known to have had some run-ins with the law… nothing major though. No signs of forced entry. A mate found him like this just over an hour ago.”

I glance down again, taking in the details. The victim’s body is a brutal sight, but it’s the details that matter: the absence of his genitals, the blood smeared across his lips. “And the castration? Was it done post-mortem?”

The coroner emerges from the shadows, her expression grave. “No, it was done while he was still alive. The amount of blood loss indicates he was conscious during the procedure. We’ll have to get a full report, but there’s no doubt about it… this was personal, very personal.”

I grit my teeth, the implications of her words settling in. This isn’t just a random act of violence; it’s something deeper, more twisted. A message, perhaps? What is the message in making a man eat his own balls? “What about his background? Any connections to other victims?”

“Not yet, but we’re still digging. As we all know there are three others, all with similar MOs… brutal killings, castration, and they were all known by the police, but they are not, from what we know connected to one another.” The officer in charge says. “We think we might be looking at a serial killer.”

I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of the investigation resting on my shoulders. Four victims in six weeks, all linked by a dark thread of violence and depravity. It’s a pattern I can’t ignore, and if we don’t act fast, there’s no telling how many more lives will be lost.

I step closer to the body, examining it with my eyes, the wounds, the blood spatter, the chaos of it all. “Any signs of struggle?”

“Not really,” the officer replies. “No defensive wounds, no signs that he tried to fight back. It’s like he was caught completely off guard… or unable to fight, but there is also no sign of him being tied up or anything like that.”

“Maybe he knew his attacker,” I murmur, piecing together the narrative. “These guys, they all had connections in the more shady parts of society… people they knew, people who could have led them to this fate. We need to reach out to their friends, their contacts. Someone has to know something.”

“Already on it,” the rookie says, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve got teams canvassing the area, talking to anyone who might have seen something.”

I nod, my mind racing ahead. There’s a rhythm to this investigation, a cadence that’s starting to form. Each death is a note in a sinister symphony, and I’m determined to find the conductor. “Make sure the forensic team to collect everything. The killer must have left some trace behind.”

As I turn to leave the room, my instincts prick at me, a nagging feeling that something isn’t right. The killer is out there, watching, waiting. I can almost feel him lurking in the shadows, relishing the chaos he’s created.

“Doyle!” a voice calls, pulling me back. It’s my partner, Detective Clara Hayes. She’s breathless, her expression fraught with urgency.

“Yeah?”

She stops in front of me, “I just got a report from the lab on two of the previous victims.”

My heart races. “What did they find?”

“Something unusual,” she says, her tone grave. “The blood samples from both victims show traces of a rare sedative or drug… a cocktail that’s not commonly used. It’s not something you’d find in a typical street drug. Whoever is doing this is calculated.”

“Great,” I mutter, my mind racing. “So we’re dealing with someone who has knowledge of pharmacology. That narrows it down a bit I guess.”

“Not to mention the psychological profile,” Clara adds, stepping closer. “This is someone who enjoys the control, the power. They want to dominate their victims, and the castration? That’s a statement.”

I nod slowly, piecing together the profile in my mind. “My guess is that we’re looking for someone who sees these acts as a twisted form of art… a sick, violent expression of their own insecurities.”

“I agree… and if we don’t catch him soon…” Clara trails off, the implications hanging heavily between us.

“We will,” I say, my voice firm. “We have to.”

As I step back into the chaos of the apartment, I can feel the dark energy coiling around me. Each case is a puzzle, and I won’t rest until I find the missing pieces that lead me to this monster. It is not often London sees a serial killer, and I want to stop him before he claims more victims.