Lakewood: The Copycat Killer

Old feelings

Malia

Luka followed me home. I pulled into the driveway as we got out of our cars. Luka followed me to my front door. I unlocked it, entered, then closed the door behind us. I flicked on the light switch.

"So, do you live alone?"

"Yeah, I found it easier than dealing with a roommate."

Luka followed me into the kitchen. He sat down at the kitchen table, which had junk mail scattered on it.

"Excuse my mess. The table has become a drop-off with it." I grabbed bottles of water from the fridge for us. I handed one to Luka, then sat down at the table.

"I'm guessing you don't eat at your table."

"Not really. I have dinner with Abby, my parents, or in front of the TV."

Luka sipped his water.

"So, Chicago kept you busy."

"Yeah, it did. I spent the first two years after the police academy walking the beat. Then I made detective of the homicide division."

"It's better than working cold cases."

"There's nothing wrong with cold cases. Is that what helped your dad catch the Lakewood Serial Killer?"

"Yeah, but it's one of the few cold cases. Most cases are breaking and entering, purse theft, or misdemeanors."

"I'm sure Lakewood holds secrets. All small towns have their secrets."

The conversation between Luka and me was tense. It's polite but forced.

I cleared my throat. "So, are you happy to be back?"

"Sure."

I forced a smile.

"I should get going. I want to find out what the ME discovered with the victim."

"Yeah."

Luka stood up as I followed suit. I walked him to the front door. He bid me goodnight, then left. I closed the door and released a breath. I tried to bury my feelings for Luka, but seeing him again was making old feelings resurfaced.

I wish he would talk to me and tell me why he didn't come home until now.

******
Luka

I stepped onto Malia's porch. She closed the door as I glanced behind me. Sitting in her kitchen proved difficult. I wanted to kiss her but refrained. Everything about her stirred old feelings inside of me.

She still had that curiosity and grew even more beautiful. The scattered mail surprised me. Malia has OCD. She wouldn't tolerate a messy table. What did her attacker do to her?

Questions plagued me. I spent years chasing a killer. The killer eluded me but left a calling card. He would pose his victims as artwork. It made me wonder if the killer was in Lakewood.

I headed home to dig through the files I brought with me. If the same killer was her, Malia was in danger. Why?

******
Copycat killer

I watched the detectives from a distance admiring my artwork. That cop that hunted me in Chicago couldn't catch me. I gave him opportunities, but he missed his chances—a smirk formed on my lips.

When twigs snapped, I retreated and searched for my next masterpiece. The person needed to be someone who would send a statement.

I hid in the shadows of a building. A couple walked down the pier while holding hands. Their voices echoed through the night air. People had dispersed as stores closed. It's easy to blend in with tourists. No one suspects you.

I pulled my hood on and lowered it. I shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket, feeling the knife handle as I crept towards the couple. It's like stalking prey. By their laughter and stumbling, they had been drinking.

I stepped onto the pier, finding a metal pipe. I picked it up and walked while gripping it in my palm. The couple wasn't paying attention to their surroundings.

I made my way closer to them, grasping the pipe. The guy turned as I swung as cracked him in the head. The guy stumbled backward as the woman screamed. I silenced her as the pipe connected with her throat. She grabbed her throat.

I pulled out the knife, pressing the button as the blade appeared. I shoved the knife under the woman's chin, then dragged it down her neck. I removed it as the guy stumbled towards me. I gripped his shoulder and shoved the knife into his gut, and twisted. Then I yanked the blade upward, making a deep slice to his chest. The guy's eyes bulged as blood spilled past his lips.

I jerked out my knife and released my grip. The guy fell to his knees, grasping at his chest. I finished what I started with the woman, cutting out her heart and tossing it into the water. The guy gurgled as I tied up the woman to the railing. I posed her

I turned to retrieve the guy who tried to crawl away. I slammed my boot onto the back of his neck and crushed his spine. I dragged his body to the railing and tied him next to the woman. Gasps escaped his lips. I pulled out a paintbrush and used their blood to write two words: Love kills.

I stepped back, and a smile formed on my lips as I admired my artwork. Then I turned and walked away. I hope the cops enjoy my masterpieces. They were my most fantastic work yet.

******
Lakewood Serial Killer

I laid on my bed with my fingers interlocked, staring at the ceiling. Solitary confinement doesn't bother me. It gives me time to think.

The small door in my cell door opened. "You have a visitor."

A smile curled upon my lips. I sat up and walked towards the door. The lock clicked as the door opened. I held out my hands as the guard chained my wrists.

"Any moves, and ...."

"And you'll shoot me. No need for violence. I'm a peaceful man."

The guard scoffed, then led me to a room with plexiglass. The Lieutenant sat on the other side. I took a seat and lifted the phone, putting it against my ear. The Lieutenant lifted the other phone.

"Good evening, Lieutenant."

"I'm not here for a social visit. I received your letter."

"Then you would know I'll only speak with your precious daughter. She must have grown into a beautiful woman. Do you still live in the same house? Does she still collect comic books? I spent time with her. She was a delight." I smirked.

"I told her not to come. What do you want with my daughter?"

"Insight."

The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes as his jaw clenched.

"Lieutenant, you have a copycat serial killer running loose in Lakewood. I could tell you how to catch the killer, but I won't."

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"Ah, ah, ah. I said I'd only speak to your daughter."

The Lieutenant glowered at me. To catch a serial killer, you must think like one. We have no moral compass and lack empathy for life. The kill thrills us. It's simple.

We target our victims while blending into society. We're like you, except we aren't. While people fret over a terrible situation, we smile. We're calm and collected. Our rage is like no other. We're the masters of disguise yet, walk amongst people. You pass us on the street and don't even know it. But one day, you'll meet us.

The Lieutenant hung up the phone as I smiled. Death doesn't bother me. I've accepted it years ago since I've been dead inside since the day I was born.