THE MAN WITHOUT YESTERDAY

Part 3 -- A phone Call.

The unsettling ring of my cell phone cut through the murmur of the television.With a reluctant sigh, I muted the TV, its voices fading into silence, and reached for the phone.

With a reluctant stretch of my arm, I reached for the phone, its screencasting a cold, blue light in the surrounding gloom.

'Unknown Caller,' the display flashed ominously. A pang of curiosity mixed with unease nudged me as I swiped to answer.

'Hello?' My voice sounded more cautious than I intended, a stark note in the quiet room.

There was a pause, a breath, a hesitation on the other line. Then, a robotic voice, that you could hear on the syfy movies , broke the silence. 'Is this James? James Harrow?'

"The moment I heard that synthetic, mechanical voice on the phone, I immediately recognized it as Bob's. He had a habit of altering his voice during calls, probably thinking it would throw me off his trail.

'Yes, Bob, what is it this time?' I asked, my tone a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

In the shadowy underworld of crime, few figures were as elusive and feared as Bob, the enigmatic serial killer. Known for his chilling precision, Bob transformed the act of murder into a dark art. Each of his killings was not just an act of violence but a meticulously crafted statement, a sinister performance that left the authorities both horrified and baffled.

Bob's modus operandi was a testament to his twisted genius. He operated with a cold, calculating intellect, ensuring that every crime scene was immaculately clean of any incriminating evidence. His methods were so effective that they

left no trace of his identity – no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing that could lead back to him. This meticulousness only added to his legend, making him almost a ghostly presence in the criminal world.

The most disturbing aspect of Bob's reign of terror was the unknown. No one could ascertain the true extent of his crimes or the duration of his murderous career. His real name remained a mystery, a blank space that added to the growing mythology surrounding him. He was a spectre, a name whispered in dark corners with a mix of fear and awe.

In the end, Bob was not just a killer; he was an enigma, a shadow that cast a long, dark presence over the pages of criminal history. His legacy was not just the lives he took, but the fear and uncertainty he instilled – a reminder of the darkness that can lurk behind the most ordinary façade.

He dove straight into his usual theatrics. 'You claimed you'd outdo me in our... let's call it a macabre competition.'

I leaned back in my chair, smirking. 'Exactly, Bob. And I stand by it. I'm not just going to be some run-of-the-mill killer. I plan to be the most notorious one, surpassing even you.'

His response carried a hint of sarcasm. 'Oh, I remember your bold declaration. You were going to be the one to watch out for. But here we are, months later, and you've done nothing. You're not living up to your grand words, are you?'

I ended the call with a terse, 'Just wait and see, Bob.'

After hanging up, I reflected on how I had actually managed to track him down on the internet. Bob had been careful, but not careful enough. He kept repeating the same slip-up in every conversation we had.

I turned the TV volume back up and settled in to watch 'Who Killed My Neighbour?' The sight of another serial killer caught and caged gave me a strange sense of satisfaction. As I watched, I couldn't help but picture Bob, the man behind the altered voice, as the next star of this show.