Wraith

Chapter 1 - The Warehouse

Chapter 1 – The Warehouse

Jason Redcliffe walked briskly through the run-down warehouse, keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings. The concrete here was covered in a fine layer of dust and silt, likely washed in by rain, and the walls were all marked with graffiti, accumulated over the years. A security camera guarded the end of the hallway, though it was relatively new compared to the building's general state of decay. It was one of many that had been installed as of late, though he doubted it had captured anything useful.

"We've got nothing," the local police chief, Richard Houseman, confirmed his suspicions as they approached the crime scene. "Cameras didn't even catch a glimpse of him, but they've got every hallway out of this place covered. This guy must be able to walk through walls or some shit."

Jason Redcliffe remained silent, calm as ever as he looked over the corpse laid out in front of him. A young man in his mid-twenties was lying on top of a stack of shipping pallets in the centre of the room, his skin pale white and his clothes stained red. The dozen-odd stab wounds in his gut were not the focus of Redcliffe's attention, nor was it the perpetual look of terror frozen on his face. What drew Redcliffe's focus was on the wall behind them, painted in the victim's own blood. A large diagonal slash of blood had been splattered over the layers of graffiti. It had almost dried. 

The dust in front of the gruesome portrait hadn't been disturbed in the slightest, not even a speck was out of place. Just like the other three scenes, it was as if the killer hadn't stepped foot in the warehouse. The Wraith had done more than enough to earn the title. This was the fourth body in eight days.

"I want this place sealed off," Redcliffe murmured when he was satisfied with his assessment. "You know the drill. What do we know so far?"

Chief Houseman nodded, motioning to his subordinates to get to work. He walked with Agent Redcliffe back to the body, standing a short distance away. "This is Warren Asherton, a local guy. Hell, he grew up with my boy."

"You knew him?"

"Yeah, sure. Small town like this, there aren't many people I don't know. He worked in a small shipping business run out of these warehouses.

"He was here alone? Who found him?"

"He came here to pick up some gear, shouldn't have taken long. There was a co-worker waiting in a truck waiting outside, but he nodded off waiting for Warren to come back. Woke up and found him in the morning; security cameras can confirm his story."

"I'll need to talk to the co-worker; bring him to the station. And we're sure it's the same killer?"

"Certain. We've got gratuitous violence, no signs of a struggle, a butchered victim, and the face in blood."

"Victim type is the same as well," Redcliffe murmured, leaning in closer and studying Warren's face. "Young Caucasian males, alone, and all long-time locals."

"This guy is an animal," Houseman muttered to himself, shaking his head and averting his eyes from the scene. "Just slaughtering people in a frenzy, and disappearing without a trace? Absolute animal."

"Not quite," Redcliffe stood up, walking around the perimeter of the scene as samples were being taken. "Whoever this Wraith is, they're disciplined."

"You call this discipline?" Houseman asked, an eyebrow raised as he gestured to the body laid out in front of him, "It was a bloodbath."

"There's anger," Redcliffe agreed, "But enough control to stop things from devolving completely. He planned out every detail of this attack, knowing when the victim would be alone and for how long, as well as how to get the jump on him. The killer is highly methodical; this isn't just a random killing spree for him, it's an obsession."