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Ripley shot her a wry smile, ‘A lady never tells. But let's focus, shall we?’
Before Ella could respond, the door opened wider, and they were greeted by the bulky frame of Director Edis. He looked more exhausted than usual, with dark circles marring his otherwise stoic face. The hair continued to recede, and his typical clean-shaven chin had been replaced with four-day stubble. There was a new scar just above his right eyebrow, a story Ella hadn't yet heard.
‘Agents,’ he acknowledged with a nod.
‘Director,’ Ella replied, her tone formal. Ripley gave a curt nod in agreement. He gestured towards the leather chairs along the wall. Ripley and Ella took their seats as Edis returned to his position behind his massive oak desk- a testament to his years of service; every scratch and ding a mark of another case, another long night. Right now, Edis was partially hidden behind a mountain of brown folders and cups of half-drunk coffee.
Ella could feel the tension brimming. ‘Director,’ she began, ‘what's so urgent that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?’
Edis grabbed two of the folders and threw them over to the agents.ACTIVE CASE #H17231according to the stamp in the top right corner.
‘This morning, I received a call from the sheriff of Maywood PD in Los Angeles. Last night, they found a body and…. I don’t really know how to describe it.’
Ella dove into the folder, heading straight for the crime scene photos. Photos always told a better picture than words ever could.
And when she saw the first close-up photograph, her breath caught in her throat.
A blonde woman, mid-twenties at most, had been brutalized in a way Ella wouldn’t believe was physically possible unless she had the evidence right in front of her.
‘He stabbed her. With a… shotgun?’
Ella blinked twice, as if trying to clear an illusion, but the gruesome sight remained the same. Every sight Ella had consumed over her thirty years of life had been committed to memory; a photograph that occasionally faded but always remained accessible. Her mind was a vast database of criminals, victims, motives, and methods. Yet, as she skimmed through her mental files, she couldn’t locate a single incident – or anything even similar – of a killer stabbing someone with a shotgun.
Edis held up his palms. ‘Don’t ask me the logistics of it. I don’t understand it either.’
Ella glanced over at Ripley, equally lost in the photograph. ‘Ripley. Any ideas?’
Ripley took a deep breath and leaned closer to the photograph, analyzing every detail. ‘I've seen many things in my time,’ she began, ‘but this... this is a first.’ She gently tapped the photograph, her face betraying her internal processing. ‘There are signs of ritualistic intent here, or at least someone trying to send a very specific message.’
In the photo, the young woman had been impaled through the chest with a black Beretta shotgun. She was still standing, resting against the corner of what looked like an apartment door.
‘She was attacked outside her own home?’ Ella asked.
‘Yes,’ said Edis. ‘But that’s not all. Look at photograph number six.’
Ella followed the instruction. She leafed through the pictures and landed on number six. The image hit her like a knife to the gut.
Resting on the ground near the woman's feet was a plain white mask. It was simple, featureless, and utterly eerie in its lack of definition. It looked as if it had been carefully placed there, positioned to be seen but not overshadow the central horror of the scene.
And Ella recognized it a mile off.
In fact, most people would, she thought.
‘This is a Michael Myers mask,’ Ella said.
Edis nodded gravely. ‘It is. From the Halloween films.’
Ella felt an unexpected thrill. From a young age, she had been an ardent fan of the world’s cheapest genre. Late nights huddled under blankets with a flashlight, diving into Stephen King novels, and weekends spent at the cinema, consume the horror classics.
The Michael Myers mask had instantly transported her back to those simpler days. The sense of excitement, the heart-pounding fear, and the relief that came from knowing it was all fiction. Now, here she was, faced with a real-life horror scenario. And although the danger and the stakes were very real, a part of her was animated by the challenge; a melding of passion and profession. It was as if all those years spent analyzing horror plots, understanding the psyche of on-screen killers, and predicting their next moves had been training for this very moment. She caught herself feeling this odd exhilaration and quickly reigned it in.
‘Never seen it,’ Ripley said. ‘Give me a crash course later, Dark.’
‘Will do.’
‘Edis, you said you got the call about this murder this morning. Why have we waited until now to investigate?’
‘Because until an hour ago, this was an isolated incident. However, Maywood PD got an anonymous call to check out an abandoned shack, barely two miles from this crime scene.’
