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Ripley huffed. ‘Pretty lame quote. Come on, I’m sick of this horror movie crap. Let’s bag this son of a bitch.’
Ella grasped the rusty handle, and with a slight push, the bell overhead chimed, announcing their entrance. Inside, the dim fluorescent lighting revealed rows upon rows of VHS tapes. The shelves were covered in a fine layer of dust, and the linoleum floor creaked beneath their feet. The walls were painted a dull, sun-bleached yellow, and the entire place had a quiet air of decay. A small counter stood at the back, with an ancient cash register and a display case of candy so old Ella wouldn't dare touch it.
From a shadowed corner, the silhouette of a man emerged. His build matched the mugshot Ella had seen thirty minutes ago, but age had etched deeper lines into his face. His gaze, however, remained unchanged – cold calculating, and unsettlingly familiar.
‘Well,’ the man began, voice dripping with mock sweetness, ‘I wasn't expecting customers this early. Especially not from the Maywood PD.’ He was wearing stained brown trousers and an old grey shirt, both harmonizing with the store’s dull aesthetic.
Ella squared her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. She took note of the man’s voice, comparing it to the voice she’d heard on the killer’s audio clip. Similarities were there - a low-pitched resonance, void of any distinctive accent. It was nondescript yet unmistakably familiar. She wondered if Ripley had caught on as well.
‘Just browsing. Any new releases?’
The store owner smirked. ‘Not here. For some, the past is far more interesting than the present.’
Ripley shifted slightly. ‘I guess the past has a way of catching up to you. And what makes you think we’re from the Maywood PD?’
He lowered his eyes. ‘Badges, guns. You’re not the first cops to show up here.’
‘Why’s that?’ Ella asked. She scrutinized the man on the other side of the counter, weighing up the probability that he was responsible for three murders in three days. He didn’t have the nimble figure she’d profiled the killer to have, but there was enough upper body strength there to climb a narrow vent with a little contortion.
‘Cops don’t like me… and I don’t like cops.’
Ella spied her partner, reaching for her pistol, but Ella subtly grabbed her wrist. 'It's a line from Robocop,' she said.
The owner leaned forward on the counter, an unexpected sign of cooperation. ‘You know your movies.’
‘As do you. So tell me, Alex Morton, what’s your favorite scary movie?’
Alex furrowed his brow at the mention of his name. ‘Is that a trick question?’
‘No.’
‘Well, the classics are classic for a reason. Psycho, Tenebrae, Halloween.’
Halloween,Ella thought. If Alex was her unsub, would he mention the very film that inspired one of his murders? Or was it a double-bluff? She checked his microsignals, but the intricacies of the mouth – one of the key visuals in gauging body language – was obscured by a cloud of white hair.
‘What about Hellraiser, Friday the Thirteenth?’ she asked.
Alex shook his head firmly. ‘Too supernatural. I like the real. The gritty. Anyway, enough of the pleasantries, why are you here?’
Ella felt a twinge of unease as Alex's demeanor shifted. A new composure, combined with a possible veiled hint, left a cold feeling in her stomach. 'We're FBI. I'm Agent Dark and this is Agent Ripley.'
Alex eyed her partner. ‘Ripley, huh?’
‘Yup, now Mr. Morton, we’d like to know where you were the past three nights.’
Alex took a step back. ‘Why?’
‘Curiosity.’
‘Fine. I was here. All night, every night.’
Ella tried to peer into the back room behind her suspect. ‘All night?’
Alex chuckled, ‘Of course. This old place isn't just a store, it's my home.’ He gestured to a curtained doorway towards the back, likely leading to his living quarters. ‘No need to go out when you have the world of cinema right here.’
Ripley shot a sidelong glance at Ella. ‘Must get lonely,’ she remarked.
His gaze softened for a moment, hinting at a touch of sadness. ‘It can be. But movies...they're a great escape.’
