Novel: Three

taragizta

Member
Was browsing around the forums and found this section so I figured I could share some of my writings.

I've always loved to write but only when I'm really inspired lmao. This is an old one that I've always wanted to finish but don't have the time (an excuse for my laziness). I feel like starting working on it again instead of writing new ones and then never finish as always...

Not a professional writer so please don't judge me. :)

Well here it is:


Chapter I

Through the window of his apartment overlooking the dog park, Malcolm watches a homeless guy set up his night’s camp on a bench under a dim lit street light across the street. As the dirty old man lay on his make-shift bed he spent a good ten minutes setting up, Malcolm began to think of how he could help like he almost always does every time he comes across something his righteous self views as oppressing.

Feeling guilty as though he’s the reason why the man lives on the streets, he turns around and goes back to his office. He stopped short at the edge of his desk and began to look at the paperwork spread across the cluttered table. Police reports, witnesses’ testimonies, pictures and other files pertaining to the latest string of murders that has caught the entire country’s attention for the past two months. He was pulled in to the investigation three weeks ago when the second letter arrived at the local news station and then a day later the body of the latest victim was discovered. The letter proved that a serial killer was on the prowl. Malcolm instantly became obsessed with the case and soon he was practically living with it. It has always been his strongest and weakest asset to obsess over his work. Tonight was no exception. Driven by his strong sense of justice, he works the case as if his life depended on it.
Sitting down on his black leather turning chair, he notices the empty cup he is holding. But as he was about to get up to refill it with coffee, he set it down on top of what little empty space there is on the table and decided to brave the night without having more. He chuckles when he remembered how his girlfriend Bianca would often nag him over his bad habits. Giving a mock “I hear ya.” he takes a pack of cigarettes from inside the top table drawer and lights one. “Give me this one though.” he says, expelling a thick white cloud of smoke. He lets out a sigh of relief and returns to work.

With a cigarette on one hand he gets a hold of a copy of the “letter” written by the killer. It is an account; a confession; a vaunting recollection of his achievement; a narrative of everything that transpired before and after the murder. Here in front of him is an embodiment of a heartless and sadistic murderer. As he read on, Malcolm felt resentment for the cruelty the victim suffered from his hands but is also amazed by how meticulous and systematic everything he did was.

As he marvels at the object of his focus, his phone rang. “Bianca..” he told himself. He made a quick glance at his waterproof sports watch to check the time. “3:12” the watch told him. He picked up his cell phone and without confirming the caller’s identity he said, “I’m already on my way to sleep Bianca”. “You better be” Bianca demandingly said.

“Well done. You managed to deliver as always.” the man told his faithful follower. Upon finishing tying up the unconscious victim to the old steel bed, the figure looks at the man as if waiting for any signs of adulation from him. “Not yet” the master told his follower and just like that the figure disappeared from the room.

“We don’t need any help. I can do everything for you brother.” Patting his younger brother on his shoulder the man answered “No. Just do what i tell you like a good boy.”
 
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