The Marionette

Chapter 2



Eight years later, after interviews, talk shows, and being on the radio. Detective Rodriguez had made a name for himself. He made lead with a hefty increase in salary.

Now that his fifteen minutes of fame had tarnished, Jorge, now a few pounds heavier and does not frequently shave, spends most of his time remembering the one and only case he ever solved.

Now sitting in his house on the lower east side of Dallas, he replays old news captions on his Tivo, and drinks whiskey and coke. The living room was a trophy room full of awards, pictures with various people, such as the president of the United States, and newspaper clippings in the form of frames and plaques. The living room cluttered with old pizza boxes, paper trash, and dishes. The only thing that is neatly placed was his picture with his best friend and co-worker Joseph Ransom.

As time goes by the proud detective loses interest in finding killers and more like finding the bottom of the glass. After the marionette killer case, he just did not have the stomach for homicide. Always pawning off cases to others, he lost his keen eye on perception.

On the TV shows, a young report named Ashley Stuart wearing a low cut navy blue blouse and had long flowing blonde hair that stopped at the middle of her back. Her skin was buttermilk hewed as her freckles lightly show through her heavily painted face.

She just started, and the marionette killer was her first big break. The youngest reporter in the network, she often prayed for the big break and when she got this assignment, she jumped at the chance even ignoring the others when they tried warning her about mysterious disappearance of the last reporter. She tells the tale just as she was there by his side and in her words she spoke, this is which she won a Polk award for

“Tonight, a heroic Grand Prairie detective named Jorge Rodriguez stopped a deadly spree of torture and pain today. The murderous serial killer know only as the marionette killer was slain as he preformed a sick and horrific rituals, that officials explain as insane, and Satanic. The corpse of his murdered victims where strung up everywhere in a sick display like a puppets at a show. The victims total so far is forty-eight a variety of men, women, and I hate to say, but children as well. Tonight we sleep safer thanks to the bravery of one special man. Thank you, detective Rodriguez for your heroic deeds, back to you Norm.”

Listening to his past and the amount of liquor digesting in his stomach, he falls to sleep.

Midnight arrives and mist starts to fall outside his house. Within the mist lies, a mysterious shadow stands staring at the house. The house was dark only a faint light from the TV was glaring from the window in the living room. The shadowy figure walks towards the house slowly, carefully arriving towards the window.

As the detective sits passed out on chair, he moves away accepting that Rodriguez will not be aware of his arrival. The mist grows to a fog, leaving a dim visual of the surrounding.

He comes closer to the door. The door was unlocked, unusual for a man of the law to forget such things. The backdoor revealed the kitchen, where the figure has now gained access.

The kitchen was dark the only light was coming from the blinking light of the microwave and the soft moon light from the window next to the sink. He goes to the counter and sees a set of knives.

He chooses the chef’s knife. The light danced on the blade when he lifted it up, staring in a trance he awakes from the daydream as Rodriguez rustles around.

Focus has returned as he makes his way to the living room. He enters the room, as Jorge is unaware of his presence, looks to see if the detective is still asleep. He makes his way behind him, and reaches over his face.

The hand was visible from the glare of the TV, it stained of paint, and dirt, grabs Rodriguez’s mouth holding him down to the chair.

Awaking abruptly from his slumber he Claws and jerks, trying to flee from his captor. Rodriguez is unable to break loose from the man’s mighty grasp.

The captor then swings back holding the knife and then lunges it through the chair severing the link between the fifth and sixth vertebra. The knife then jams as he tries to release it from Rodriguez’s back.

Finally, with one forceful pull, it breaks and the knife comes back, missing an inch of the tip lodged in the back. He takes his hand away, turns to his victim.

Rodriguez looks in horror, in shock from the stabbing; starts having compulsions as his, body starts giving out. He looks at the stranger and sees the face. It was him, but how could he be alive is what he was thinking as the man comes closer to his face. He had the same burlap sack and paint as he did on that night.

Rodriguez looks in his eyes; it was the eyes of the devil incarnate. The fear reaches him now, as he knows he is going to die. The man steps back, moving the knife to the left side, extending his arm out. Rodriguez, in a last second attempt to scream, but was too late, the blade flies through his jugular.

Blood flows down instantly covering his body. The spatter sprays on the man’s coveralls and lamp on the right of Rodriguez. As the blood drips from his hands splashing down on the carpet, his eyes slowly close and the man just stands there admiring his kill. Rodriguez takes his last breath, as his eyes close completely.

Three day’s later Rodriguez girlfriend came to knock on the door. Claire Alvarez was her name; she wore a light yellow sundress to bring out her bronze skin tone. She had a slender sexy body for which she has been working out four days a week and taking yoga for the rest. She had a scar above her left cheek from her ex-boyfriend who loved hitting on her when he arrived in his daily drunken conditions. She often covers it up with her hair falling on the left side, short of her nose.

She knocked again, no answer. She reaches in her small leather purse and pulls out her cell phone. As the phone rings, she can hear it coming from the inside. The voice mail comes on, and she proceeds to knock on the door, thinking he was on an all night drinking binge again. She yells out

“Jorge! Wake up it’s me, Claire.”

He did not answer back. She checks the door and found it was surprisingly the door was unlocked. Opening the door a foul odor escaped. She holds her hand to her mouth trying not to gag as she yells out again while making her way through the living room, not aware of the blood stained chair she passes nor the trail of blood leading to the hallway.

“Honey, you really need to take out the trash it’s stinking up the place bad.”

She glances at the kitchen to check if he was there, but only saw an empty bottle of whiskey on the table. She turns away and heads through the hallway.

The hallway had three rooms, the bedrooms were on opposite ends, and the bathroom was next to the living room entrance. She turns left passing the bathroom to investigate his bedroom. She noticed it was open. Claire walked normally towards the room, and notice it was empty.

The bed never slept in and the alarm was going off. The smell was stronger, like spoiled meat left in the sun. She notices that it was coming from the bathroom. Slowly she turns, walking carefully that sense of fear overwhelming ache in her stomach heading north to her throat.

She grasps the knob tightly, twisting ever so slowing until she feels the clicking of the hatch. The door opens to reveal the horrible thing that occurred here.

A scream ripped from her mouth as see witnessed Jorge\'s body dangling above the shower. The wires connected through several drilled holes on each limb.

His hair knotted and tangled from the mixture of blood and oil secretion. His head dangling down as below lies dried blood that leaked from the wounds inflicted by the unknown killer.

The centerpiece of this monstrosity was the burlap mask in the middle laying on the floor staring at Jorge’s lifeless body.

Claire quickly ran out of the bathroom and headed toward the front lawn screaming.

The police arrived shortly after a neighbor called telling them that there was a girl in hysterics, saying her boyfriend was dead in the house.

Two officers were the first to arrive, unknowing of what to come the both with guns raised enter the house. One of the officers located the body shortly after the separation. He calls for backup; the second officer appears to see the body hanging and quickly heads out for fresh air.

The forensic team arrived carrying multiple tools and devices to try to decipher this grotesque scene. A crowd starts to appear when the ambulance arrives. The on lookers stare hoping to feed there morbid thoughts.

Shortly as the paramedics grab there bags and head towards the door, a rugged white man arrives wearing a charcoal grey double-breasted suit with white pin stripes. His hair was a salt and pepper blend, short and to the left side his bangs lay. His eyes were blue as his heart because Detective Ransom knew this house, Jorge was his best friend in college, and they joined the force together.

He walks towards the officers and told them in a harsh voice

“Get these damn rubbernecks off my scene, now!”

One officer moves neighbors back as the other tapes yellow crime scene around the area. Ransom enters the house, looking at fawn memories on the wall and sees them together when they went on the fishing trip in the great lakes. Forensic investigator walks toward the detective.

“Detective Ransom, I need you to see this.”

He turns around to see the investigator next to the chair. Ransom walks by there seeing the blood and gore, noticing the tear in the back. He looks at the floor

“I see the trail and where the initial entry wound started, but I have a question, how the hell did the dumb broad miss this.”

He then followed the trail to the bathroom to see his once friend hung dead above his bathtub. In a twist of disgust and anger, he is focus on catching this secretive killer.

The room filled with blood spatter agents and crime scene photographer taking samples and pictures. This looks familiar, the same wires, hooks, and even the mask is here. The forensic investigator walks to Ransom, with concern occupying his face

“I think we may have a copycat on our hand, sir.”

He turns to him and nods as he walks out. He walks to the door to catch a breath and sees the reporter have arrived to pick on the remains of a friend.

Claire was the first one to arrive to the scene. She heard the person’s name and recognized him. She walks out fixing her hair and finishing her cigarette.

Her camera operator James Taylor accompanies her. James gets out of the driver’s side and rushes to the back to pick up the camera. Claire then fixes her bra and makes sure that her clothes were on straight.

James makes his way and fixes the camera. She then flicks the cigarette out on to the pavement as James counts backwards before the foot comes live. She then picks up the microphone and prepared to speak, when detective Ransom intervened. He places his hand on the camera and puts it down.

“I can arrest you for littering if you don’t get going, Claire”

He spoke in a stern but calm voice. The look in her eyes showed that she desperately needs a story. She walks to detective Ransom and places her hand on his chest. She spoke in a soft voice

“Please, Joe, I need this it is only fair since Jorge gave me my first story.”

With out a word he points to her van, and then proceeds back to the crime scene. Annoyed by the detective’s demand she tells James to put up the equipment. As she enters the van, she looks back wondering what happened to Jorge. She needs to get tot the bottom of this and Ransom is just holding her back. Claire thinks for a second, turns to James and tells him

“Take me back to the station; I need to look up something important.”

With out hesitation James nodded and proceeds to the station.

Detective Ransom walks to the scene, to notice an unfamiliar man in a black suit. He approached the man talking to his forensic team. The man was flashing his badge, as he continues to boss them around. The detective did not like other people bossing his men around, so he walked quickly towards the men.

“We don’t need the feds involved here; my men have everything under control.”

The man turns around; his hair black, grey, and combed straight back. The man was clean shaved, not a hair missed on the face. He extended his hand, cracked and worn. He looked Ransom, dead in the eyes, with out hesitation spoke in a calm monotone voice

“Detective this matter has been brought to our attention and the FBI will take over from here.”

Then the special agent put a firm hand on the shoulder with a sarcastic voice

“Thank you for your fine work here.”

After the words he turned away ignoring the detective as more suits start to infest the scene. Ransom with one last try followed the agent.

“You have no right to take this away from me. I will have your badge”

His voice was excitable as he starts to get louder. As bossy as the detective sounds the agent ignores him and continues to proceed to the flock of men in the front of the yard. Creating a scene as the others stare and some in shock that someone could get underneath his skin as the way the agent has. As the detective gave up and started heading to his car he asked on question

“Who the hell are you, to come in and take over?”

The agent walked toward his Ransom’s car and informed him of his authority.

“Detective may I advice that you are familiar with the victim and that means that you are a danger in this case and number two this is a fellow officer of the law and it means it’s an internal affair. Do I make myself clear?

As he turns away heading to inform the other agents on what is happening, he speaks to Ransom his name

“My name is special agent Redsky.”