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Michelle and I sprinted to the window, feet crunching the shattered glass as we ran. When we reached the gore-streaked bricks we stuck our heads through the opening and peered down at the alleyway below.
Despite the thick shadows covering the street, I could see the outline of Anthony?s body twitching on top of a dumpster. His limbs stretched behind him at right angles, and audibly fractured with each spasm that wracked his body.
?Oh my god?? said Michelle.
?We need to get down to him,? I said. ?The last thing we need is some junkie stumbling across his body.?
We high-tailed it through the door and descended down the stairs two steps at a time.
Anthony?s haunting laughter consumed my thoughts as we ran. I had checked his pulse only moments before his eyes had snapped open. The man was dead; I was sure of it.
But now he wasn?t, and my mind raged to develop a rational explanation.
After sprinting down the final landing with such speed our hair blew back, we bolted out the back door and into the alleyway.
However, when we reached the dumpster that had cushioned Anthony?s six story fall, his body had disappeared.
---
?Where the **** is he?? said Michelle.
?I don?t know. He must?ve bolted.?
?How? His legs have multiple compound fractures.?
?You tell me.?
Anthony?s phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and hit the home button.
When I saw the text message pulsating in bright white letters, my heart started palpitating.
Hello Phillip. I see you found our friend Anthony. Quite a mess, isn?t he? Definitely my best work to date. I?m sure you?re wondering how he?s still alive. However, if I told you I doubt you would believe me, so I?ll keep that secret close to chest for now. His wife on the other hand?that gorgeous little ****?will find out tonight, and in her own room no less. Would love it if you joined us. Feel free to bring that hot piece of ass you?ve got tagging around with you too.
Your friend,
The Dallas Flayer.
?What does it say?? said Michelle.
?He?s going to Anthony?s house,? I said. ?He?s after his wife.?
The color drained from Michelle?s face. ?Do you think it?s a trap??
?There?s no way to tell. Either way, we can?t let him get to her.?
?I agree.?
We jogged to my car in silence.
The iron scent of blood?which snaked through the alleyway on the vapid breeze?thickened with every step we took.
---
When we reached Anthony?s house, Brianna was already gone.
?****!? I yelled, pacing around the living room, fists clenched. ?The ******* beat us here.?
?This doesn?t make sense,? said Michelle. ?Based on the food left on the counter, nobody?s been here for hours, if not days.?
?It makes perfect sense. He?s toying with us?just like he did with Anthony.?
?Do you think Brianna?s still alive??
?I?m not sure. However, given the Flayer?s history with women, I doubt it.?
Two dozen crime scenes flooded my mind simultaneously, causing my heart to flutter. Despite my extensive experience as an investigator, the Flayer?s perverse treatment of women plagued my sleep with weekly nightmares. I wasn?t the only one either. Investigators assigned to his cases routinely retired?for their passions withered in the face of such heartless evil.
To think that Brianna?s name might be forever tethered to his sadistic mythos made me see red.
?Check this out,? said Michelle, pointing toward the ceiling.
I snapped my eyes to the shadow-covered wall. A single camera stared back at me, red eye cutting through the darkness like a lighthouse does fog.
?The *******?s watching us. We walked right into his trap.?
Anthony?s phone vibrated in my pocket. I yanked it out and fumbled open the home screen.
Turn around.
The TV behind us whirled to life. The sound of oscillating static filled the room, drowning out the thunder roaring through the still-opened front door.
This static morphed into a wide shot of an empty, windowless room. Bright red light flooded the room from an off camera source, giving the space a neon glow.
Before either Michelle or myself had an opportunity to react to this hellish scene, a man appeared in front of the camera. Other than the plain red mask plastered to his face, he looked entirely normal, and reminded me of any thirty-something man you might see walking down the street.
?Greetings detectives,? he said. ?I?m so glad you decided to join me. For a while there I was afraid you wouldn?t come.?
The Flayer?s voice was surprisingly pleasant.
?Where?s Brianna?? said Michelle.
I had to give it to her: she never minced words.
?She?s with me. Transporting her here took some time, but it will be worth the effort in in the end. She will soon become one of my disciples?just like her husband.?
?But she?s pregnant! Not even you can harm a pregnant woman.?
?Harm?? He tasted the word for a few moments, as if it were a piece of foreign candy. ?I?ve never harmed anybody. I?m simply an artist striving to make my mark on the world. Just because my medium is shunned by the public doesn?t make it any less valid.?
?And what medium might that be?? I said.
?Flesh.?
Michelle?s hand trembled as she regarded the Flayer with rage-filled eyes. ?Let her go. She?s never crossed you. It?s us you want.?
The Flayer ignored her and darted his eyes onto mine. Even though they were obscured by his mask, I could sense their intensity. ?What you?re about to witness is a monumental privilege. Never before have I allowed another to bare witness to my creative process.?
?Why now?? I said. ?Why us??
?Because someone needs to observe the creation of my masterpiece. I?ve worked in isolation for far too long. It?s past time I opened my studio to the public.?
He vanished from the shot and returned a few moments later pushing a wheeled table. Brianna was strapped to the middle of this table, face pale and tear-streaked.
When she saw Michelle and I staring at her through the camera, she screamed.


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