Sunset Heights has, for many years, been one of those Downtown suburbs that draws attention to itself for all the wrong reasons, its past is littered with stories of violence and death, stories that make you wonder why people keep living here.
Examples of the insanity it attracts can be found scattered throughout the years, such as in twenty-one eighty-one when serial arsonist Teddy Holloway started four hundred and twenty-seven fires within a single hour, burning two hundred and two people to death before he was apprehended and put on ice for eighty-five years.
Or two short years later when former Divisional Sergeant turned junky, Ricky Lincoln, was visited by God and given the mission of thinning downtown of its ever growing population after a night of overindulging on a bad batch of the party drug JoyTwoTheWorld. He massacred one hundred and eighty-six people during his reign of insanity, his kill count would have been more if it wasn’t for the fact that enforcement officers cornered him in a local arcade, he took five officers with him before he turned his blaster on himself.
There are more stories like these ones, but we will save them for another day as we concentrate on the here and now. The here and now being the end of twenty-one eighty-five, and Sunset Heights has found itself in the grip of a new terror, a terror the media have named ‘The Sunset Slasher.’ Over the past sixteen days this Slasher has racked up a body a day and shows no signs of stopping anytime soon. So far the usual age, race, sex or religious beliefs are non-existent as the Slashers targets seem random, as if the killer is picking their victims names out of a hat, leaving no pattern to follow and tonight, the Slasher prepares to strike again.
He stands there silently, looking out of the window, mesmerized by the city, it calls to him, tells him all the lies it knows he wants to hear. A cold shiver runs through his body and he places a hand against his forehead, letting out a long, deep breath. He can feel it, calling to him, the want, no wait, not the want, the need, the need is calling him, pulling at him again and again, and he feels hopeless against it. A droplet of sweat runs down his face, quickly followed by several more, he turns from the window and looks around the room, at her, she lies sleeping in the bed, unaware of his need.
He stands there for what seems like an eternity, studying every facet of her face, her shape beneath the covers, as if this is the first time he has ever really looked at her, even though he knows it’s not. He comes back to reality with a jolt as she moves, and slowly begins to open her eyes, she notices his dark shape silhouetted against the light from the city beyond her window, and her eyes shoot open wide and she lets out a scream of terror before he is upon her, muffling her cries with a large hand.
“Don’t make me hurt you, Sonya!” he says as he forces her back down onto the bed, she struggles and he grabs her right hand and snaps her index finger back, she writhes in agony. “The next thing I’ll break will be your neck if you don’t fucking cooperate.”
She slowly stops wriggling, tears running down her face, she stares at him, her eyes pleading with him to let her go.
“Better,” he says as he releases her hand and looks down at her, slowly running his hand through her hair, brushing it from her face. “Why do we always find our way back here?” He pulls the sheets back and runs his rough hand up along her body, coming to a stop on her breast, he takes a handful and squeezes it firmly. “Now we’re going to play a little game, the more you cooperate, the less I hurt you, nod to show me you understand?”
She nods her head in understanding, and he smiles.
“Good,” he says as he bites down into her shoulder, slobbering over her with his lust, “Grab me,” he says, “squeeze it, squeeze it like you want to hurt it.” She follows his commands and grabs him, squeezing with all the strength she can muster, his soft, unresponsive thing feels like plasticine in her hand, he pulls himself away from her and drives a punch into her stomach. “Is that all you’ve got? Squeeze it harder you bitch.”
She tries to catch her breath, but he grabs her by the throat and begins to slowly choke the life from her, she twists and pulls and squeezes him, and slowly he grows hard. She hopes from his response he will release his grip, but he does not. She feels a wave of darkness begin to settle over her, and then everything goes black as she loses consciousness.
Red and blue lights flash from the police cruisers that surround the alleyway where the latest body has been discovered. Large spotlights bathe the area in light, across one of the alleyway walls the word ‘Jackson’ is scribbled in blood, a message believed to be aimed at one of District-Three’s Detective Inspector’s, Gary Jackson.
Gary’s longer than usual dusty brown hair sits on his head messy and uncared for, his unshaven face and sleep deprived eyes makes him look ten or more years older than the forty-five he actually is, and his six foot five inch frame stands tall, but not as straight and proud as normal, making his well-built figure look drained and deflated. He stands a few feet from the body looking over the crime scene, having spent the last twenty-nine years working as an enforcement officer, he’s seen many things that he would choose to forget if given the chance, the horrors that some will do for no reason other than to fulfill the need to kill.
‘Another fucking murder, I just need something, anything to stop this psycho.’ He thinks to himself.
Since the bodies started piling up Gary has tried everything at his disposal to find and apprehend whoever is responsible, even accepting the help of a high-ranking profiler from Delta Divisional the mecca of Law Enforcement in Delta City, Oliver has been totally useless as far as Gary is concerned. With each passing day, he feels like he is drowning further and further underneath the weight of the bodies that are stacking up, and nothing he can do will sedate it.
“What’s the verdict?” he asks Danny Halifax, District-Three’s top forensic coroner who is presiding over the body.
“It’s the same piece of shit, same calling card with all the trimmings.”
“Tell me you’ve got something this time?”
“Not a damn thing, she’s as clean as the day she came into this world, like the rest.”
“And the blood?” Gary asks pointing to the wall, each location where the bodies have been found has had his name written in blood above the remains, and since the second murder the blood used has been from the previous victim.
“Blood works confirmed its victim fifteen, Trisha Mills’ blood, as we expected it to be.”
“Be as thorough as you can Danny, if that fucker left anything for you to find it could crack this case wide open.”
“If I get anything to work with, you’ll be the first to know.”
Gary walks back to his awaiting cruiser and runs a hand through his hair as he slams the other onto the cruisers roof in frustration.
END OF ACT I