Henry had become obsessed with his morbid little routine. Like every night after he left the law firm for home, he scuttled into the packed train-cart, found a seat towards the back, and hurriedly opened a newspaper over his lap.
The date was October 31st, Halloween. And teenagers all around him were dressed in various costumes; ghouls, zombies, witches, and a bloody centipede standing in the far corner. But Henry didn’t pay the slightest attention to these costumes. All his focus was aimed toward the article on his lap.
TWO MORE SLAIN, read a bold print headline. Beneath were two dotty black and white snapshots of the victims. Noting how young both boys appeared in the photo, Henry’s hovered over the pictures for a while before reading the article.
“Bennett and Joe Jenkins, brothers, ages twelve and thirteen, were found brutally stabbed to death in their District Heights apartment. Authorities suspect this is another double murder at the hands of the infamous Silent Tongued Killer. Like the killer’s other victims, the tongues of boys had been severed and removed from the scene of the crime…”
Henry briefly skimmed the rest of the article, and when he had finished, he spent a long time with head in his hands, recollecting the time before–and the time before that–when he had left the office from work, headed down to central station, bought a seventh-five cent newspaper and boarded the train to find to his profound disbelief that yet another unsuspecting couplet had been ritually slaughtered and inducted into the Silent Tounge killer’s exclusive club.
The article mentioned that the number of confirmed victims had grown to fourteen boys by now and that the authorities still had no facial sketches or definitive descriptions of the killer. He was clean, real clean.
Like Henry’s own obsessive intrigue, throughout the city people were quickly becoming desperate, calling to community leaders and to basically anybody who represented power and order to ‘End this killer’s chain of mayhem!’
“Greenwalt station, blue line exchange,” sounded a womanly voice over the intercom. The throng of costumed teenagers funneled onto the station and the railcar was empty except for a few drifters. Henry looked from his hands and glanced towards the map posted on the wall to the right. There were six more dots before his stop. That be about thirty minute wait. The doors beeped closed. And he watched the giant centipede on the platform disappear behind the window as the train started again.
He returned his eyes to the two boys on the front cover. Henry couldn’t imagine how the parents felt. He didn’t have any kids, so he couldn’t necessarily relate to the long road of struggles that attend with raising one. But then to have all that love, care, work and effort struck away in a single bloodthirsty night? Worst of all, two children. It was yet another perfect tragedy. He could not imagine a darker terror for any parent.
He starred out window at the enormous city glistening beneath. Somewhere in all those lights lurked the killer, targeting his next prey. With all the buildings and alleyways and dark spots to find unready victims, this city was the killer’s blank canvas, restraints and knives providing his palette and paintbrush.
Henry’s eyes grew heavy thinking about the killer, imagining who and what the person may look like to do such heinous deeds. He rested his head against the cold window until he dozed asleep. He awoke some time later to the voice of a woman, “Excuse me sir, i didn’t mean to wake you ”
Henry’s blinked his eyes open and realized that the blonde woman was talking to him. She was tall and slender and wore a ponytail over her shoulder which made her look young but seductively attractive. He wiped the drool from his mouth, straightened up, and flashed to the windows, “Oh my stop?”
Without letting the woman respond, Henry jumped from the seat, grabbed his suitcase, and rushed for the door. It shut before he got to it, “hey wait!” The train started moving and the intercom said, “next stop: Big Den Heights.”
Henry suddenly realized that there were still two stops before his own and that he had just jumped from his seat and made a fool of himself for nothing. He returned to the seat in the back of cart and sat to the left of the blonde.
“Shoo, i thought I missed my stop for a second.” Said Henry, amusingly
“Oh no, Your suitcase and newspaper were in the seat beside you and i didn’t want to move them without asking.”
“Right, ” Henry tucked the suitcase beneath his feet and folded the newspaper into the pocket to his blazer. He exchanged brief smiles with the blonde and caught sight of her long, tanned legs, and he had to force his eyes away and stare out the window so that she wouldn’t catch him peeking.
The lights from downtown had shrunk noticeably in the distance and the city beneath had become black and dark except for patches of light here and there from street lamps. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get his mind off the article, and particularly, his astonishment that the killer had murdered seven sets of teenage boys and men without fail, not leaving behind the slightest clue of evidence except for a single lined note after each double murder. Though, to Henry’s disappointment, the police hadn’t released the contents of the most recent message.
In a large sense, Henry felt an overwhelming obligation to find the killer. Since the first time he opened an article and learned about the nature of these crimes, he started admiring the killer’s handy work. Unlike most killers who target the weak and unsuspecting, this killer instead went after the strong, not only fighting one at a time, but two. Whoever this killer was, he was definitely daring, real daring.
Henry thought about sparking up a conversation with the attractive blonde but decided otherwise because she looked busy reading a paperback and there were two men sitting nearby, so Henry didn’t want them to overhear and to think he was trying to hit on her. He gazed through the window at the dark abyss of the inner harbor’s murky waters.
In a way, Henry saw himself as a information hungry sentry. The more information he got about the killer’s crimes, the more the chances were that he could spot out and find the killer. And Henry’s silent obligation only burned with intensity after each successive murder.
From the crimes so far, Henry had decided upon three things about the killer. Firstly, the killer must be a man. Henry had concluded this around the time of the third double murder because there were overt signs of a struggle left behind in the apartment where the crime had occurred. Henry knew the killer was a male upon the basis that no female could succeed in a struggle against two men. Simple.
Secondly, the killer must be large in stature. This follows from the same supposition that in order to kill two men, one must be robust and able bodied to do so.
Now, the last trait wasn’t so much physical as it was more emotional or psychological. It was the killer’s signature to always cut the tongues from his victims’ mouths and take it with him, so the killer must have some kind of attachment to the tongue. Henry knew it had significance, but he wasn’t sure what the significance was behind the tongue.
One of the men who was sitting in the row ahead, who looked like an aging punkster, bald headed and wearing ripped jeans and an oversized tank top, turned around, and spoke to the blonde woman with a wide smile exposing his cigarette stained teeth, “it’s awfully late for a chick like you to ride on home alone,”
The blonde woman glanced from her paperback with a smirk, “I think I can handle myself.”
The man nodded and looked like he was going to give up, but then he added, “If I were a girl with that silent tongue killer still out there, I wouldn’t leave my house.”
Henry whipped his head to look at the man so quick that his neck popped. The man had mentioned him. The blonde woman rolled her eyes then reached a hand and lifted back the flap of her corduroy jacket, exposing a nine millimeter standard police issued pistol, “I think I’ll survive.”
“Whoa whoa, no need for that.” Said
the man, jokingly, raising both hands.
The blonde woman winked to the man and returned her focus back to
the paperback in her lap. Perhaps her innocent wink had provoked
more, but the man was persistent, “Honey you look exhausted, I
could carry you home and keep you safe.”
The blonde clearly didn’t want anything to do with his offer, and her tone equally reflected her aggravation, “listen buddy, I’m not interested.”
The man scorched his face at her, “what a bitch.” He turned forward, “–who the fuck are you looking at!” He was speaking straight to Henry.
Kneck tensing, Henry raised both hands and looked out the window in a submissive silence. The man grunted and whipped forward. Henry listened as he conferred with another man in the seat to the left who was similarly dressed but looked younger and had the stature that resembled a stump. Henry had to stop himself from almost chuckling aloud. The man had warned her of the silent tongued killer when he and the man to his side, together, were prime candidates to be victimized. They were both males, between ages fifteen to twentyfive, traveling in pairs. They were stupid.
Henry took the opportunity to eye the blonde woman up and down, noting the smooth curves beneath her clothing. Being a cop made her that much more appealing and Henry wanted to speak–to say anything to her, but he didn’t know how to start. He managed to mumble, “I bet the silent tongue killer is giving your whole department the biggest headache.”
“You have no idea.” replied the woman.
The bald man ahead turned back and shot Henry a salty look. Henry tried his best to act as if he wasn’t actually uncomfortable for stealing the man’s thunder right from under him. He said to the blonde, “I read the killer left another note. They say the police dont want to release it to the public. Do you know what it said by chance?”
“Nope. this last one happened over in Harrisburg, the fifth precinct. I’m assigned to Greenwood. Fifth precinct probably won’t release the message anyways. It only gives the killer more attention, what the reptilian bastard wants.”
Henry nodded and looked out the window. It was a big disappointed that he wouldn’t get to hear the message, or clue, the killer had left behind for the entire world to see. That the killer choose one message after each double murder was the most enthralling part of the whole game. And since Henrys unrelenting devotion to find who the killer was, he had begun to feel a small, sympathetic connection with the personality revealed through those seven brief messages.
Once again, the skinhead in the seat ahead interjected, “Personally, if you ask me, I think he is one hilarious sonofabitch. They should release the message. You gotta admit the last one was pretty cute, a pew won’t help these two.”
“Well nobody asked you.” Said the blonde, looking at Henry disgustedly.
The skinhead smiled greasily, “no need for the lip, cunt” Then he returned forward.
Henry was stunned by the words that had poured from the skinhead’s tongue. The blonde shook her head and continued her paperback. She didn’t pick up on him.. The skinhead had been the one to first mention the Silent Tongued Killer, and not only did he mention the message left behind after the most recent double slaying, ‘a pew won’t save these two’, but then he had casually repeated the first message the killer had ever signed after the very first killings, “no need for the lip.”
It was an eerie coincidence, and somehow, Henry felt that there was more behind the story than meets the eye. The public was well aware of the slayings and the messages, but Henry couldn’t see how it was possible for a two bit punk to know and to remember the specific details from months ago. The skinhead was strange.
“Greenville ahead,” said the intercom.
The blonde started gathering her bag. Henry felt a desperate urge to confer with her what he had heard moments ago from the skinhead and ask her wether she thought it was just a strange coincidence. Also, Henry felt a magnetism of attraction for the blonde, so he wanted to say something to her before she walked from the train and disappeared forever.
There was a screech of brakes as the train slowed to the platform. The blonde hopped from her seat, smiled warmly to Henry, then went and stood by the doors. She was a cop, and if there were something actually amiss about the skinhead, she’d discern it. Worst case scenario, if the skinhead was the Silent Tongued Killer and there was no way to prove it right now, atleast a description could be left.
The doors slid open and Henry realized this was his only chance. He jumped from the seat and caught the blonde five feet out the door, “mam? I have a question for you?”
The woman stopped and waited for him to speak. Henry froze momentarily, not knowing how to go about accusing a random stranger of serial murder, but he knew the train was about to depart, so he asked,”I may just be becoming paranoid.” His voice dropped, “But I don’t know if you picked up on what the man in there said?”
The lady smiled and moved closer, “Don’t worry.. I did. But he’s not the killer. He coulnt be. He’s too thin and too weak to have won a struggle against two men.”
“You mean the killings in the apartment down on the south side?”
“Yes, that man in there would’ve been used like a posthole digger considering the sheer size of the two victims. Our killer is either a very big man, or a team of men”
Henry had never considered the option that the killer may not be acting alone. “Are you sure you don’t want to atleast get his name?”
“Departing for Devils grove,” announced over the loudspeaker.
“I’m sure, ” said the blonde. “You better get back on the train before you get left behind.”
Henry agreed and they stood there for a moment, staring into eachother’s eyes; Henry badly wanting to ask for her phone number or some kind of contact information, yet like every time he tried to interact with the opposite sex, once again he was incapable of mustering the confidence. He smiled lightly and reentered the train cart. The doors shut behind him.
“No luck?, what a prude little bitch,” said the skinhead as Henry passed.
He ignored the comment and found his seat. He was still mulling over what the blonde had said. Henry had never considered the option that his killer might be killers plural. For this whole time, Henry may have been searching in the wrong direction. It made more sense for the killer to be a duo, considering that all the targets had been pairs. He didn’t know the killer, or killers, as well as he had thought.
Henry’s rested his head against the window and recollected all the victims. He could see all their bloody, tangled bodies from the various police photographs. From years of working as a Tort lawyer, Henry had a mind that was good at storing and recalling details. But he knew he was missing one. In all those bloody scenes suspended in his mind, he knew there was one clue that he had been missing the whole time.
Possibly two killers who hunt out the tongues after the act. Why the tongue? What kind of people have attachments to the tongue?
Henry’s focus was interrupted by a ruckus as the two men in the row ahead argued over a bag of jellybeans. “They were in my bookbag, so their mine you little shit,” said the skinhead, holding the bag up high,
“Come on. I put them in there earlier. Give them to me.” The shorter man jumped for the bag but couldn’t reach it even when he was standing.
Henry shut his eyes, focusing harder. He was missing something. The killer or killers always removed the tongues, always cut them out. Why? Wasn’t there some clue to explain why?
Riipppp. Then there was a noise like hail hitting the roof of a car. “Look what you did.” said the shorter man, angrily tossing the torn bag of jelly beans on the floor.
“Wasn’t my fault, bitch” The skinhead stuck out a pierced tongue.
Henry felt his stomach drop. The skinheads tongue was pierced with a giant silver bead. Henry suddenly noticed for the first time that the skinheads earlobes were also glittered with many little metal stubs and gauges. Henry looked at the shorter man and his ears were also pierced like Bloody Mary. That was it! A voice sounded off in Henry’s head. There’s your clue, the killer’s attachment to the tongue. The one connection he had missed this whole time. It was him! And as the blonde had been right that there was no possibility the skinhead could’ve acted alone, the smaller round man must be his minion. It was them! The two men must be some sort of freak body piercers and that would explain their attachment to the tongue. Henry recoiled in his seat. Feet from him was the silent tongued killer—s.
He instinctively reached into a pocket for his cellphone, but stopped himself. There was no point in calling the police. He had just met one and she had the chance to catch the killer but she choose to let him go. The police wouldn’t help.
Henry held his briefcase closer and watched the men intently. He had finally found his man, or men. His hands shook fervently. The train stopped at the Greenville platform, his stop, but Henry didn’t get off.
Now the train was completely empty except for the two men and himself. He clutched his briefcase tight to his chest, ready in case they tried anything. But the two men didn’t even turn to look around. They kept conversing among themselves until the train arrived at the next stop. The doors opened and they got off.
Henry sulked behind and waited until they were off the platform to follow them. He tried his very best to be dead silent while he walked down the galvanized stairs and entered the darkened, lonely street. Hundred feet ahead, Henry could hear the chatter of the two men. The police are no help. It was time he took things into his own hands.
Henry had always known this day would come. That’s why he always lugged around a sharpened Bowie knife in his briefcase. He had carried it around all this time out of hope for all the lives he would one day save. The men rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Henry ran after.
When he reached the corner, breathing heavy, he peaked around and saw that the two men we’re twenty or so feet ahead walking in the middle of the street. This was his chance. He fumbled open his briefcase and recovered the knife. His hand was shaking so badly that he had to focus hard in order to loop his fingers through the brass knuckle tang. This is your chance.
In a wild wave of adrenaline, he rounded the
corner and hurriedly walked straight at the two men. They didn’t
hear him until it was too late. He struck the smaller man in the
head with the briefcase then staved the blade straight though the
skinheads skull.
Blood gushed everywhere.
He finished the small man with a gash to the throat.
Now hide the truth, said a voice which wasn’t distinctly different from Henry’s.
A black pallor overtook his eyes while he bent over the bodies and fished out their tongues. He used the man’s shirt to wipe clean the rigid blade, and then he stuffed it back into the briefcase.
He removed a sticky pad from his pocket, signed a message, and tossed it helplessly on the ground. For you Henry, said the silent tongued killer aloud before turning back the other direction and heading home on Halloween Night.
….