Chris Carter - I Am Death

Donny, the diner owner, and all the other waitresses had lost count of the times a customer had slipped Alison a card with his/her name and number, and told her that she should be on the big screen instead of slaving away for peanuts pay and shitty tips in some greasy diner in South Central.

Alison would always take the card, politely smile back and thank the customer, and then throw it away when she got to the kitchen.

‘You know, Alison,’ Rita, and all of the other waitresses, had told her many times, ‘some of those people and offers could actually be real. This is LA, remember? Hollywood is just around the corner, girlfriend. It ain’t crazy to think that maybe some of these people mean what they say. This city is riddled with stories of stars who were discovered while waiting tables or working behind bars. Maybe you should think about giving some of them a chance? Wouldn’t you like to get the fuck out of this dead-end job and your shitty neighborhood? Go live in Malibu or something?’

Alison would always reply the same way.

‘I like this job, and I love the area I live in.’

That was actually true. Alison was very content with her life. But despite that fact, no matter how much time had gone by, no matter how different she looked, fear would forever live inside her. The last thing Alison Atkins wanted was to gain notoriety, in any shape or form. She didn’t need to be rich or famous to be happy.

The customer at table seven looked up at Alison and smiled back. In all honesty, his smile was just as disarming as hers.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Everything is just fine, thank you very much.’

The man had also completely changed his appearance from when he’d last eaten at Donny’s, but his transformation hadn’t taken years, merely an hour. In the past years, the man had become a makeup and prosthetic expert. He could make himself look as attractive or as ugly as the situation demanded. He could change his whole persona, including his accent, at the drop of a hat. He could pass for several different people in the same day and no one would ever know. Yes, the customer at table seven truly was a modern-day chameleon.

Today the man had chosen to have longish black hair that came down to his jawbone, dark-brown eyes that were framed by round spectacles, which he didn’t need, and a stylish goatee. His cheekbones looked a touch higher than they naturally were, and his teeth whiter and straighter, giving him a nearly perfect smile. He wore dark trousers with black shoes, a matching blazer jacket and an expensive-looking blue shirt.

The other three waitresses working the lunch shift had all tried flirting with the customer at table seven, but he seemed deep in thought throughout — eyes forward, blank stare, no frown. Their attempts went unnoticed.

Alison also found him quite attractive. There was something about him that she found rather familiar, but she couldn’t tell exactly what. Neither Alison, nor any of the other waitresses, could remember seeing him in Donny’s before.

Despite his eyes not wandering, he’d been observing Alison the whole time he’d been there.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ the man said, renewing his smile. ‘This has been tremendously selfish of me.’

‘What has?’ Alison looked unsure.

‘This place is so busy, there’s a line of people outside waiting for a table, and here I am taking all the time in the world just to finish a cup of coffee. I apologize. If you bring me my check, I’ll be out of your way in no time.’

His voice was firm, but tender at the same time.

‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Alison said with a shake of the head. ‘You can take as long as you like.’ She checked her watch. ‘It’s dying down now, anyway.’

‘Really?’ He turned his neck to look around. The place was still heaving. ‘Could’ve fooled me.’

Alison smiled again.

It was the man’s turn to consult his timepiece. ‘No, actually, I really do have to go.’

‘No problem, I’ll get the check for you.’

While Alison returned to the cash register, the man calmly finished his double espresso.

‘Here you go,’ Alison said, placing the check on the table in front of him.

The man noted the amount, reached for his wallet, and placed a few bills on top of the receipt. Right then, Alison noticed two things. One — the man had put down an extra twenty dollars. Two — his hands looked leathery and shiny, as if he had some sort of thin, protective plastic layer over them. She wondered if it was some sort of treatment for a skin condition.

‘Keep the change,’ he said, getting up.

‘Are you sure?’ She sounded doubtful.

‘Of course I am.’ The man winked so charmingly at Alison, she practically blushed.

In an impulsive move, something Alison almost never did, she threw a question his way, just as he was turning to leave.

‘I haven’t seen you in here before, have I?’

The man looked back at her. ‘No, this is actually my first time eating here.’

‘Well.’ She returned the wink. ‘I really hope you’ll come back.’

Their eyes locked for a few seconds and the man nodded, courteously.

Alison never heard what the man whispered as he turned and walked toward the diner door.

‘You’ll see me a lot sooner than you expect, Alison.’

As if handling some sort of dangerous and unstable substance, Garcia extracted the contents from the evidence bag carefully, before retrieving the single sheet of paper from inside the envelope.

The note had been folded in half to perfectly fit a regular business envelope.

Hunter waited while Garcia unfolded it and placed it flat on the desk in front of him. Just like the note sent to Mayor Bailey, this one had also been handwritten in red ink. Once again, the killer had used a ballpoint pen.

So you are the one who is supposed to be the best of the best. The so-called expert who’s been tasked with the burden of stopping me, huh? You are the one who is supposed to bring justice to the victims. The one who will look into my eyes and find out what I have become.

Well...

How’s that going for you so far, Detective Hunter?

Are we having fun yet, or am I moving too fast for you?

Are you still keeping count, or are the bodies piling up too quickly?

One thing I can tell you is that I am looking forward to the challenge. The question is, will you see only what you want to see, or will you prove me wrong, Detective Hunter? Because you haven’t seen anything yet. I am just getting started.

If you are wondering why I am doing what I’m doing, the answer is simple. I am creating history. Or, if you prefer, rewriting it.

Do you want to know who I am, Detective Hunter?

Do you really want to know?

Well, the clues are in the name.

FOR I AM DEATH.

Garcia read the note several times over before finally lifting his eyes to look at Hunter again, who was leaning against the edge of his desk.

‘OK. So what do you think?’

Garcia got to his feet, pushed his chair out of the way and approached the picture board.

‘Remember when we discussed the note that was sent to Mayor Bailey?’ he asked, indicating it on the board. A copy of the first two notes had been pinned side by side. ‘We both agreed that the third paragraph constituted a challenge of sorts, right?’ Garcia didn’t wait for Hunter’s reply. ‘Well, the way I see it, the whole of this third note, other than it being coated in arrogance, is nothing but one big challenge.’

Hunter scratched his chin. ‘OK, I’m listening.’

‘The problem is,’ Garcia continued, ‘the killer has now made it personal. Here, have a look.’ He walked over to his desk. Hunter followed. Garcia then indicated all five instances where the killer had referred to Hunter by name. ‘In fact, he has made it very personal, Robert. He went all the way to your home to deliver it.’