Justin Cairns - Little Red

‘The footage you are about to see is what the killer had filmed themselves and sent to us, some may have seen this already but I can imagine that all of you will be watching it again at some point in the investigation, more than once.’

The room darkened again as the film began, the camera out of focus, gradually zooming in to display the girl bound to the chair. William froze the footage.

‘Just to let you know I will be pausing throughout to discuss certain aspects of the movie, things that display the behaviour of the killer and so on……do please feel free to take notes’.

Nathan watched the Psychologist as he addressed the audience, he imagined William feeling a sense of power and purpose as all the faces starred in his direction. His eyes scanned the doctor from head to toe. His Suede shoes, worn and fading at the toes. The brown Corduroy trousers clashed with his grey jacket, his shirt, un-ironed and starting to un-tuck its self. His small eyes were slightly sunken into his head and his fine framed glasses balanced at the tip of his stubbed nose. Nathan had lost count of how many times the doc had pushed them closer to his eyes, his nose scrunching and creating prominent creases as his finger glided over it.

He was never one to judge, but sometimes, when an individual wound him up just by their appearance he couldn’t help but dislike them. William Lime was one of those people.

***

The tapping sound caught his attention. The moth flew wildly into the light as it flickered to life. One by one the fluorescent lights illuminated the room. The Wolf stood and observed his den, the smell of bleach stinging his nostrils. He walked over to the chair which held his previous victim, the same wooden structure that will house his next girl……..and the one after that.

The blood had been scrubbed from the concrete floor, the bleach helped to break the dried speckles that littered around the main pool of crimson life. He lowered his athletic frame to one knee and stroked the palm of a hand over the place where the red stuff had formed…….dry, as he had expected.

Pushing his body up with the bent knee he regained his posture. His skin felt smooth as he brushed the small particles free from his hand with two fingers. He enjoyed the preparation before the abduction, the previous went exceptionally well. The next was to be the same…….better if possible.

Firstly he walked clockwise around the room from wall to wall, keeping the painted bricks to his left. He checked that the image he had painted himself was intact……it was. The decorating had taken him several weeks, the planning phase eating up two months in total. The bricks were hidden behind scenery of woodland and green fields. The trees stretched from the base of the wall to the ceiling, eight feet in height. The branches housed an array of leaves, green, red and orange. The sun hid behind the forest, the bright yellow ball peeking through the gaps of the branches. In the middle of the wood lay a faint path, the sign displaying directions:

To Grandma’s House

He gazed in ore at his masterpiece, a comforting setting for his girls to take in. In the centre of the room stood a large wooden cabinet, holding six shelves and an array of items. The cellar room appeared divided into two sections, the cabinet running length-ways and separating the room into two halves. The right side was where the chair sat, bolted to the ground to stop a young girl’s tantrum from tipping it over. The camera sat on a tri-pod several feet in front of the chair, perfect positioning enabling him to film his victim and his work. Behind the recording aid was a large map, a yellow and red pin stuck from two locations, both holding a number one, in black pen, upon the head. The left side was empty apart from a tall wooden coat rack. It stood alone in the far corner of the room. The knee length black coat was hung by a metal hanger and hooked over one of the arms that protruded from the thick pole. At the base sat a large pair of black work boots, the type worn on a construction site, the steel caps helping to absorb any stamping of little girl’s shoes. Following the rack to the top he laid his eyes upon the mask, his favourite item of clothing. Once donned, he was transformed into the thing of nightmares. Into the beast that crept in the depths of a dark night. He remembered the power that surged through his veins, the power that the mask gave, and the start of his becoming.

The clanging of metal objects rang in his ears as the bag was lifted from a shelf and placed on a small metal wheeled trolley. He pulled the zip back slowly, the contents displaying themselves to his eager eyes. One by one he removed the tools and placed them down carefully upon the shiny surface, the low clinking sound filled the quiet room as the metal to metal contact was made. The scalpel glistened like a majestic weapon, the highly polished surface reflecting the light above. He ran a finger across each tool, feeling its power. His finger stopped at the last instrument, his most fondly. Powerless to his urge to play with it he lifted the self-made weapon carefully from the cart, twisting it slowly to cast the light upon it. The glove was a hard-wearing suede material. He had added a thick plastic plate to the top section, stopping where his knuckles sat. Glued to the plate was a piece of animal fur he had flayed from an old hunt, the fur was a greying colour, the colour of a wolf. His hand gently entered the glove, his fingers spreading into their homes. Pulling it tight he then secured it to his hand with the buckle, another extra he had added when making. The glove felt heavy, he had been sure to use the lightest materials possible so that his hand would not feel weighed down when needing to attack. Attached to the tip of each finger was a razor blade. One end wedged into a rectangular chunk of plastic to hold it in place and secured to the bottom of the finger with a small strap stitched tight. The other end of the razor glimmered as it remained free, waiting to rip into the flesh of his next victim. He moved over to the coat stand and reached for the mask. Carefully sliding it onto his head he began to feel the transformation……his face………his hand. He was becoming the monster he yearned to be. The howl echoed and bounced off the walls of his studio. This was the place of his becoming.

Chapter Four

The room was silent. The onlookers made an effort to quieten their breathing as they sat in anticipation. The sound of seats shuffling seemed louder in the silence of the briefing room, the Wolf had moved into view of the camera. He was the star of his own movie. Doctor Lime increased the volume with the remote device, the whimpering pleas of the young girl sending shivers through the audience’s skin. Some had failed to notice that the Wolf had disappeared out of view as their eyes were fixed on the fearful expression of the ten year old. The quick flash blinded the camera lens for a second, the focus re-adjusting its self again. The Wolf had taken the first picture. He moved in a relaxed manor to the cabinet at the left of the screen and placed the bulky Polaroid camera down on a shelf. He moved toward the girl and leaned into her ear.

The girl began moving violently, attempting to break free of her binds. The Wolf’s mask was close to her face, the pointed nose touching her skin. The girl continued to thrash wildly, the chair remained still as her body moved in fits of spasms. Nathan noticed several members of the audience placing their ands close to their eyes, waiting to block a violent image that they were expecting. The Wolf had moved out of view for the second time, collecting the Polaroid camera on the way. There was another flash……another second of pure white light…..another photograph taken. The killer remained out of view for several seconds, mild sounds had been picked up by the camera’s microphone but they were un-clear. The girl’s whimpers and groans from behind her gagged mouth drowned all other sounds.