Misconception (chapter 3 onwards)

Shiloh’s living room was spacious and orderly. Sunlight from the large window filled the room with clarity. Photos of himself and his ex-wife hung on the mint green walls. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t stare at her face, hoping, wishing that she’d return to him. It’d been two years since she left him for someone else, he never did find out whom though, as three months later he declared a restraining order on Shiloh. He’d made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t stop until he had her again. Shiloh being a man of pure intelligence still didn’t quite understand why she had left; pondering over the concept often angered him. He sighed and turned on the T.V.
This is the 6 o’clock news with Teddy Wiltshire. Mother of two, Cassie Rye, has been recently maimed and slaughtered by, as investigators assume the same person who murdered Claire Woodward as the wounds and incisions have been made in the same places. Both ears and nose had been amputated. Forensic Scientists are working flat out to unmask the source of these horrific events. If you have any information please ca-
Shiloh muted the TV and just sat in silence. He appreciated solitude and the thoughts that emanated with it. He rose to his feet and went down to the garage. It seemed different. He felt as if something had been moved or altered. He felt as if someone was there. Watching. The hairs stood erect on the back of his neck not with fear, but with empowerment. He sidled over to the light switch and in one swift movement, turned the light on. The light seemed brighter, more revealing; so revealing that he could see his paranoia before him. No one was there; nothing had been moved nor touched.

His bedroom was as the term goes; a bed inside a room. It was a basic four poster double bed buried beneath matching white duvet and pillows. The walls were a soft yellow, cream in bright light which reflected his white matt dressers and bedside tables well. 11.29pm his clock read. He folded back his duvet and climbed under it sighing with relief and comfort, it wasn’t long until he fell into a deep sleep; any deeper he’d be lifeless.

“No, it’s always me isn’t it? Anything that goes remotely wrong we have to blame Shiloh.” He said with such a sarcastic tone it felt mocking. Shiloh was sat opposite Sandra in their living room. The sun was still exposed despite it being around 8.30pm on a Wednesday evening. All you could hear was the heavy, exasperated breathing of Shiloh and the whispered crying of Sandra. “Look Shiloh,” Sandra breathed “I know this sounds cliché, but it’s not you; it’s me. I’m sorry that is has to end this way but it’s,” She cleared her throat “But it’s been 7 and a half years and I’m still not happy, with you anyway. This constant fighting for the upper hand,” she reached out to touch his shoulder but he shrugged her off “I can’t do it anymore” The anger and planning had left her face to leave the only emotion she had left; sympathy. Sandra removed her wedding ring with great ease as if it shouldn’t have been there in the first place, placed it on the table, seized her bags and fled to never return again. “Sandra,” Shiloh murmured
“Yes?” She replied
“I do love you”
Before she had time to reply the sound of a taxi’s horn cut her off and startled the both of them. Without hesitation, she left. Shiloh’s face melted into a million tears as he wept into the palms of his hands until the sound of the morning birds signalled a new day.

Rise and shine Connecticut! It’s 92º Fahrenheit outside and counting; Time to get your sunscreen and glasses out as today’s a scorcher! This is Daily Dash’s morning update with the one and only Kent Smith!

Shiloh woke up in deep thought about his dream the previous night. He pulled out a small book from under his pillow and marked an ‘X’ on the 6th July. It’s been eight days since I started having that dream he thought. He snapped the book shut, placed it back under his pillow; and skulked to the bathroom.
~
A pretty middle aged woman emerged from her kitchen. It was very authentic with wooden worktops and wooden cupboards veneered with patterned carvings. A small, round, wooden table accommodated most of the space but it fit perfectly. She wore a pink tunic and white leggings, her dainty fingernails were painted red to match her lipstick. She was a medium to small build of 5”5ft at the most. Her hair was of the most golden blonde placed neatly into a bun at the back of her head. Her sea green eyes were lined with the darkest of blacks. Flawless.
“Chris?” She called “Chris!” she repeated this time more impatiently.
“I’ll be down in a minute” he replied. Her husband had a kind face which had been tainted with intensity over the years. He had mouse brown hair cut into a 1960’s Elvis-style quiff, brown eyes and a really prominent nose. “Chris,” she said, this time from behind him “you really need to stop with all of this work, you’re going to stress yourself out”
He stopped typing “I won’t, just 5 more minutes” He replied
“You said that 45 minutes ago,” she replied with impatience “You heard what Dot said, you’re not to work on that case anymore. He said he’ll handle it”
“You don’t understand. I’ve started this case; I’m damn well finishing it”
She sighed “Your lunch’s on the table when you want it” just as she turned on her heel to leave Chris called her “Sandra”
“Mmm?” she replied
“I love you”
Memories flooded back like a gust of wind or a tsunami. Indulging her, controlling her. She felt a twang inside, consuming her; making it a chore to breathe.
“Sandra? Are you alright?” Chris asked with concern
“Huh? What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine” she replied with uncertainty, with that she left leaving her thoughts behind.
~
“What the hell do you want from me?!” She screamed trying to struggle free from the rope she was secured so firmly in to. Her once yellow skirt sprayed with blood, her own.
“You’ll never get away with this, there are people, my family, who’ll be looking for me right now” He rotated slowly turning His back on the workbench He was so kindly preparing for His victim. He leaned in close so she could feel His warm breath sweep over her face; she held her breath and became fearful, noticeable in her grey eyes. He closed His eyes before saying “No one’s coming”. She exhaled and with that He laughed so much that He became hysterical. “You’re crazy” She whispered. He suddenly stopped laughing, grabbed her neck and fell into deep thought.

“Shiloh! Shiloh where are you!” Sandra called walking aimlessly around the front garden. She stopped as the sound of an electric drill came into earshot; she followed it taking her to the garage. Sandra unlocked the door and thundered inside. “Shiloh Hogan!” He turned ever so slightly so the moon shone a band of light down the side of him. “I’m just fixing the bookcase” Sandra looked with horror at the bookcase, or the lack of it, and then at Shiloh “You’re crazy” She whispered.

He arose from his flashback by the sound of his victim, Mae, spluttering and choking. He released her and sunk to the ground. “I don’t understand,” Mae said gasping for air, for life. Neither did he, who was Shiloh?
“You, you’re the person whose been slaughtering innocent women. Why?”
He carefully took out a mouse from a cage hidden beneath His worktable “Look at this mouse,” He held it by it’s tail so it dangled helplessly at His mercy. The silence was so loud it became unbearable. In one swift movement He ripped off the mouse’s tail like a ribbon and held it victoriously in front of Mae’s face. “What’s a mouse without a tail?” He said so softly it sent shivers up Mae’s spine. “A mouse, is only a mouse with a tail,” He answered His own question “Look at it” He said throwing and catching the mouse in one hand whilst His other remained in His pocket. Mae’s eyes followed the rodent as it was tossed and caught loosely. “You’re sick,” she said “You’re SICK!”
“Without a tail, it’s nothing” He continued disregarding Mae’s comment, “It trudges along barely surviving until one day it can’t go on anymore,”
“What are you getting at?”
He walked round so he was directly behind her. He slowly ran his fingers through her soft blonde hair “You’ll never get away with this” Mae spat,
“Oh,” He laughed “but I already have” and with that He took her head with both hands and snapped her neck. She sat there lifeless, almost as if she was in a deep sleep soon to be awoken by the eerie silence. Without hesitation He seized the nearest screwdriver, top of the range, steel rimmed. Hard-heartedly He rammed the implement into the centre of her left eye, gauging it out of her socket doing the same to her right eye purely just for fun. Once he had finished he put them back into her sockets where they belong and decapitated her with rapid effort and tossed her head into a red toy box under the worktable. He felt a twang of something, guilt? Remorse? Maybe even shame? He stood still as his watch beeped 3.45AM, dragged the remains of Mae out to His car, thrust her inside and drove to her house somewhat innocuous.


~
4.22AM, Chris awoke to see a woman donned with a white button-down shirt and a long luminescent yellow skirt. She was sitting on a small partition cross-legged. A deep furtive aura seemed to encase her as she smirked at Chris. Her hourglass figure and sylphlike features were too deceivable. Chris felt much lured by her, although she felt as though the woman was positioning her in an enduring, captive trance.
Chris stepped back, and sucked in a mouthful of air through gritted teeth. Somewhere deep down in his heart, a part whispered cynically to him, "She's not going to do anything... go closer." But, as thoughtless as this may have sounded, Chris stepped forward, much longer than the one he took before, but the anticipation overthrew his fear. He was now able of setting eyes on the woman's face. A defined jawline, deep blue eyes, and a set of full cherry pouted lips, clearly meant she was extremely attractive. Her beautifully flowing coffee coloured hair accentuated her elegance. However, something about the glow around her made Chris uneasy. He shifted his feet into a more comfortable position, and stared at the woman. How could someone so appealing to the human mind appear so vindictive?
For some obscure reason, Chris had a strong feeling of recognition. He tried to rummage through his brain to identify this enigmatic woman. But, the more he thought about it, the more powerless he felt. These thoughts were disrupted by the woman. She lifted her nimble finger and gestured for Chris to come closer. There was no response from Chris. Her flawless eyebrows rose and she whispered, "why did you do what you did Chris?”
Chris gasped at the touch of Sandra’s sympathetic hand resting upon his shoulder. He shook her off and walked over to his bedroom window and drew the curtains ever so slightly so that he could take a glimpse outside. There wasn’t really anything to see, until something caught his attention. He couldn’t quite make out the silhouette so he went downstairs to his living room window to get a better view. “Come back to bed dear, it’s 4 in the morning” Sandra whispered.
~
Dot stood staring into his bedroom mirror admiring his 32” inch waist, he exhaled the air he’d been keeping and slouched back into reality to his 34” inch gut. He’d never really cared much about his appearance; no one ever questioned why he wore a red tie with a blue and brown pinstriped shirt. He had earned too much respect over the past 20 years working for the police force for that.
He turned round to face his wife’s dressing table plastered with perfume bottles such as Dior and Chanel, loose make-up containers and empty moisturising tubs scrawled with empty promises of younger skin. In fact, the whole of Dot’s room with filled with empty promises; everything was how she left it down to the diamond earrings Dot had bought her as a birthday present in 1982 - she never wore them though, she always felt that they were too pretentious for her to wear.
He remembers the day so clearly, you wouldn’t have thought it had happened. There wasn’t really much to recall; she had been battling cancer and as each Christmas came and went they held their breath to be blessed with another year, 3 Christmases passed and Victoria was growing increasingly weak. Dot couldn’t get her tired, glazed eyes out of his mind, the way she lay there for days on end, staring at the bleak white-washed ceiling. The prominent lingering stench of embargo emanating every nook and cranny of their lives, until she just dropped dead. ‘Just like that’ as Dot described it; Dot had many skills but voicing his emotions was not one of them.
He bowed his head, in somewhat respect and remained that way until he left the room.

~
In other news young med student Mae Brooke was found dead and dumped outside her apartment in the early hours of the morning. Her neck had been brutally savaged and her eyes removed. Connecticut Police Force are admittedly becoming increasingly agitated and beginning to lose hope. Chief Detective, Dot Bruning, exclaimed “We are trying all we can to find this sadistic man. Leads have been found and are being followed up as we speak, I, we are working flat out to restore justice here, we advice women between the ages of 25 and 40 to remain streetwise and not to travel alone at night especially”

He began to laugh hysterically at the thought of Him being branded as a ‘sadistic man’, in a sort of obscure way He took a liking to it. Admittedly, He was sadistic, He found callous pleasure in what He did and He wouldn’t change that feeling for the world.

~
“Ok men, what have we got?” Dot asked knowing full well no improvements have been made. A young woman, probably in her mid 20’s rose her hand and lowered it quickly; her bright eyes and smooth face suggested she was new to force, that and the fact Dot hadn’t seen her around before.
“Well?” Dot asked trying to conceal his irritation, however not very successfully as there was a gradual gauche and inept atmosphere beginning to arise. The silence was broken by a man named Dr. Ross blustered through the door and demanded to speak with Dot. Dot gave a look of warning to the team and stepped outside into the bleak corridor.
Dr. Ross stood confidentially “We have a lead,” Dot inhaled as if he was just about to say something, Dr. Ross intervened “Don’t get your hopes up yet, the media are gnawing at our necks as we speak, the NYPD are criticising us and we have a dozen angry family members seeking revenge” Dot rolled his eyes
“What’s this lead you’ve got?” he said ignoring Dr. Ross’ last comment
“We think we have a witness, she seems pretty flustered but she may be useful,” Dr. Ross began reading from the clipboard she held in her hand “Her name’s apparently Shona Rogers, we searched her up on the computer but we can’t relate”
“Ok, where is she now?”
“In the interrogation room,” Dr. Ross replied “oh and Dot, go easy on the girl”
With that she watched Dot march off in the opposite direction, “men” she sighed under her breath and followed.
~
Shona was sat at the table hunched over a polystyrene cup, tracing the rim with her index fingernail, gnawed down to the nub. She sported grey tracksuit bottoms with a matching hooded jumper, her tired brown eyes rimmed with the aftermath of excessive crying. Dot was watching her through the mirrored window, shaking of her left leg – suggests nerves, arched over and concentrating – suggests sadness, perhaps grief, may have connection with one of the victims, he always did this; making a mental note and judgement on the individual. Nine times out of ten he was usually right, the occasional times where he wasn’t was where they had killed themselves before Dot even got to the Hello’s.
He opened the door where the click of the latch made her jump. “Good…” Dot glanced at his watch, it read 12.02PM “afternoon, just”
She remained in the same position as if he wasn’t even there “I saw it,” she began drawing Dot’s attention, he slowly etched to the chair opposite Shona and stood lent over it holding on to the back “I saw him” she continued
“What did you see?”
She looked up slowly revealing her tired, red face, make-up lines had formed tracing down her nasolabial crease. She bowed her head and began to sob, Dot signalling his head to the side to the mirror for Dr. Ross to bring in tissues, water, something.
“Take your time” Dot assured her, she inhaled deeply, cleared her throat to be interrupted by a small woman.
“You have a call on line one Chief” she said quietly
“Can’t it wait?” Dot snapped
The woman was taken aback “No,” she said bluntly “It’s urgent”
“Dot here”
“We’ve got another one” the voice said
Dot didn’t even have to ask, he swore, hung up the phone and scurried to his car.

~
A large group of curious people crowded the scene, rumours already travelling through; I heard she killed herself said one, I heard she was beaten to death by her husband said another. Dot knew it had nothing to do with domestic issues nor was it self inflicted, he knew who was behind it. Dot approached the Do Not Cross tape, told a police guard he was part of the CPF and stepped through.
The insufferable stench of decaying flesh made Dot gag for air. Forensics were surrounding the corpse, he pushed through to see where the emanating smell was coming from. He stood in shock at the mangled body; her once smooth face was inconceivably plastered with blood, her bright eyes, dull and dead. She was so young he said; only this morning he’d seen her for the first time. It’s one thing killing an innocent young woman, it’s another killing an innocent young woman who works for me, he thought.
“What was her name?” Dot asked a nearby forensic
“Kate Dunford, nice girl, new to your force in fact,” he continued “She moved from California to begin her life as a detective, god bless her soul”
“Have you informed her family yet? Before it’s leaked to the media”
“We would, only she doesn’t have family, only her”
Dot felt a twang, he hadn’t even known her five minutes but he felt that he owed her respect. He knelt down by a pool of blood, discoloured now “This is the same guy isn’t it?”
“Don’t be so sure,” the forensic replied “notice no incision of any sort, not even a finger nail has been removed, it can’t be the same guy. He had, has, a motive, this was out of pure misfortune”
“But she fit’s the profile, young, small build, female…” Dot trailed off
“Yes, but it’s” the forensic looked at his watch “12.56PM, all the previous murders have occurred during the early hours of the morning”
“Chief, Chief take a look at this” a police man said looking pleased with himself
“What?” Dot replied taking a small leather bound book from his hand, he flicked through it to reveal sketches of random contraptions “So?”
“Chief, the first sketch, what does it show?” asked the policeman excitedly
“Well it’s a work surface with tools, screwdrivers, spanners”
“And how was the first victim murdered?”
Silence filled the room, Dot frantically flipped the pages
“There are tens of them in here” Dot said quietly, barely a whisper losing all the colour from his rounded face
“This cant be the same guy,” began the forensic “Kate’s not missing any body parts, ligaments and all” he shook his head
This made no sense Dot thought, a few moments later Chris arrived.
“What are you doing here?” Dot asked through gritted teeth
“I’m here to do my job sir,” looking at Kate without batting an eyelid “What have we go so far?”
The forensic looked from Dot to Chris, “Well, we’ve worked out that,”
“You have no right in being here” alleged Dot, interrupting the forensic
Chris stepped closer to Dot “No, but these women have a right, I’m here to restore balance because your men are doing jack all”
“HOW DARE YOU,” declared Dot feeling the colour in his cheeks return “how very dare you, I’ve been with this force since you were in diapers yet you have the audacity to even criticise my work?”
“This is the third murder Chief,” mocked Chris “and what information do you have?” Silence fell once again
“I suggest you resign, this time permanently Chris” Dot said before turning away leaving Chris stood alone
~
Kate stepped through her front door, kicked off her shoes and threw her keys onto the small mahogany table stood beside her. She lived alone – she never really felt lonely or like she needed someone to talk to, in fact she didn’t have enough time to ever think about her emotions, or the fact that her parents were caught in an unexplainable house fire at the age of 8, or the fact that she had to stay with her aunt until she ran away when she was 16 because of the bruises and scars she was given.
She went through to her bathroom, turned on the tap and rinsed her face. She stood looking at her reflection in the mirror. The ginger locks all in tufts around her head, her blue eyes glazed and tired, that mole on her left cheek she always despised and that man that was behind her. Kate remained motionless, pretending not to notice Him, secretly hoping she was on one of those prank TV shows. He tilted His head to the side, as if admiring her reflection, smiled and with one instantaneous movement knocked her out cold.
He dragged her out to the front door and left her lent against the wall, blood trickling out of her right ear onto the beige carpet. 12.16PM. He waltzed into the kitchen and made Himself a cup of coffee before heading home.
~
The bloodcurdling screams and shrieks of pain mixed with sounds of power tools is foreboding. The sound of flesh being torn from bone echoes throughout the hollows of this cavernous dungeon of retribution. Chris couldn’t imagine the horrors that are taking place 200 meters from him; he foresaw hearts ripped from chests; intestines pulled from abdominal cavities; and arms and legs snapped like twigs, their ligaments and tendons twirling about like spaghetti on a fork. He somehow skips to the steel door opening and the slams against the granite wall unleashing a mini shock wave. There is only one path: forward. There are candles lighting my path towards painful redemption. As he moved towards his maker, he walked through a menagerie of death, and the instruments of his trade. Chris walked by an iron maiden, the brazen bull, and the pear of anguish all gloomily highlighted by candlelight. He saw a seat which he knew was meant for him, he sat down, he wanted to get it over with. As Chris was sitting, metal cuffs sprung from the chair, latching round his wrists. He couldn't move from the chair nor could escape staring into those cold dead eyes. "If it's a part of God's plan, why am I being punished? How can you judge me? I did what God wanted, right?" Chris quivered.
Death laughing, "Are you a philosopher, a theologian, someone who understands things beyond human?" Death moved forward, gazing into his eyes, inches from Chris’ face. He could feel the chill, his caustic breath burning my skin. As he moved back, Chris was relieved, but in agony; his face still burning, Chris’ flesh sloughing off.
Chris roused suddenly in cold sweats. He squinted at the digital clock that was given to him and Sandra as a wedding gift; as the digits came into focus he saw they read 4.24AM.
Why do I keep waking up at the same time every morning? He thought, he just assumed it was stress from work. He lay back down and went to reach out to pull Sandra close – all he grasped was air. He sat up once again and ran his hands up and down the bed hoping that she’d just moved across more. Chris scrambled out of bed and went to turn the bed room light on. To his horror and dismay she wasn’t there – all that was, was the trail of crimson blood trailing across the floor. Slowly and precariously he followed the stream into the bathroom, as he gradually became closer the sound of the water flowing from the taps came into ear shot. He stood motionless outside, blocking out the mixture of blood and water seeping out from under the door. Inhaling he swung open the door to be faced with his greatest fear.
~
“There you go” Dot said handing Chris a cup of coffee; bitter and acrimonious, just like he remembered.
“Thanks” Chris mumbled clasping it with both hands trying to steady his hands
“You know the drill here, you explain to us what you saw and we catch the son of a gun who murdered your wife”
“I’m going to kill him, I’m going to kill him…” he kept repeating under his breath among other things Dot couldn’t distinguish. Dr. Ross entered and sat opposite Chris watching him tap his fingers on his coffee.
“Detective Harper, we understand the state you must be in but you need to corporate for your wife’s sake,” Dr. Ross exchanged glances with Dot and continued “What happened?”
Chris had another swig of coffee “I woke up to see Sandra wasn’t even there,” his voice quavering at the mention of her name “I turned on the light to see a trail of blood – her blood on the floor leading out of our bedroom, across the landing and into the bathroom. I opened the door and saw her laying there, in the bath – her body mutilated, torn apart,” Chris tried to swallow his tears “I just stood there. I didn’t hear a thing, I didn’t even realise she was gone, that was until it was too late”
“And what time was this?” asked Dot
“It was 4.24AM when I looked at the clock, so I don’t know”
Dot sighed and stopped the tape recording. “Don’t leave town, not for a while anyway”
Chris gave Dot and Dr. Ross gave a look of disgust in turn “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“We’re saying don’t leave town, that is all”
And with that Dot and Dr. Ross left the room, leaving Chris alone with his thoughts. Once they were outside Dot grabbed Dr. Ross’ arm “Get Shona Rogers, I have a few questions for her”
~
Shiloh returned home with bags of shopping, mostly microwavable meals and processed noodles. He’d never mastered the art of cooking and had no intention in doing so. Once he had stepped inside he unloaded his bags onto the kitchen table and turned on the radio.

Sandra Harper was found dead in a bath of her own blood early this morning. Police assume it’s the same murderer who killed Kate Dunford and Mae Brooke. Police also describe this as the most gruesome slaughtering yet
This caught Shiloh’s undivided attention. Sandra Harper, Shiloh was hoping and praying that it wasn’t the Sandra he was once and still in love with. All the colour seemed to have drained from his face leaving a white blank sheet in it’s place.
Detective Harper, spouse of Sandra, was at the scene when she was brutally murdered. Although he denies having seen or heard anything he remains in questioning.
Without hesitation, Shiloh sped to the Connecticut Police Station to demand answers.
~
“Hello? C’mon, is anyone there?!” Shiloh demanded slamming his hand down on the front desk. It was how you would expect a police station to look; dark blue carpet with white washed walls, there were seats lined in a square shape around a small coffee table coated with old magazines and newspapers from months ago. “FOR GOD SAKE” Shiloh bellowed getting frustrated
A short woman emerged from the back “may I help you?” she said calmly
“Sandra, who is, was she?”
“Excuse me?” the receptionist replied furrowing her plucked-thin eyebrows
“SANDRA FOR GOD SAKE? Who IS she?!”
“Sir, if you don’t calm down I’ll have to ask you to leave”
Chris appeared wondering what all the commotion was about
“Look, just show me a picture or something, I need to know. If it’s the Sandra I know…” Shiloh said trying to compose himself, the receptionist rolled her eyes and began searching through the filing cabinet.
Chris looked at Shiloh trying to figure out where he had seen him before, but more importantly he was trying to figure out why he was talking about his wife “Sandra, she’s my wife. What connection do you have with her?”
Shiloh remained lent over the front desk completely ignoring Chris’ question, the receptionist handed Shiloh a black and white photograph of Sandra. He held his breath until he became light headed.
“You” Shiloh said pointing accusingly at Chris “You killed Sandra”
Chris began laughing to abruptly stop, his eyes locked into Shiloh’s “Don’t EVER accuse me of murder. Ever.”
With that Shiloh swung his fist into Chris’ face breaking his nose causing a gush of blood to spurt out. Chris bent over clasping his bloody nose whilst Shiloh stood there in shock horror. “Security!” the receptionist called “SECURITY!”
Two large police guards took Shiloh by his shoulders and frogmarched him out of the lobby, through the metal barred doors into the holding unit.
~
Shiloh was in an empty 6' x 6' concrete cell, the cold floor sending icy chills through his body; a clock hanging on the bare melancholy walls, nothing but his shadows keeping it company. The clock, an unconventional tool of torture ticks and ticks. It is numberless, meticulous, and laborious. This insidiously cruel tool of torture never misses a beat; it continuously reminded Shiloh of his futile circumstance.
The clock read 3.02AM. He felt a sudden chill run through his spine, as if he was being watched. He couldn’t see anything but shadows cast by the candles burning outside his cell. The shadows bounce about the walls like little devils dancing around some primeval bonfire. They're dancing to pain, and the fulfilment of God's plan: universal justice. The darkness, like Shiloh’s soul, reinforces his hopeless predicament; I will not leave here sane.
His steel door opens and slams against the granite wall, unleashing a mini shock wave. There is only one path; forward. There are the small wall lights illuminating his path towards painful redemption. As he moved towards his maker, he walked through a menagerie of death, and the instruments of his trade. He walked by an iron maiden, the brazen bull, and the pear of anguish all gloomily highlighted by candle. Surely it’s a little too early for this Shiloh thought.
Shiloh was led down many flights of stairs through to a large room. Flood light’s filled the room and all that occupied the space was a hospital gurney and a table with a line of surgical instruments neatly lined upon it. The mere sound of Shiloh’s bare feet tapping rhythmically against the cold floor and the guard’s heavy breath. He walked exactly a step behind Shiloh sporting a hockey-like mask and matching white surgical gloves.
“Where are we?” Shiloh asked groggily
“Nearly there” the guard replied ignoring his question
The guard pulled out a syringe and injection needle from his pocket and jabbed it into Shiloh’s arm.
“What the hell are you doing?” Shiloh cried rubbing his arm frantically as he sunk to the floor. He didn’t understand why he was there; in fact he didn’t understand anything at that moment in time.
The guard left the room and locked the door, leaving Shiloh on the floor.
~
Dot arrived at the crime scene hunched over with his hands deep in his jacket pockets. The expression on his face is one of intense concentration, and-even though he trudged along slowly-each step gave the impression of a man with purpose and no shortage of reasons for being where he was, or doing what he was.
Dot looked at the property in front of him. An overgrown rosebush concealed a front lawn strewn with daisies. Behind that sat the house: a small, double-story with flaking paintwork, and a porch out front. The front door was open. Dot observed the open door, but for the sake of conserving evidence, he makes his way to the rear of the property to look for a back door. He went through the door to see an A2 portrait of Chris and Sandra on the wall adjacent to the leather sofa. According to neighbours, the couple could often be heard arguing. This time, an argument in the bedroom went a little further than intended, suspected Dot, one of the couple turning on their partner with the steak knife. They must have done a lot of damage. Although it seems that the victim had enough strength to stumble out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the bathroom door. They clearly struggled with the deadbolt, and didn't escape in time to avoid-judging by the volume and spattering of the blood-several deep cuts to the vertebral arteries in the side of the neck. After the front door had been opened, the victim's limp and bloodied body would have been dragged across the hallway hence the clean smear of blood-and into the bathroom. Dot gazed at cheap paperback thriller that lay open and facedown on his coffee table, they used a poisoned doorknob.
On the coffee table, beside the paperback, sat Chris’ notes: a fat compendium detailing his projects for the past three years, written on loose-leaf pad paper and bound with nylon string. Dot picked it up and flicked through dozens of pages. They all ended in the same way. Dot stopped and glanced at one of Chris’ older ones: body not found, it said, has possibly been dissolved in acid. Dot winced and read another: Bone fragments and spatters of blood were discovered in the pantry, but no corpse has been found as yet.
Without hesitation Dot pulled out his mobile from his pocket and dialled
“Dot here, get Chris into the police station ASAP” hung up and fled the house.
~
Shiloh’s eyes flickered trying to refocus his vision. He tried to sit up but he couldn’t – in fact he felt paralysed, he began to panic, breathing hysterically. Helpless. When his vision returned he noticed he was in the same room as before, but the gurney had disappeared, that’s what he thought until he realised he was bound to it – leather straps on his hands and feet. He wasn’t able to fight out of it anyway as he was unable to escape.
The same guard from before circled Shiloh, this is it, Shiloh thought, this is the end.
~
Dot stormed through the police station’s door “Where the hell is Chris Harper?”
“We can’t find him anywhere,” replied Dr. Ross to Dot’s rhetorical question “we did find this though” handing Dot a small notebook. As began to flick through the pages, his eyes grew wider and larger in disbelief.
“We got to find him before it’s too late”
Dr. Ross bowed her head “we can’t find him anywhere,” she whispered “we can’t find Shiloh either”
~
Two weeks later, Shiloh’s body was found. A night security guard had entered the room about the smell, before he called for backup. Dozens of knives and other sharp utensils, as well as eighteen bricks surrounded Shiloh’s corpse. Investigation revealed that those items had been stockpiled in the ceiling above, after several supportive planks of wood had been removed and placed aside. It would have taken the slightest disturbance for the ceiling to give way and send the bricks and knives hurtling down onto whatever lay beneath. Shiloh’s skin was pallid and torn. Long tendrils of dried blood stretch from the gashes on his flesh to the floor where they joined to form a dark-brown splotch. A section of his chest had caved inwards where two ribs had snapped, and most of the fingers on his right hand have been twisted into violent, unnatural angles.
Shiloh’s face was no less horrific. His hair was matted and clumped together with dried blood. One of his eyes is barely recognizable as any part of the anatomy, and the other is dry and unfocused-covered in dark crusted blood. His nose has been smashed and spread across the side of his face.

Shiloh Hogan had be brutally attacked at 3AM on August 1st. Investigators have not yet found the murderer however they’re working hard. The suspected assassin is to be said Detective Chris Harper, a diagnosed sufferer of multiple personality disorder. Detectives have revealed that he strikes between 3AM and 4AM. He is then unaware of the occurrences of the previous morning. If anyone has any information please contact the Connecticut Police Force.