The Past – A Quiet House
The house had never been so quiet.
No stomping boots.
No slurred curses.
No belt smacking leather against skin.
Just silence.
Damien sat at the kitchen table, watching dust drift through a sunbeam, legs swinging slightly above the floor. He had scrubbed the blood out of the wooden panels last night, his knuckles raw from hours of work.
His father's body was gone—buried where no one would think to look. He had picked a ravine outside town. An old quarry with loose earth and no nearby residents.
He had planned it better than he should have at fifteen.
But this morning wasn't about the body. It was about the lie.
Because someone would come. Someone always did. Teachers. Neighbors.
And when they did, he had to be ready.
He poured cereal into a bowl. Sat alone. Took three bites and left the rest. Then he got up, walked to the front door, and opened it—just as the mailman passed.
He waved casually.
"Morning, sir," he said.
The mailman blinked. "Where's your old man?"
Damien smiled. "Still sleeping. Rough night."
The man chuckled. "Figures. Tell him to lay off the bottle, yeah?"
"Sure thing."
He shut the door, heart pounding in his ears.
The lie worked. For now.
He still had time to clean the rest. Burn the stained clothes. Bury the belt.
He opened the basement door. The air was cooler down there. Damp. Smelled of rust and mold.
But it was his now.
And it would become something more.
A sanctuary. A workshop. A graveyard.
The Present – A Message in the Mirror
The next body was found hanging.
Upside down. Ankles bound with electrical wire. Arms dangling freely. Mouth taped. Eyes wide open.
A mirror was placed in front of the corpse. Not just positioned—propped carefully at face height.
The entire thing was grotesque. Ritualistic.
And Damien had done it.
Years ago.
Not like this, not exact. But close enough.
He stood at the crime scene now, arms crossed, jaw tight. Jonas circled around the body with their forensics lead, snapping photos.
"I've seen some messed-up shit," Jonas muttered. "But this... this one feels personal."
Damien said nothing.
"Do you think the mirror means something?" the forensics lead asked.
Jonas nodded toward Damien. "Ask the profiler. He's the one with the dark brain."
Damien stepped closer.
"The mirror is about reflection. Shame. Ego. Or maybe it's about making the victim face themselves in their final moments."
He stared at the reflection now. Not of the victim—but his own distorted face in the corner of the glass.
The killer was still sending messages. To the world. To him.
Cole wasn't just recreating his past. He was elevating it.
The Present – Jonas Suspicious
Later that night, Damien poured himself a drink in the dim light of his office. Jonas entered uninvited, his face darker than usual.
"You've been quiet," Jonas said. "Too quiet."
"I'm thinking," Damien replied, sipping whiskey.
Jonas sat across from him, throwing a file onto the table.
"That's three bodies now. All posed. All meticulous. And now he's playing with us. Leaving chains. Using mirrors. He's talking to someone."
Damien didn't blink. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Jonas leaned in, "this guy isn't just some psycho. He's recreating things. Specific things. And I think... someone trained him."
Damien chuckled. "We're not in a movie, Jonas."
But Jonas didn't laugh.
"I went digging. That alley? The one where the second victim was found? There was a similar murder there fifteen years ago. The records are sealed. Juvenile case. But I pulled the location and the pose."
Damien's pulse throbbed in his temple.
"You think it's the same killer?"
"No," Jonas said. "I think the original killer taught this one."
Damien set his glass down, firm and slow.
"We catch killers, Jonas. We don't invent stories."
"I know," Jonas said. "But tell me something. Do you believe people can change?"
Damien's lips twitched. "No."
The Past – Building the Mask
That same basement became his haven.
Damien brought down a single chair. Then a table. Then tools.
Knives. Rope. Duct tape.
He wasn't killing weekly—no. That would raise alarms. But he planned. Drew diagrams. Took notes. Read criminal psychology books from the library.
He learned how people worked. How to manipulate them.
He made the decision to be better than his father by becoming something far worse, but smarter. Hidden.
He became invisible.
At school, he smiled. Got straight A's. Wrote essays that won awards. Teachers loved him.
At night, he read about BTK. Ted Bundy. Zodiac. And he took what they did wrong and refined it.
And when he was ready again, he chose a new target.
A drifter. Someone no one would miss.
He didn't just kill him. He posed him. Documented him. Left no evidence.
That was kill number four. And he knew then—it wasn't about hate anymore.
It was art.
The Present – Elliot
Elliot stood by the fridge, barefoot, watching his father pour coffee.
"Another one?" he asked quietly.
Damien nodded. "Yeah."
"Cole?"
Damien looked up. "Why do you ask?"
Elliot shrugged. "You get tense after his nights out."
He was always watching. Quiet but sharp.
Damien tried to smile. "You've got nothing to worry about."
Elliot leaned against the counter. "Maybe not me. But what about you?"
Before Damien could answer, his phone buzzed. A new message.
Blocked number.
One image.
A photo of the basement door. Their basement.
Damien's face paled. He turned the phone over, hiding it.
Elliot noticed. "Something wrong?"
"No," Damien lied smoothly. "Work stuff."
But his mind raced. Cole was getting too close. Too bold.
And the game they were playing?
It was no longer in Damien's control.