Slices of Night (Taylor Jackson )

“He must, but I’m guessing it’s subtle. He definitely changes his name. He has a normal life somewhere. I think he travels the country on business. Different cities. A new group of people each time who don’t know him. We have that picture from the driver’s license out to every metropolitan police department. We haven’t gotten a hit yet.”


“But you’ve been tracking him?”

“Only by his M.O. He’s right-handed. Uses a double-blade stiletto. At least seven inches long. He does a blitz attack. It’s probably no more than an incidental bump. Slips the blade in just under the breastbone where he knows he won’t have any bone chattering. And the angle of the knife is interesting.”

She paused while Nick tapped buttons on a keyboard and started the film footage from a camera labeled: Northwest corner of Rockwood.

“His image was captured on a security camera at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center. Actually it was only his back but it was enough to give us some idea of how tall he was compared to his victim. He has to angle the blade—”

She pushed out her chair and stood. “It’s probably easier if I show you.” Fact was, she was too exhausted to talk about it. He glanced up at her, paused the monitors and stood up in front of her.

She grabbed a ballpoint pen from the table and held it in her right hand the same way she believed the Night Slicer did.

“He holds it low. Probably has the stiletto up his sleeve until he needs it.” She stepped closer. “He always slips it in just below the rib cage.” She put her left hand flat against Nick’s abdomen to show him where and immediately she realized this was a mistake when she felt him shiver under her touch. Her eyes met his and she felt the heat rush to her face.

Thankfully exhaustion pushed her into professional mode. She took a step back as she moved her hand with the pen and her arm in the same motion the killer must use.

“He shoves the knife in at an upward angle. Usually pierces the heart. Sometimes the lungs. Sometimes both.”

Finished with the show and tell, she avoided his eyes and took her seat again. Waited for him to do the same. He was slow about joining her and she wanted to kick herself. There was obvious still too much between them. She glanced over at him. Wanted to tell him she couldn’t afford any of the emotion she was seeing in his face right now.

“Gino was a good guy,” he said, surprising her. “He didn’t deserve to die this way.”

She was wrong. The emotion wasn’t about her. Maybe she was a little disappointed that it wasn’t about her.

“He’s been killing two victims in each city. Usually within a period of twenty-four hours.” Maggie sat back. Ran her fingers through her hair. “Then he disappears. Gone. Like he never existed.” She looked at her wristwatch. “In less than fifteen hours he’s going to kill someone else.”





1:39 p.m.


He had been watching the old woman for over an hour. Following her around but keeping in the shadows and back far enough away that she’d never even noticed him. Though he wondered if she noticed much about anything around her.

He’d gotten close enough to hear her muttering. Not just talking to herself but arguing as if with some invisible friend. She had to abandon her shopping cart behind a Dumpster, tucking it away to hide it as best as she could. The snow made it too difficult for her to shove it over the crusted piles left by the snowplows. He almost helped her once. Wanting to touch the fringe of her gray knit hat to feel whether the fringe was actually part of the hat or actually her hair.

Her territory seemed to be within the Old Market area. Interesting, since he didn’t see any other homeless people without venturing several blocks of the cobble-stoned district. She wandered the streets quite fascinated by things no one else saw. Once he watched her stop abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and wave pedestrians around her to avoid stepping on something smashed in the snow. No one else stopped to give it a look. Most people ignored her or scowled and went wide.

That’s when he realized she had to be the next one. She was perfect. Someone no one would miss. She was virtually invisible to these bastards even as they had to walk around her as she protected whatever the precious item was that she found so fascinating. And suddenly he couldn’t wait. He wanted to cut her right now. Right here in the freezing cold sunny daylight in the middle of the crowd that couldn’t see her.

Except he hadn’t brought his knife. And so, he’d wait until tonight. His fingers fidgeted. He was feeling antsy.

He walked toward her. She was bent over, touching the object. He’d walk past and see what it was. He’d go back to his hotel suite. He’d enjoy the anticipation. He already knew where he could find her. And as he got closer he saw her wrapping her ragged knit gloves around the object that had captured her attention and sent her into protective mode. The object was a long icicle that had fallen from the awning above the sidewalk. A frickin’ icicle.

He smiled to himself as he passed by and glanced at her. Her eyes flitted up to meet his and he wanted to tell her that he’d see her later. That it would be his pleasure to watch the surprise in those same eyes as her life spilled out of her.





4:57 p.m.

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