Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26346733-20150429020157

It was about 4:30 in the morning when my cell phone rang and woke me from my usual deep sleep. Many would point out that I should turn my phone off at night, but as a police officer and detective, it's important that I can be reached at all times during the night. I didn't even have to ask who it was, it was the chief. Who else would be ringing me at such an odd hour? He told me there was a newly discovered murder scene downtown that I need to come check out while it's still fresh. Still groggy from my ample four hours of sleep, I quickly got into my uniform and headed out without waking up my wife.

The scene was on the fourth floor of an old apartment building on Juniper Street. Being the oldest still-standing structure in our small town, almost everyone had either lived or knew someone that once lived in it at one point. I got out of the car and headed into the building. I made eye contact with whom I presume were the residents of the fourth floor. They were all assembled in the lobby in their pajamas. I don't blame them, if a murder was discovered less than forty feet from my home, I wouldn't sleep, either.

I headed towards the elevator, my forearm extended ready to press the press the button with the lit up-pointing arrow. Less than a quarter of an inch from touching it, I remembered: the chief had clearly ordered to take the stairs. At the time of the phone call, I can't say I was paying much attention as I was still in the process of waking up. But now, it all made sense. I knew exactly what awaited me upstairs: it wasn't the first time this happened.

One I climbed to the fourth floor, and after catching my breath, I greeted my superior as well as my fellow police officers that got to the scene before me: Charlie, who's been in the force for well over thirty years by now, Mason, a rookie on his third case, and Ursula, my co-detective and the only female among us.

The sight before me sickened me. A man sprawled out on the floor of the elevator was covered in blood. The blood was still bright red, covering the elevator floor and the most part of the walls. The stench was unbearable.

'The criminal, said the chief, cut the victim until they bled to death, making long, deep, and parallel incisions horizontally across the torso and around the head, arms, and legs. It was probably done while the victim was still alive, judging by the shape of the incisions. They're not straight, they're scraggly and sloppy. This means the victim was probably trying to resist. This would ensure the slowest and most painful death one could imagine'. I stood there in disgust, with the stench of blood fouling the air surrounding us, the cloth still tied over the victim's mouth. However, the eyes weren't covered, presumably because the murderer wanted the victim to watch them as they dug into the flesh one cut at a time.

'What kind of creature could make such horror...', I added.

'Terror', replied Ursula, being the know-it-all she always is.

'Terror?'

'Yeah. Terror, not horror. There's a difference, you know.'

'What's the difference?' I asked before the chief interrupted our conversation.

I then followed the chief downstairs to the front desk, to view some security camera footage. 'It appears, continued the chief,  that the criminal got on the elevator with its victim on the ground floor, not knowing their fate. The criminal would get off before the victim and push the button for the next floor out their way out. The victim would go up one floor in the elevator. During that time, the murderer ran up the stairs to the same floor. That way, the murderer could wait by the elevator doors on the next floor and wait for it to open, where the murderer would then surprise its victim and commit the act.' It all seemed familiar, though. I remember a similar murder took place not one month ago, in a business complex in the center of the city. With all the similarities, we could then connect the two events.

From that point on, I was committed to finding who was responsible. If another event like this happened again before I discover their identity, I would take it as a failure.

The hardest part was getting into the elevator with my colleagues every morning at six o'clock to go up to our offices in the police station. Mine was on the fifth floor, I had the longest ride. All I could think about was the fear of death I would've had if I was the man sprawled out on the floor. Imagine knowing that you're going to die as soon as the elevator doors open? I couldn't think about it any longer, it sent waves of the heebie-jeebies down my arms and legs. I just hope the victim didn't know what waited for him one floor up after the murderer exited the elevator. Day after day, for a whole month, that's all I could think about in that elevator. One day, in the elevator, I had to share my fear to relieve myself psychologically. I turned to Ursula, whose office was on the third floor.

I asked her: 'Doesn't being in an elevator after the murder horrify you?' 'Joey...Joey...when will you get it in your head?' she replied softly but sternly. 'How can you be a murder detective and not know the difference between horror and terror?' To be honest, I didn't know. She continued: 'Horror is horrific. Terror... is terrific.' Puzzled, I stared at her with a raised eyebrow at such a confusing response.

After the doors closed as she got off at the third floor, I noticed the button for the fourth floor was lit up. 