Short Story: The Student Ripper Killings [Part Two]

Recurring Nightmare

[Part One] A student awoke to find every girlfriend he’d ever had lined up dead in his living room. Fearing the police would never believe his plea of innocence, he fled. Next came the dark game and the twisted forfeits.

---

I was running back down Oat Street. The note the killer had left in the cemetery had me terrified beyond measure.

As soon as I reached Alex’s house I was hammering on the front door.

Me: “Alex! It’s me! Let me in!”

After a horrible wait Alex finally unlocked the door and appeared. She was newly dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I rushed inside.

Me: “Is everything okay? Why did you take so long to answer?”

Alex: “I was getting dressed. What happened out there? Why are you so freaked out?”

Me: “Nothing. I panicked is all.”

Alex: “Nothing? You didn’t see the killer?”

Me: “I don’t think so. Just a bunch of people going about their day.”

Alex: “And what about the churchyard? The grave?”

Me: “I left my tissue roll there but the churchyard was empty. I didn’t see anybody.”

Alex: “Okay. It’s time to call the police.”

Me: “No, there’s still time to catch the killer out.”

Alex: “Five women are dead, they’ll be missed. Somebody has probably called the police already. There’s no point delaying any more.”

Me: “Alex, trust me. If we call the police it won’t end well for us.”

Alex: “How do you know?”

Me: “I just do.”

Alex gave me a questioning look.

Alex: “What happened out there?”

There was a heavy pause, and then my phone pinged. I pulled it from my pocket and saw that I had another email.

Me: “It’s the killer.”

Alex: “Read it to me.”

I read aloud:

An earlobe is not an ear. Luckily for you I laughed so hard when you dropped it that I’m willing to forgive your blunder. I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson about vanity.

Consider Sarah Finnegan, modest and humble despite being the star player at your old tennis club. You on the other hand have always been a teller of tales, never afraid to talk yourself up or to talk others down. The murder weapon is underneath the kitchen sink in your house. Retrieve it and bring it back to Alex’s house by 2pm.

Be advised, I’m calling the police and local news. I’m telling tales.

I lowered my phone, not even bothering to open the picture attached to the email.

Me: “They’re calling in the murders, I have to go.”

Alex: “Don’t be an idiot. If the police catch you with the bodies and the murder weapon you’ll be screwed.”

Me: “I’ll be in and out before they get there.”

I turned towards the front door, but Alex grabbed my arm.

Alex: “You’re walking straight into a trap.”

Me: “Don’t you think I know that? I have to go, you don’t understand.”

Alex: “Why don’t I understand? What aren’t you telling me?”

I broke free of Alex’s grip.

Me: “There’s no time to explain right now. Just stay here. Don’t let anyone in except me.”

I rushed outside and Alex slammed the door behind me.

---

I had no idea how much time I had to get to my house before anyone else arrived. Depending on exactly who the killer called, someone could be there in minutes. I’ve always known I can run but I can’t fight. I needed to be in and out before anything could go wrong.

Once I reached the scruffy avenue I lived on I stopped and, breathing heavily, surveyed the scene. The avenue was silent, empty. I took a step forwards but my phone started to ring.

I pulled it from my pocket and examined the screen. The caller ID said Home. My parents. They’d probably heard about my photo but there wasn’t any time to talk. I switched off and pocketed my phone.

Then I approached my front door. I looked around the avenue one last time, turned the handle and pushed the door open. I hadn’t even bothered to lock it when I left.

The house was quiet. I crept along my hallway until I reached the living room door. It was closed. I never close the living room door, something was wrong. I opened it and stepped inside.

There were no dead bodies, the floor was bare. Where were they?

Had they got up and left?

Had I imagined it all?

Then, through the living room window, I saw a police car pull into my avenue. It parked and two police officers, a man and a woman, stepped out.

I rushed out of the living room and made straight for the kitchen before they could see me through the window.

As soon as I knelt in front of the kitchen sink there was a loud knock at the front door and a raised voice.

Policeman: “This is the police. We received a distress call concerning this address.”

I rifled through the cupboard below the sink looking for the murder weapon. I found it in the back corner behind a bottle of bleach; a vicious looking hunting knife. I heard the policeman speak again.

Policeman: “Your front door is unlocked, I’m coming in!”

I sprung upright and turned to look at the long hallway between the kitchen and the front door. As the policeman stepped inside his radio went off.

Policewoman: “Bodies in the garden. Repeat, we have bodies in the garden.”

The second officer must have gone through the side gate into my garden. There was only one thing to do. I charged at the policeman standing in my open doorway. He was a big guy, but I had the whole length of the hallway to pick up speed. With a crunch I shoulder barged him down onto the doorstep.

As he cried out in pain and surprise I just about managed to stay upright and pass over him.

Still holding the knife I sprinted for an alleyway between two houses on the opposite side of my avenue. It had a chain link fence at the end of it, but I was up and over in a flash.

---

The next half an hour was spent taking back streets and side roads to Alex’s house. I even found a discarded shirt to wrap the hunting knife in.

Eventually, I ended up in the alleyway behind Alex’s back garden. I climbed a brick wall and dropped into her flowerbed. I brushed the soil from my knees and made my way to the back door. I knocked harshly.

Me: “Alex! Open up!”

There was no answer so I tried the door handle. It opened.

I stepped inside and walked through the kitchen. Everything was quiet.

Me: “Alex? Where are you?”

Still no answer so I stepped into the hallway.

Me: “Alex! It’s me! I’m back!”

Silence. Something was badly wrong.

Then a phone started to ring. The weird Hungarian Dance ringtone Alex had shown me in the pub a couple of weeks ago. It was her phone. It was coming from above so I raced up the stairs.

Alex’s phone was on her bed, still ringing. The caller ID was UNKNOWN CALLER. I answered.

Me: “What have you done with Alex?”

The voice on the other end was electronically distorted, I couldn’t tell who I was speaking with.

Caller: “First thing’s first; I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson about telling tales.”

Me: “Where is Alex? Your churchyard letter said you wouldn’t hurt her if I did what you said.”

Caller: “What you love the most is perfectly well, but I’ll slit her throat from ear to ear if you don’t calm down.”

Me: “Okay just don’t – don’t hurt her. Please.”

Caller: “Good boy. Now, you’re going to come to the university campus, to the Humanities building. Your next task is waiting for you on the roof.”

Me: “But all that way, what if the police—”

Caller: “No dawdling. Be there by 5pm. You know what will happen to Alex if you defy me. And dump your phone, bring Alex’s instead. Bring the knife too. Do you understand?”

Me: “Yes, 5pm Humanities building roof. Alex’s phone and the knife. Are you going to tell me why you’re doing this to me? Who you are?”

Caller: “Why I’m doing this? No, I’m not going to tell you that yet. Who I am? That’s an interesting question. Over the years I have used many names. But I think my favourite is… Rose.”

The line went dead.

---

Once again, I made use of back streets to navigate the city and get to my university. When I reached the campus I was glad to see that there were at least a few people milling about the place. It helped me to blend in.

I was wearing one of Alex’s hoodies with the hood up, the hunting knife tucked up my sleeve. I was doing my best not to meet anyone’s eye but I knew I couldn’t hide in plain sight forever. The police would be looking for me.

Once I arrived at the Humanities building I casually leaned against a nearby tree and tried to scope out the roof. I couldn’t see anyone or anything up there.

There was only one thing for it. I had to go in.

Inside, the building was quiet. I passed through long hallways skirted by empty lecture halls without seeing anyone. Before long I reached a stairwell. Slowly, I made my way up towards the top of the building. About halfway up I heard footsteps. I froze.

A few moments later a young Professor carrying a small stack of books came down the stairs. Thankfully, he seemed to be in a rush and paid me little notice as he passed. I carried on upwards.

I soon reached the top of the stairwell and a large door that led out onto the roof. It seemed like the kind of door that really ought to be locked, but Rose had apparently seen to that.

Outside, the roof was devoid of any person. I could see the campus and then the city stretching out in all directions, but the people down there looked like ants. I couldn’t tell if any of them seemed suspicious. Then I noticed something on the floor at the other end of the roof. I walked over. It was a photo of Patricia Kotzen taped to the ground. She was posing in front of Barcelona Cathedral with a couple of friends.

In my pocket Alex’s phone began to ring. I answered.

Me: “I’m here. What do you want me to do?”

Rose was still speaking through some kind of eerie distortion.

Rose: “Consider Patricia Kotzen. You helped her prepare for her big scholarship fund interview. Little did she know that you were secretly planning on applying yourself using her best ideas. She didn’t find out you had won the scholarship until a year after she dropped out of university and you had split up.”

Me: “Fine, yes. I was an asshole when I was an undergrad. What do I need to do to get Alex back?”

Rose: “I trust you bought the knife?”

Me: “Yes…”

Rose: “Professor Dance is in his office on the second floor, room C17. Stab him in the stomach with the knife and then vacate the Humanities building.”

Me: “I can’t do that, he’ll—”

Rose: “If you ever want to see Alex alive again you’ll do it. Stab Professor Dance and I promise Alex goes free, fail and I promise she dies immediately. You have three minutes.”

Rose hung up.

No time to think, no way to stall. I shoved Alex’s phone in my pocket and ran. I yanked the roof door open and began to descend the stairwell.

Fourth floor…

Third floor…

Second floor…

I ran through a set of double doors that led to the main corridor on the second floor. Pulling the knife from my sleeve, I moved onwards, checking the plaques nailed to each door as I went. C17.

I burst into Professor Dance’s office holding the knife behind my back. Professor Dance was standing by his bookshelf, thumbing through a textbook. I realised he was the young Professor I’d passed on the stairwell earlier.

Me: “Do you have your phone?”

Professor Dance: “Er, yes. Do you need to make a—”

I drew the knife from behind my back, silencing him.

I did it for Alex. I lunged forwards and sunk the knife into his stomach.

Yelling out in pain, Professor Dance fell back against his bookshelf and slid to the floor.

Me: “You need to call an ambulance. Is your phone in your pocket?”

Shock and confusion written across his face, Professor Dance managed to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone.

And then I was gone.

I raced back to the stairwell, then retraced my steps all the way back to the main entrance. Alex’s phone started to ring the moment I exited the Humanities building.

Me: “I’ve done it, I stabbed him.”

Rose still spoke through a distortion.

Rose: “Oh, I know.”

Me: “Where is Alex? When are you going to let her go?”

Rose: “I’m not. I had my fingers crossed when I promised I would – cheated if you will.”

Me: “You lying—”

Rose cut me off with a cruel laugh. I clenched my free fist.

Me: “If you hurt Alex I’ll rip your head off.”

Rose: “Be at the disused warehouse off the Fitzgerald intersection in ninety minutes. It’s the one you students use for your vile little raves. A second too late and I’ll rip Alex’s head off.”

Rose hung up.

In the distance I heard the tell-tale siren of an ambulance. I started running.

---

The industrial estate by the Fitzgerald intersection was an abandoned mess. As I approached the dilapidated warehouse at its centre the sun was just starting to sink behind the tallest buildings in the distance.

I knew the place from a couple of raves I’d been to, but the main warehouse entrance I’d always used was closed. There was an open side door though; a clear invitation. Inside, I followed a short corridor past an office and into the main space.

The warehouse was dimly lit and strewn with plastic cups and spent glow sticks. As my eyes adjusted I saw that there were two people in the middle of the vast space. One of them was gagged and tied to a chair. Alex.

Alex tried to say something through her gag as I approached but the second figure pulled a gun and pointed it at me, silencing her. Through the gloom it took me a moment to realise who it was. My PhD supervisor.

Me: “Arabella? What are—”

Rose: “We’ve been through this, I prefer Rose. I stole the name fair and square.”

Me: “I don’t understand…”

Rose: “Consider India Evans. Your devoted girlfriend until four days ago when I told her that you were cheating on her.”

Me: “That was you? All this has been about teaching me a lesson because of that?”

Rose let out her cruel laugh.

Rose: “I never cared about teaching you anything. I’m not really a career academic, despite what the University thinks. My ingenious tasks served one purpose, and one purpose only. To incriminate you.”

Me: “Incriminate me?”

Rose: “You posted a naked picture online and then mutilated yourself. You’re clearly disturbed. You and India broke up in a blazing row plenty of people witnessed. The police found five dead women in your garden. And then, most importantly, you stabbed Professor Dance.”

I stared back in confusion.

Rose: “You stabbed him in a jealous fit of rage. After she finished with you, India fled into the arms of her handsome young Professor. You couldn’t handle it, so you stabbed him with the same knife you killed your exes with.”

Me: “No, that’s not true.”

Rose: “But it looks true. Your fingerprints are all over the murder weapon stuck in Professor Dance’s belly, after all.”

Me: “Why – why would you do this to me?”

Rose: “Because I want a scapegoat. You went mad, killed all of your exes and then tried to get away with the Patrice Trezeguet we were studying together. It’s worth a fortune. More than enough to set up a new life.”

Me: “But—”

Rose: “But really I’ll be escaping with the painting whilst you’re spinning some ridiculous story to the police in a holding cell. A lot of work to acquire one little painting I admit, but Thane does so love his rare works of art.”

Me: “You murdered five women just to steal a painting? How did you even find my exes?”

Rose: “Through your KonneKt account. I borrowed your phone and locked you out of KonneKt whilst you were sleeping off one of our little extra-curricular sessions. I’ve been posing as you, talking to your wretched exes for months, listening to their pathetic little sob stories, luring them to come and meet me with talk of wanting to reconcile. It wasn’t difficult.”

Rose kept her eyes and gun trained on me as she spoke.

Rose: “Oh, and Alex, by extra-curricular sessions I mean sex. I was the one he was cheating on India with. Don’t worry though, after himself you’re what he loves the most. I’m sure he would’ve gotten around to you eventually.”

Me: “You’ve got it all wrong, Rose. I don’t love Alex because I want to sleep with her, I love her because she’s my best friend in the whole world. Not that you’d understand anything about love, nor what you were going up against when you took both of us on.”

Despite everything, I smiled. Whilst I’d been keeping Rose talking, Alex had been loosening the restraints around one of her legs.

As Rose gave me a wary look, Alex kicked against the floor and slammed her chair into Rose’s side. It was the opening I needed. As Rose crashed to the floor I sped across the warehouse and dived on top of her.

I wrestled for the gun, but Rose was strong. It was only because of Alex twisting free of her gag and sinking her teeth into Rose’s thigh that I managed to prise her weapon away from her.

I sprang upright and pointed the gun at Rose.

Alex was freeing herself from the last of the restraints holding her to the chair.

Me: “Are you okay, Alex?”

Alex: “Much better now. She got to me when you went back to your house, I’ve been tied up ever since.”

Me: “I’m so sorry I got you mixed up in all this, Alex.”

The sound of distant sirens filled the air.

Alex: “Sounds like the police have finally found us. I’ll go and get them, just keep that gun on the psycho until I’m back.”

Alex scampered off towards the warehouse office.

When she was gone, Rose wiped a trickle of blood away from her mouth.

Rose: “Alone at last. Whatever will you do with me now?”

So that’s where I am now, standing over a killer with a gun in my hand, looking back on all that’s happened during the last day. Rose murdered five amazing women, stole them from the world. In life those women made the world a better place and it’s not everybody that gets to do that. I certainly haven’t.

But faced with true evil, I see a way to at least improve the world in one small way now.

I pull the trigger.