A/N: I wrote this for my Creative Writing I class last year and just rediscovered it. It didn't get a very good grade, mostly because of some tactless grammatical errors and my unrequited love to passive voice. Anyway, I kinda liked it, so I thought I'd post it.


Third Eye

This was absolutely unacceptable.

Never before had such an act graced this department. Never had I let it happen. Somehow, however, one of the most important pieces of evidence in one of the most important cases we've ever been assigned has been leaked to the media. Every major newspaper in the city is about to headline, "Ace-in-the-Hole - The Deadly Game Between the NYPD and Serial Killer."

"Lieutenant Meyers," A sharp voice called, "how the hell did this get out? Because if there's a mole in my department, you better find them and find them quick, or your ass is on the line too."

"Yes, Captain." I answered, my back straightening as my superior officer approached. "I have my three most loyal and competent detectives tracking the information right this moment."

"And what are you doing?" He inquired, staring me down. If I wasn't military-trained, I'm sure I would be buckling under the intensity of the stern glare he was giving me.
"Still trying to catch a psychopath, sir."

Captain assessed my answer, never blinking. "Good. Get back to work."

"Yes, Captain," I replied, saluted, and went back to my office. The immaculately cleaned and organized space calmed me, providing a safe haven from the chaos just outside of my door.

Upon my desk there lay a thick manila folder containing all the information about the "Ace Case." I sighed as I settled into my chair, reopening the file and spreading out its contents onto my desk. My eyes narrowed at the police reports, photographs, and the six zip-locked bags of crucial evidence that the whole city would now know about: six Ace of Spades playing cards, all stained crimson with the blood of the victim they were carefully placed with.

The killer, unfortunately unknown at this time, left the cards in the hands of his or her murdered victim. The rest of the MO is also uniform - the victims are healthy middle-class civilians of about thirty years of age, no regard to gender, with relatives in the US military; their neck is sliced open with a standard Swiss Army knife, and are posed post-mortem on their back with hands together on their chest like they're praying. The Ace sits between the hands

"Lieutenant?" My star detective, Allegro O'Mane, popped his head into my workspace. "We've contacted the media sources about how they got their information, and apparently some woman named Caterina di Vega sold the story to a Times writer in a Starbucks on 57th. His name is William Dobson, and he said that she watched him write for a while, then approached him to ask if he was with the media and if so, did he want a huge promotion. So he paid her fifty dollars for the story when she said that she'd go with him to a police station to check that she was legit. An Officer Brandy freaked out when Dobson asked about the Ace of Spades case. She waited around the corner though, so she wasn't caught on the station's cameras."

I jumped to my feet, excited that we finally had a lead on something. "Have you run her through the system yet?"

Allegro's faced screwed up like he'd just sniffed something grotesque. "Nothing came up, so we think it may be an alias. We're waiting to hear back from our underground sources though, so hopefully something will turn up there."

I visibly deflated and sank back into my chair, disheartened. "Yes, hopefully. Get Dobson in to talk to our artist and answer some more questions. Thank you, O'Mane, you're excused." He nodded before making his leave.

The next morning brought the next murder. However there was a significant difference in MO this time; the card was the Ace of Diamonds.
Our resident psychologists and criminal profilers were having a field day with this new development, trying to figure out what the card change means. Their theories were of no help, however, because of the sheer number they came up with. Also, their fun only continued when only twenty hours later, another body showed up with the Joker card. All of our psychs/crim-profs were unanimous on this one - the killer was simply playing with us now, our inability to catch him or her so amusing that now the murders were merely for shits and giggles. This continued with the next two killings, spanned over a couple months.

What none of my colleagues know is that with all the Joker murders, an object somewhere in the crime scene was mine. The first was a handheld mirror that usually sits on my vanity in my apartment; I found it under the bed in the victim's bedroom, though the body was found in the kitchen. Next the psychopath switched the victim's and my lamps out of our living rooms. Finally, a photograph of my father was in the wallet of the third victim, even though it was in mine the day before.

Every time I found an item of mine at a crime scene, I would discreetly remove it. This act was incredibly against protocol, but with my career already dwindling, the last thing I need is to be taken off this case. I have to catch this killer. Even with stolen property discounted, this was somehow deeply, deeply personal.

"Lt. Meyers," my boss barked, storming angrily into my office, "why is there no progress on this case? This is quite possibly the biggest serial case we've ever had and you are not getting anywhere!"

"I'm doing the best I can, sir, I-"

"Your best? Your best? If you were doing your best then we'd have caught this son-of-a-bitch after the first murder!" He cut me off, frustrating me slightly. Deep down, however, I agreed completely. Suddenly his expression softened, and a firm look of disappointment crossed his features. "I'm sorry, Evangeline, but I'm going to have to ask you to turn in your gun and badge."

The world froze around me as I stared, wide eyed, at my boss. He's firing me?I thought just before everything went black.

Carefully I place a teal hairbrush on the coffee table. I made sure not to set it on the bloodstained part. Evangeline may be off the force, but that doesn't mean I won't stop messing with her. For good measure, I picked a couple strands of hair from the brush and slipped them next to the Ace of Hearts card. The blank eyes of a redheaded woman stared up at me, but, as always, it doesn't unsettle me.

My name is Ravenne, and I am one of the two alter personalities of Evangeline Meyers. However I am the only one of the three of us that knows about our Dissociative Identity Disorder, also known as Multiple Personality Disorder. It formed after Evangeline came back from Iraq nine years ago, a grim product of war.

Our other self is named Caterina di Vega. She is a huge gambling addict and quite the little minx. She sometimes gets flashes from me and Evangeline's lives, which enabled her to be the information leak that ruined Evangeline's career. I'm sure it doesn't help that Cat and I "share" an apartment in SoHo, not that she knows she has a "roommate."

And so now, as I leave the scene of the immaculate crime, I laugh. No one can ever catch me - us. I know everything about how to catch a killer via Evangeline. Caterina provides a plethora of underhanded tricks and connections. Also, of course, the fact that no one knows I even exist.

I am the perfect predator.


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