The Cheerleader Slasher

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
There is a serial killer on the loose. Detective Dakota Greene is on the case. Greene is working on saving local school girl, Brittany Banks.
Turns out, our killer is closer than we expected....

Submitted: September 13, 2012

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Submitted: September 13, 2012

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Cheerleader Slasher

By, Alyssa Ohmes and Devin Hartley

I spilled my coffee on my khaki uniform pants.

“Shit!”
My phone then buzzes, I know it’s the police station, calling about the new case.
I answer abruptly, still grimacing at the pain of the coffee explosion.
“Yes?” I say into the phone, a hint of annoyance escapes my lips.
“Officer Greene, you are needed at the Dogwood National Park, near 5th Street. We have something that... might interest you...” Stacey, the overly flirty officer stated.
“Dogwood National Park. Near 5th Street. Got it! Anything else?”
‘Click’. my phone beeps a notification that the conversation had ended. That bitch hung up on me! I groan, shake my head ,and keep driving.

When I pull up to the crime scene, the first thing I notice is a white, ‘57 Volkswagen Bug. I notice there was a struggle near the passenger side door frame, and there was blood on the interior of the seats.
I frown  when I realize this was indeed, a homicide and hope to God it isn’t the “Cheerleader Slasher”; those cases really shook me.
 A short, chubby, man waddles up to me.
“Mr.Dakota Greene?”
“Yes?”
“Ah.. okay... Does this remind you of anything?”
I exhale, not wanting to remember the horrid things of the past murders I’ve encountered recently.
In the passenger side seat, there was a slumped over body. A teenage boy. All of the recent murders have been young women... The throat has been slit, right handedly, similar to the girls’ lacerations.

My phone rings...again. Great. I hate taking calls in the middle of an investigation. I see the caller i.d, it’s the station, so it’s a mandatory call.
“Hello?” I say quickly.
“Greene... Mr. and Mrs. Banks have just come in. They think their daughter, Brittany, is missing... and she is a cheerleader...” Stacey adds that last statement in a hushed tone.
 

I frown as Stacey babbles on...

The chubby detective waddles back to me.
“Son, they’ve just identified this boy... Eric Reese; goes here to Dogwood High,” he says loudly.
Stacey stops...
In a panicking breath she says, “Eric was Brittany’s boyfriend. They were last seen together...”
“Thank you, Stacey. That will be all,” I put my phone away.
“I’ll need to examine the body here; before autopsy.” I walk away...

The boy looks, maybe... eighteen or nineteen... just a few years younger than me...
I gently sit him back in the seat. Nothing unusual besides the throat lacerations.
I bring up his hand to scrape fingernails. Something is in his hand...
I grab the object from his fingers and hold it up. A patch... one only police wear... I hide the patch from sight other than mine. One of our own deputies is most likely responsible.

I know what I have to do. So I quickly stride to Stacey’s very unorganized desk.
“Please give me the key to the officer’s lockers...” I say, not wanting to make conversation. It was an order.
“Anything for you, Greene,” she says with a dazzling smile and a sultry wink.
I roll my eyes as she quickly digs in the drawer for the key.
“Thank you.” I say and swiftly dodge her skin as I accept the key. No way in Hell was I gonna brush my hand against hers.

Coffee cups litter the locker room floor.My nose wrinkles at the stench of body odor and rotton donuts in the garbage. It doesn't mix well... These men need a lesson in personal hygiene.
I begin my search. I start with number one and work my way down to forty-two...
Locker two: clothes that look like they haven’t been washed in years. Disgusting... Locker twelve: candy wrappers and soda cans are piled high.
“What a lardass,” I say under my breath.
Locker seventeen: very clean... I search a little lock box; I find a small locket. Why does he have this? There are no pictures in it, but still, I am curious...

I search the remainder of the locker and I found our main suspect.
His patch matched perfectly with the uniform shirt. I quickly grab the shirt and swiftly scan the locker chart.
I put my finger on the chart and scroll down to seventeen. To be honest, I’m scared to look because I don’t want any of our officers to be a suspect... ever... but if I am going to save the girl, I have to do it... So I take a breath and let my eyes scan the page.
John Lewis is a well known man here in Dogwood. He is in his early forties, tall and has the eyes of a hawk.
John and I have never looked eye to eye. We’ve had our arguments in the past. Now, we simply ignore one another. But I’d never suspect him for murder!
Does he even know the dead boY? Why does he carry a pictureless locket in a lock box? I’ve so many questions; not enough answers...

The next day, I’m back at the station.
“Now, who in the blazes was going through my stuff?! Someone stole some things, including my shirt!” John Lewis shouts.
I stand to the side and lean against the wall, watching how this will unfold.

The other officers chuckle.
“Well, hell, Lewis... looks like you have an admirer.”
“He steal your panties too?”

Two young officers say with grins on their faces. All of the men laugh... Except Lewis...
Lewis goes red... with anger.
He lunges forward and grabs both comedians by the throats.
“I’m not joking! Do you see a smile on my face? No... I suggest you boys so something smart and go before I get angry...”
He lets go of the cops and turns to me.
Sweat glazed skin, angry, blood-shot eyes...
“The hell you lookin at?”
I laugh and throw my hands up.
“Nothing... nothing at all...”
John Lewis storms away.
I am looking at something, Ol’ Johnny Boy... I’m looking at a criminal...

I finally decided it’s time to dig up the dirt on John. So I pull up his criminal record... hey, even if you're a cop, you got one...

 

Lewis, Jonathan M.

Age: 43

Criminal History: At age 14; went to juvenile hall for assault on a 16 year old female.

At age 16; went to an anger management class, ordered by the state for violence and anger at school.

At age 24; assaulted a male and female at a local bar.


 

So, John had a big anger problem. That wasn’t very difficult to tell... I wrote down John’s address and decided to dig deeper. This case had just unleashed wholly hell on our small Dogwood Police Station.


 

I walk from my office, eyes to the floor. I bump into something. I look up; Stacey had held out her arm.

“Okay, honey, why are you acting so shady? Whatever it is, I want in,” She says brushing my arm and biting her lower lip.

“Stacey, I’m just working. Now please, let me-”

She interrupts me.

“I don’t care! Why don’t you tell me anything?”

“Cuz that’s my job,” I push past her and hustle to my car.

I slam the door and start the engine.

Bang! Stacey is in the passenger side seat.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy. Now drive.”

I groan and pull out of the parking lot.


 

330...329...328... Ah, 327 Peach Blvd. I take in the small, cookie cutter house with its yellow siding and green shutters. It was a little feminine for a bachelor pad. I sigh, and climb out of the car.

“Why are we at someones house? They’re obviously not home and I know you don’t have a warrant,” Stacey annoyingly remind me.

“Well, I’m just going to walk around the house and see if there are signs of a struggle,” I say, glaring my eyes at her.

“Okay...I guess... but if the station asks, I was never with you...” She says with a frown.

“Trust me, I wish you weren’t,” I say under my breath as I walk away.


 

I scan the front of the house. Everything is prim, proper, and clean. No signs of a struggle, so I go around the back....There, I find it.

There is a small, danky patio. Two lawn chairs and a barbeque pit sit on the side of it.  On the other side, is a back door... with blood and scrapes all over it...

I walk to the door to examine the imperfections against the wooden surface.

“Mmmm...” Something makes a sound on the other side...

Nobody is home. Lewis is at work; he lives alone; and he hates animals.

What made that noise?

“Mmmm...”

“What are you doing and who is screaming?!” Stacey appears from the other side of the house.

I kick the door open, out of instinct of course. The concrete is cold, grey, and spattered with blood.

All in this room is a hospital bed... something occupies it as well. What-or who- ever it is, it’s covered with a white, blood-stained  sheet.

I slowly step toward the bed. The sheet moves slightly and startles me. Where is Stacey? I hear an engine rev and tires squeal. I know she got scared and took my car to run...

I am now arms length from the sheet and pull quickly.

Brittany Bank’s eyes widen. I swiftly untie the sopping wet gag from her mouth. Her breathing is quick and heavy. She needs medical assistance ASAP!

“Joh-John did it!” She shudders breathlessly and then soon passes out.


 


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