I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My Head

I sit at my desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, Manson's words echoing in my mind. The thought of actively seeking his advice makes my skin crawl. He's a monster, a manipulator responsible for unspeakable acts. Every fiber of my being rebels against the idea of turning to him for help.

And yet...

I close my eyes, wrestling with the internal conflict. If there's even a chance his insight could help us catch this killer, save potential future victims, don't I have a responsibility to explore it?

After a long moment, I make my decision. Swallowing my revulsion, I think, "Alright, Manson. Tell me more. What should I be looking for?"

I can almost feel his smug satisfaction as he begins to speak.

"Now you're thinking, piggy. Let me tell you about the people who came to my Family. They weren't outcasts or obvious misfits. No, they were often the ones you'd least expect. Clean-cut kids from good homes, bright students, even a few professionals."

His voice takes on a nostalgic tone that makes my stomach turn. "They all had one thing in common, though. A darkness inside, hidden behind a perfect facade. They were masters of blending in, of being what everyone expected them to be. But underneath? They were looking for something more, something...

darker."

I grudgingly take mental notes as Manson continues. "Your guy, he's probably well-liked. Respected, even. Might be involved in community activities, especially ones that give him access to kids. Look for someone who's always there, always helpful, but never quite in the spotlight."

The picture he's painting is terrifyingly plausible. A wolf in sheep's clothing, hiding in plain sight.

"Thank you," I think reluctantly, the words leaving a bitter taste even in my mind. "That's... helpful."

Manson's laughter echoes in my head. "Oh, piggy. We're just getting started. You might not like it, but you need me. And I'm going to enjoy every minute of this little partnership."

I open my mouth to protest, to assert that I've agreed to no partnership with Manson, but the words die on my lips. What's the point? This situation is beyond my control. I didn't choose to have Manson, or Aileen, or Bundy in my head. Fighting against it seems futile.

As the weight of this realization settles over me, I consider my next move. The criminal database search has yielded nothing - no one matching the profile we're looking for. Manson's insights, as unsettling as they are, offer a new angle. One that I can't in good conscience ignore.

After a moment of internal debate, I push back from my desk and stand up. It's time to talk to Seo.

I make my way to his office, knocking lightly on the open door. Seo looks up from his paperwork, gesturing for me to enter.

"Sir," I begin, choosing my words carefully, "I've been thinking about our suspect's profile. The criminal database search hasn't turned up anything useful."

Seo leans back in his chair, his expression attentive. "Go on."

"I think we might be looking at this the wrong way," I continue. "Our suspect might not have a criminal record. In fact, they might be someone well-integrated into the community. Someone above suspicion."

Seo's eyebrows raise slightly. "What are you implying?"

I take a deep breath. "I'd like to go back to the scene, sir. Do an in-person search. Look for someone who's well-liked, possibly involved in community activities, especially those that give them access to children. Someone who's always helpful, but never quite in the spotlight."

Seo considers this for a moment, his fingers drumming on the desk. Finally, he nods. "It's worth exploring. I'll inform the officers at the scene about this new angle. Good thinking."

Relief washes over me. "Thank you, sir. I'll head there right away."

As I turn to leave, Seo calls out, "Be careful out there. If your hunch is right, we're dealing with someone very dangerous and very good at hiding it."

I nod solemnly. "I will, sir."

With that, I head out right away with plans for the investigation ahead.

***

As I arrive back at the scene, the quiet village streets feel different now, charged with a new sense of purpose and unease. I begin retracing the suspect's steps through the narrow alleys, my eyes scanning every nook and cranny, every shadowed corner.

The question keeps nagging at me: How did the suspect move around without using the main road? These small alleys are clearly not all connected. There must be something we're missing, some hidden route or passage that isn't immediately obvious.

As I stand at yet another dead end, frustration building, a thought suddenly strikes me. Perhaps I'm too close to the ground, too immersed in the details to see the bigger picture. What I need is a bird's eye view.

I scan the surrounding buildings, searching for the tallest structure in the vicinity. My eyes land on an old apartment complex a few blocks away, its weathered facade stretching several stories above the surrounding buildings.

Without hesitation, I make my way towards it. As I enter the building, the musty smell of age and disuse fills my nostrils. I locate the stairwell and begin my ascent, my footsteps echoing in the empty space.

Floor after floor, I climb, my breath coming in short pants as I push myself upward. Finally, I reach the roof access door. It's locked, but a quick application of my lock-picking skills (a skill I'd rather not dwell on how I acquired) grants me access.

As I step out onto the rooftop, the cool breeze hits my face, carrying with it a sense of anticipation. I walk to the edge, my eyes sweeping over the village spread out below me like a living map.

From up here, the layout of the streets and alleys takes on a new clarity. I can see how they intersect, where they dead-end, and... wait. What's that?

My eyes narrow as I focus on a pattern that wasn't visible from ground level. There seems to be a series of connected backyards, hidden from street view by high fences and overgrown vegetation. Could this be the secret route our suspect used?

And something in the distance catches my eye, pulling me from my speculations.

I squint, trying to make out the strange objects dotting the rooftops across the village. They look like... metal planks? Not just on one building, but scattered across many. A pattern begins to emerge, and a wild theory starts to form in my mind.

"Could they be...?" I mutter to myself, hardly daring to believe it.

The need for a closer look overwhelms me. I hurry back down the stairs, my footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell as I descend. Once back on the street, I make my way to one of the buildings I saw with what appeared to be a plank on its roof.

It's a nondescript residential building, three stories tall. I enter the lobby, my heart pounding with anticipation. The elevator is out of order, so I take the stairs two at a time, driven by a mixture of excitement and dread at what I might find.

Reaching the top floor, I locate the access to the roof. As I push the door open, the late afternoon sun momentarily blinds me.

Once my eyes adjust, I see it. There, extending from the edge of the roof to the building next door, is a metal plank. It's sturdy, well-secured, and clearly designed to bear weight. My breath catches in my throat as the implications sink in.

"My God," I whisper, "they're bridges."

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Our suspect hasn't been using the alleys or the main roads. He's been traveling above them, using a network of makeshift bridges to move unseen across the rooftops of the village.

I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling slightly with the urgency of the situation. I quickly dial Seo's number, my eyes still fixed on the metal plank bridging the gap between buildings.

"Seo here," comes the gruff response after two rings.

"Sir, it's me," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite my excitement. "I've found something. Something big."

I quickly explain my discovery of the rooftop bridges, my words tumbling out in a rush. Seo listens in silence, only occasionally grunting in acknowledgment.

"We need a drone," I conclude. "As soon as possible. We need to get a bird's eye view of the entire area, map out these bridges. It could give us the killer's exact route, maybe even lead us to where he's hiding."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. Then, "Good work. I'll have a drone unit there within the hour.

"Sir," I add quickly before he can hang up, "we need to do this as quietly as possible. If the suspect realizes we're onto his rooftop network, he might disappear or worse, accelerate his plans."

Seo's voice comes back, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Agreed. I'll make sure the drone operation is covert. No sirens, no marked vehicles. We'll use plainclothes officers for the initial sweep."

"Thank you, sir," I respond, relief evident in my voice. "I'll keep a low profile on my end as well."

After ending the call, I take a moment to compose myself. The excitement of the discovery is still coursing through me, but I know I need to act normal, to blend in.

I make my way back down the stairs, my footsteps deliberately casual. As I exit the building, I force myself to adopt a relaxed posture, as if I'm just another officer going coming to the scene to check.