“The West Wood Killer” had become a well-known name to the press and residents of the small town. West Wood was quiet, with a population of a little over 4,000. Nothing exciting happened there, let alone a serial killer being on the loose. The mystery slasher had first struck a few moths ago, when a young college woman disappeared from her campus. Her body was later discovered in a swamp by a secluded road. More and more people began to disappear and were later found dead, though law enforcement didn’t initially make connections between the murders at first. Soon they realized each death had one similarity: a tiny, almost unnoticeable question mark carved into their left wrists.

As a head and experienced detective, I was quickly put on the case. They figured if anyone could catch the perpetrator it’d be me. I worked tediously and endlessly trying to put the nightmare to an end, to no avail. Every suspect we obtained was ruled out, and the case seemed as if it was going cold.

Maybe it was, I thought as I tossed evidence that would put me at the scene of the crime in the fire. It was ironic, truly; a trusted and excelling detective being a mass murderer. I glanced briefly at the lady’s corpse in the trunk of my car, wondering what the headlines would have to say tomorrow. And I’d certainly get a call about it, and I’d have to investigate the crime scene and try to capture myself.

I opened the front door to my house and opened my arms as my two children rushed to embrace me. My wife smiled pleasantly from her spot on the couch, pointing out the news broadcast that featured a picture of me and praised me for my hard work in the recent case. Yes, this case would remain cold.