Uno and Fog: The Obligatory Flashback

How did the two of us end up in the situation?

One month ago, The Fog and I were at the apartment complex of one Lisa Williams, recently deceased.  The latest victim of what the press were calling the Looney Mooney Serial Killer, LMS for short, after several months of people being murdered on the evening of the waning gibbous moon.

It had taken several months for the press to notice the city’s latest serial killer.  The two of us had thought that New Amsterdam’s favorite son, Luminary, would have taken an interest in the murders, which is why we had stayed clear of them.

They were high profile, which was something the sanctioned hero loved, and something we tried to avoid.  Plus, we didn’t get along with him.  At all.  Luminary was big on following the rules and the two of us weren’t much for that, plus we weren’t sanctioned, which meant we weren’t monitored or constrained: Placing us outside the law which was a nonstarter for Luminary.

That and the fact that Luminary is a complete Richard.

My partner doesn’t trust the government.  It was a little simpler for me, I had to spend so much of my time answering to my father that I didn’t want any other authority figures in my life.

For some reason though, The Incandescent Man had done nothing to track down the killer, leaving it to regular law enforcement.  As far as we could tell, no endowed had gotten involved.  It would turn out that wasn’t complete true.

At the time though it didn’t look that way, which sent the other half of our crime fighting duo into an epic rant, fueled by both frustration and guilt, which I listened to without saying a word.

I waited for him as he arrived on his motorcycle, parking a short distance from the entrance.  He disembarked and made his way toward me.  He had circled the block once checking for anyone watching.  Sometimes the police station had someone to surveille the scene, but there wasn’t anyone lurking in the shadows or sitting in a car down the block.  I had checked.

We waited until after the bars closed before coming here, but even at that late hour, an occasional car drove by having turned off the busier thorough fairs.  Trees lined the street in front of the tightly backed brick buildings, providing some cover from prying eyes.  The street lamps and the fat moon overhead made the early morning bright.

It is surprising how many dark places there are in city with so many lights.

“Cameras?”

I reached out and felt the current flowing through the various lines above, below and around us.  The cameras weren’t hard to spot.  If I concentrated, I could sense the faint trickle of people’s nervous systems within the various apartments nearby.  Most were sleeping, a few were pacing or using the restroom.

I pointed to the cameras nearby, reached out and interfered with the optical circuits. “Taken care of.” It took a little trickle of power from me to keep the interference going.  If anyone was watching or looked at the recordings later, all they’d see was static.

The Fog pulled his black fedora down tighter and headed toward front door, climbed the concrete steps to the landing and glanced around.  I adjusted my mask and follow him.  Neither one of us is a huge fan of the tights and cape look, but we both wear masks.  He paused at the front door and pulled out his lock picks.  “Take care of the alarm.”

He didn’t wait for a response, we’ve done this enough times to know I’ve got it covered.  I reached out and make sure the alarm circuit remained unbroken as he opened the door.  We slipped inside.  I let go of the cameras outside and made sure the one in the hall was messed up.  Someone was less likely to notice the camera problems if I kept it to a minimum.

We climbed three flights of stairs without incident.  On the third floor we moved down the hallway quietly until we get to the apartment with the police tape over the front door.  The Fog  looked at the door for a moment, then pulled out a small knife and careful cut the tape.  The strips of yellow fluttered downward.  Someone is going to know we were here, but we would be long gone before that.

“No forced entry.” He whispered.

The lock clicked, we stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind us.  We turned on flashlights, the light flickered across the walls of the studio apartment.  Weird symbols were painted all over the wall.  Painted in blood that ran down in small rivulets off the main forms of the symbols.

“Cliché.” I said.

The Fog ignored me.  “Enochian and Sumerian. Mixed together.”

There was a weird feel to the writing, as if there was a pattern to it that I couldn’t quite make out. “They repeat.”

“Anzillu . . . Adapehaheta Tbl.” he paused.

“You read Sumerian and Enochian?”

He glanced at me, “I read everything.”  Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s bragging or not.

“So?”

“Abomination . . . and female, no, that’s not quite right.” He frowned.  “The Unspeakable her.”

“Is he talking about his victim?  The cops think he’s a disorganized killer.”

“I don’t think so.”  He shined the light down to the large patch of blood in the middle of the room. “to either.  There’s no footprints in the blood.”  He started going over the walls slowly.  I headed over to the kitchen area, careful not to leave any  footprints of my own.  The sink and counter were kept clean, no dishes pilled up.  The trash under the sink was lined and empty, you kind find out a lot out from a person’s trash.  The police may have taken the garbage, but I didn’t think so.  Looks like Lisa Williams was a fastidious person.

There’s a cow soap dispenser, a happy cow clock on one of the cupboards.  On the fridge were cow and cheese magnets, a couple postcards from a rural state well known for its milk products and some fast food fliers.

I braced myself and opened the fridge, I still have nightmares from that guy that stuffed his girlfriend in one.

The inside light spilled out into the kitchen and I was relieved that it looked normal.

Condiments, especially packets from fast food places filled the door containers.  Milk, eggs, butter, some fruit and salad stuff.  A cardboard pizza container from Mighty Meaty Mike’s was on the middle shelf.

An impulse made me open the container.  An uneaten cheese pizza.  Two questions immediately came to mind.

“Who orders cheese from Might Meaty Mike’s?  And doesn’t eat a slice before putting it in the fridge?”

The Fog comes over.  He ignored my first question and looks at the pizza.   “Someone that didn’t get a chance to eat it.”

Not forced entry and an uneaten pizza.  I put the pizza back in the fridge and closed the door.

We had our first lead.