Mercy Abbott - The Kiss of Death

Red John

She kept thinking how she ended up in this situation, the last thing she remembered was her getting into a taxi from the police station and a smooth manly voice of the driver asking her for her destination and everything was blurry after that. Or maybe there was something else she didn't notice.

What could it be. She shut her eyes and tried to think hard- the black taxi...the driver... was he old? No, around 40-ish. He had dark hair. And what else? Yes... there were some flowers on the seat. When she asked the driver about them he said that some previous passenger must have left them there. The flowers...yes...they looked familiar...

"Flowers?Red? ... Oh God!", she opened her eyes and looked at the man again.

"Could he be ... the serial killer?", she kept thinking.

"Am I being held captive by the same killer that I was investigating?", she swallowed hard and kept staring at the man with fear and suspense.

The man walked towards her.

"Aah... so you're awake?", he said.

"I was admiring your beauty...my my... what lovely legs you have...", said the man standing a few feet away from her with his bloody axe still in his hand.

"Agh! who the hell are you... why am I here?", Mercy asked repelled by his words.

"Patience sugar...patience...let me stare at you for a while...after all you won't be alive for long, now that you've met me..", said the man.

Mercy could feel that he was grinning underneath that horrible mask. She really wanted to kick him in the guts.

"What have I ever done to you?You creep...", she yelled in anger.

"Such anger... ah.. it turns me on...", replied the man walking behind her, "Why... you've been after me for so long ...I thought you'd want to meet me...after all you're my number one fan...".

Mercy took a good look at the man in the mask. He stood no less than 6 ft. tall and wore a black suit and had golden cufflinks,his shoes were well polished and he had black gloves on his hands. He wore a peculiar looking japanese kabuki mask on his face and his hair was dark. The short axe he was holding in his left hand has fresh blood on it. Could it be that he had killed someone recently? He had a dark devilish charm about him and he spoke quite elegantly. Is this the killer that she was after?

"Huh... so you're the serial killer that the police is looking for... tell me do you plan to kill me too?", asked Mercy boldly.

"Oh ,so you're smart too ... yes my dear, I hate to say it but I have to end your life too... You are starting to annoy me a little... ", replied the man pacing slowly across the room.

All these questions made her adrenaline rush. She jumped out of her bed and began to walk up and down her room trying to put the pieces of the mystery together. She looked at her table clock- it was almost 3 in the morning - "the devil's hour"- as they say. Mercy felt like she was possessed by the devil itself- she couldn't sleep anymore. Amy had trusted her as her only reliable friend and here she was thinking that she never thought of as her friend. She felt sorry for her and at th same time - she knew that she had to do something for her- but what could she do?

"Yes! The party! Amy said that she met the guy at some after party- I need to start looking for some names of the people who came to the party….yes… but which party? Probably the one that the boys from the university celebrated after they won the amateur Chess competition…but that would mean that loads of people were invited, it would be like looking for a needle in a bucket of needles! No… I just need to find about a french guy- who's a professional Chef. But what was a french chef doing at a party in our university? He said he was invited? I need to know more about this party….and I think I know exactly whom to ask.",

Mercy thought as she sat on her bed.

It was almost morning and Mercy still didn't feel like sleeping. She went to her kitchen and prepared some tea. She then took out her diary and copied down the key words and phrases from Amy's letter and circled those words. Words like - Chef,Party,French,Stalker,guy disappears,stalker appears…etc made her list. Then she thought about contacting the police and handing the evidence over to them but then they would arouse more suspicions if they started investigating in the boys hostel. She thought it would be best that she'd better find all the evidences on her own and then invite the police to help her.

She looked at her clock again- almost 6 a.m. She thought it would be better for her to take a cold shower. She had her classes at 9 but she thought of skipping class and investigating the case on her own.

An hour later, she got ready to go out and do some investigating. She opened the door of her room and stepped out. As soon as she did , she stepped on something. She looked down and saw a flower- a single hydrangea flower sitting right on her doorstep. Mercy gasped. It was the same type of flower that she saw on Amy's bed. She immediately looked around to see if there was anyone else. But all she saw was an empty hall way and all she heard was the relentless gossiping and laughing coming from the rooms of the other girls in the hostel.

Mercy kneeled down and picked up the flower. What was a flower doing at her doorstep? Does this means that the killer had spotted her? But how?

She stood up and looked at the flower- there was nothing special about it - they were very common and easy to find, nevertheless she put it in her bag and began to walk down the stairs. As she descended downstairs - she began to wonder whether it was a co-incidence that she found a flower on her door step or was it the killer's way of letting her know that he has found her and he knows that she has the letter. Mercy knew that this would mean that the letter holds the key to the killer's identity.

She walked out into the morning sun- she felt warm and cozy. The grad students were rushing towards their classes and a few of the professors were slowly walking behind them. Mercy walked towards the cafeteria- she knew it was the best place to start her investigation and also she was starving.