Page 6 of No Mercy In Red

Chapter 5

Connor

Igot back to my apartment shortly after 11pm, adrenaline buzzing through me like I had just mainlined pure caffeine. Joe didn’t need money, thank God. I was tired of him ‘borrowing’ money because the cheeky bastard never actually paid it back. Instead, he had dropped a favour on me that I had absolutely no chance of refusing, something I actually thought I’d end up doing at my cyber security job instead of password changes three hundred times a day. Hunting down a serial killer.

Joe had been practically vibrating with excitement when he told me that the police had a murderer on their hands, a good one if they needed all hands on deck to help find them. Someone that was apparently careful and methodical, smart enough to leave the police with no suspects ad no leads. The higher-ups were freaking the fuck out, throwing every warm body they had at the case, and Joe? He’d somehow managed to land himself a front-row seat in the investigation, finally taking his ass away from desk duty. But the thing was, Joe wasn’t exactlydetective material,I mean, the guy could barely crack his own knuckles, let alone a high-profile investigation. But desperation was a hell of a drug, and the department was running out of options, so naturally, he turned to me. Because what’s a little illegal hacking between friends?

At first, I had slightly hesitated, not because I had a moral compass – that thing had been defective for years – but because this was risky.Big risky. But then Joe mentioned something interesting, the killer sentvideosto the victims’ families. Confession tapes, supposedly, and nobody at the station was allowed to watch them. Too brutal, too disturbing apparently, which of course, made me insanely curious. What kind of suck fuck not only kills people but sends their final words to their families? More importantly though, why the hell didn’t the police want their own people seeing the tapes and what were they confessing to? I needed to get my hands on those videos.

Joe had no idea what he’d just started.

Joe showed up at my apartment the next morning at the ungodly hour of 8am, looking way too chipper for someone was awake at this time of day. “Morning, sunshine, you look like absolute shit.” He practically sang.

I squinted at him, debating murder until handed me a coffee. Ah, he lives another day. “You wake me up at 8am on a weekend, and you expect me to look good?” I grumbled, inhaling the sweet, caramel-rich scent of my drink, “The only reason I’m not kicking you out is because this is from Melinda’s.”

Joe grinned, “I know my audience.”

I took a slow sip, savouring the warmth, then glanced at the bag he dropped on my table. “That them?”

Joe nodded, pulling out the thick stack of files and laying them in front of me. “All of the missing victims. Can you have them copied and back to me by tomorrow? If I show up without them, they’ll start asking questions.”

I raised an eyebrow, “You mean, you’ll start looking suspicious?”

“Same thing,” he said, flashing me his best don’t-be-a-dick smile. “I owe you for this.”

“You owed me the second I said yes, so technically, you already owe me something.” I replied, my mouth kicking up at the corner.

“Fine, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Steak, good fucking steak.” I responded.

Joe groaned, “Fucking fine, just don’t get caught.”

I snorted, “Please, if anyone’s getting caught, it’s you.”

He flipped me off on his way out. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the stack of papers in front of me. This was it, the point of no return, because if either Joe or I got caught, we were royally screwed. But the itch was already there, crawling under my skin. The need to know, the need to find out who was behind these sick and twisted murders, so I picked up the first file and flipped it open. It was time to find me a killer.

I spent a few hours photocopying each file, stacking them neatly next to my computer, preparing myself for a long night of research. I hadn’t planned on diving into them until tomorrow, but sleep wasn’t an option, and honestly, I was too wired to do anything else. Besides, Joe needed me to do my best work on this one, the guy deserved a break. He’d been rotting on desk duty for way too long, waiting for his shot at something big. Serial killers weren’t exactly a thing in our mundane little town. A drunken bar fight, the occasional theft, that was normal for our town, but a methodical killer taking out several men with no obvious connections? That was something new. The randomness of it all gnawed at me, there had to be a link, or a pattern. From my knowledge on serial killers—which was Netflix and YouTube true crime documentary’s—there was normally reason, right? Or maybe I just wanted to believe that this person wasn’t just a mindless killer running across the town I lived in, killing random men for the fun of it.

I sighed, running a hand through my dark brown hair, pushing the strands away from my eyes as I made my way to the kitchen for amuch-needed cup of coffee, a strong one. I needed to focus and to try figure this out before I pulled some dumb shit, like hacking into places I didn’t belong, not that it would be the first time. I had a complicated relationship with using my technology knowledge, which wasn’t always for the greater good. I may or may not have used my skills to keep tabs on my ex-girlfriend after she left me, and I may or may not have also used my abilities to fuck with her new boyfriend, Mike. He was smug, arrogant and completely undeserving of her, so I made sure that he never got to keep her. Tracking her phone was easy work and hacking her social media to keep tabs on her and who she was talking to was even easier. So ensuring every guy she tried to move on with mysteriously disappeared from her phone, no contact, no more social media? That was absolute child’s play. I had told myself that I was protecting her, keeping her safe, but deep down, I knew the truth. I couldn’t let go. I was possessive by nature, obsessive when something—or someone—felt likemine. She was mine, I had tried to make sure she stayed mine, but Joe had been the one to talk me down, to remind me that what I was doing wasn’t normal, wasn’t healthy. And after a while, I listened and I forced myself to let go, I even started therapy. But even now, sometimes, the urge crept back in, slithering under my skin like an old addiction that was hard to resist, its why I didn’t let myself be involved with women anymore, except for a basic fuck, it was too risky.

I shook my thoughts way, focusing on the task at hand. Sitting back at my desk, I typed the first victims name into Google.Warren Davis, Alemnburg, Canada.Nothing. Not exactly the start I was hoping for. I scrolled through social media, scanning for anything remotely useful, but he was just a local guy in his twenties, no obvious skeletons in his closet that stood out to me, but then again, nobody ever showed their skeletons on social media. So, I decided to hack into his account. It was always too easy doing this, very few people had two-factor authentication set up, but again, his direct messages showed nothing. I repeated the process for the next few victims, coming up empty. A few news articles here andthere about their achievements – sports, business, the usual crap, but no arrests reported in the media, no allegations, no shady dealings that I could find, and. It was the same thing for their social media accounts. It was all boring direct messages, occasional dick pics sent here and there, but nothing concerning. So what the fuck was I missing? Frustration clawed at me, and my gaze flicked to my phone, debating my next move for all of two seconds before typing out a message to Joe:

‘Hey man, about those tapes. I’ve got nothing so far, and it’s driving me insane. I really think the tapes will help.’

I hit send and leaned back in my chair, rubbing at my temple. If he said no, I’d probably do it anyway, I just preferred having his permission before I went and did it my way behind his back. A few minutes later, my phone vibrated:

‘Absolutely fucking not dude. If the guys at the station find out the tapes were hacked we are both screwed. Find other ways. I believe in you.’

Great. Well, I’m glad he believed in me, because without those tapes I beginning to meet a dead end. I let out a heavy sigh, tossing my phone onto the desk. I was going to have to be an asshole and go behind his back, but i knew he’d thank me for it later, once I cracked the case and he got his promotion. If I played my cards right, he’d never even have to know that I had, I could say I found some information hacking into their social media accounts or something. And if he did find out…Well, I was great at lying, since I hated confrontation. My father made sure I understood one thing, avoid confrontation at all costs. Not because my father enjoyed a peaceful life, but because he needed someone weaker than him to absorb his rage. After my mom died, he spiralled, drowning himself in bottles of whiskey and self-pity, turning our home into a battleground where I was always on the losing side. I learned early on that silence was survival, so I moved quietly, stayed out of his way, became an expert at making myself invisible in my own home, but it never really mattered. He found me when he wanted to, no matter how well I hid, when the weight of his grief and anger became too much, when he needed a release, I was the easiest target. Joe was my only refuge, the one person who saw me and not just the bruises I tried to hide and the vacant look in my eyes when I showed up to school after a bad night, butme.He gave me a place to escape to, a reason to keep going when I felt that there was no way out. My mother had been that reason too, but she was gone, and my dad made sure I knew whose fault that was. He never outright said it at first, and maybe, for a while, he tried to pretend that he didn’t blame me. But as the years passed and my mothers sickness worsened, I saw it in his eyes, saw the resentment, the barely concealed disgust. She had gotten sick when she was pregnant with me and her body had fought so hard, but ultimately it had failed when I turned 13, and in the end, she was gone, and I was still here. To him, that wasn’t fair, to him, I was the mistake that cost him everything.

After my mom’s funeral, he vanished for days, leaving me alone in that house, surrounded by memories that felt more like ghosts. I thought he was grieving, and I thought maybe when he came back, we could pick up the broken pieces together. I was wrong, I remember the sound of the front door unlocking late one Sunday night, I had been curled up in bed, hoping,praying,that when he came home, he’d be okay, that he’d hug me, tell me we were going to be alright. I had ran down the stairs, relief washing over me when I saw him standing there, his silhouette framed in the doorway. His name was already on my lips, my arms reaching for him, desperate for something –anything– that felt like love. I still remember the sting on my cheek from when the back of his hand struck my face so hard I fell to the ground. I remember the way the air left my lungs, the way my vision blurred as the shock settled in. I stared up at him, my father, the man who was supposed to protect me, and all I saw was a stranger. His hair was a mess, his clothes stained, his beard untrimmed. He reeked of alcohol and misery, swaying where he stood, his eyes hollow and lifeless. I had never seen him so broken. And then,with a voice that was nothing more than a slurred growl, he said the words that haunted me for years.

“You’re the fucking reason she’s dead. You never deserved her as a mother. You took away my wife, you bastard.”

His foot had slammed so hard into my chest, sending me sprawling onto my back. The pain that shot through me was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the weight of his words. He looked down at me like I was nothing, like I was a mistake he wished he could undo. That was the night everything changed, the night I stopped hoping for a loving, caring father. It was the night I realised, that other than Joe, I was truly, utterly alone.

My phone buzzed again, dragging me from my thoughts:

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