Previously on Crimson Mind.....
I am Damien Cross, and I am suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID)...
"So you are saying that you have dual personality disorder?" "Yes, sir, and have been suffering from this for the past 15 years."
IN THE PRESENT…
Damien drove Evelyn to school, hands steady on the wheel, but his mind was elsewhere. Evelyn glanced over and asked, "How long will you be gone this time?"
He gave her a reassuring smile.
"Just a week, kiddo. We've gotta examine the Buddha statue, figure out its age. But you'll blink and I'll be back."
They pulled into the school's driveway. Damien gave her a quick hug, kissed her forehead, and said goodbye before heading off to the archaeology department.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON…
With Evelyn heading to her friend's for a sleepover, Damien arranged a babysitter for Aria, packed his bags, kissed his daughters goodbye, and left for the airport.
At the terminal, he met his new colleague—a clumsy, nervous woman named Rosemary Carter.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Carter. I'm Damien Cross, your new senior archaeologist.""Pleasure's mine, Mr. Cross! So… this Buddha statue—what exactly are we dealing with?"
IN THE PAST…
Inside the precinct, the specialist leaned toward the officer beside him and spoke quietly:
"I don't think he committed the murder consciously. I believe one of his alternate personalities took over."
The officer scowled.
"You're buying his bullshit? You believe this split personality crap?"
The specialist's voice was calm but firm.
"Thirty years on the job. I know when someone's lying—and when they're terrified of themselves. He didn't have the look of a killer… he had the look of someone who's seen one."
He sighed.
"Lock him up. We'll deal with him when the mental health team arrives."
THE NEXT DAY…
A guard shook Damien awake in his cell.
"Up. Specialist's here."
Still half-asleep, Damien shuffled to the sink. As he looked into the cracked mirror, he froze.
Standing behind him… was the man from the interrogation room.
That same face. That same terrifying grin.
Damien's blood ran cold. He gasped and stumbled back, crashing into a bucket that shattered beneath him. Jagged plastic tore into his back—but he didn't even feel it.
Guards burst in moments later and found him curled on the floor, shaking, bleeding, eyes wide with terror.
He wasn't in pain.
He was haunted.
BACK IN THE PRESENT…
With Damien away and Aria under the babysitter's care, Evelyn snuck off—not to Jessica's house like she claimed, but to a party hosted by her boyfriend: Vincent Blackwood.
Vincent wasn't just rich. He was filthy rich. Heir to Blackwood Industries, his mansion was more luxury hotel than a home. His parties? Legendary.
Evelyn arrived, and Vincent greeted her with a smirk and leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her face away. Intimacy made her anxious. She couldn't explain why.
Vincent said nothing. His smile vanished, and without a word, he walked away.
Crushed, Evelyn wandered the party in silence until she broke down beside Jessica, sobbing uncontrollably. After a few minutes, she wiped her eyes and went looking for him to make things right.
What she found shattered her.
Down the hallway, in the guest wing, she caught Vincent pressed against another girl, locked in a kiss. Hands in her hair. Mouth on hers. Like Evelyn had never existed.
She snapped.
"What the hell?!"
They sprang apart, startled.
"Evelyn—wait—"
"You said you loved me! Or was that just your way of getting in my pants?!"
Her voice was shaking—not from fear, but fury.
"You're disgusting, Vincent. A coward in designer clothes. And you just lost the only girl who gave a damn about you."
She stormed out, Jessica chasing behind her. Evelyn wasn't sad anymore.
She was done.
IN THE PAST…
Damien sat across from the specialist, still reeling from the bathroom incident. The specialist leaned in, pen poised.
"You're claiming to have Dissociative Identity Disorder. Strange. Most patients with DID… don't know they have it. So how are you so sure?"
Damien's eyes were wide with dread.
"Because I can see him."
He swallowed hard.
"He's the one who did it. Not me. He killed them."
Meanwhile, the officer who'd arrested Damien was reviewing the case files when another officer burst in.
"Sir! New body just turned up."
The senior officer turned with a glare.
"Why the hell are you grinning about that?"
"It's got the Ripper's symbol, sir. But this time… no head."
"Wait—what?"
"And the head we did recover? It matches the missing victim. Exact match."
The room fell silent.
"You saying… this guy from Times Square is the no-face?"
"Yes, sir. That son of a bitch. We've found him."
IN THE PRESENT…
Damien returned home late that night, dropping his bags at the door.
"Evelyn? Aria? I'm back!"
Aria ran out and launched into his arms.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said, kissing her forehead. "Where's your sister?"
"In her room," Aria said softly.
The babysitter approached, clearly uneasy.
"Sir… I think Evelyn's not doing well. You might want to check on her."
Damien nodded. "Teen mood swings," he thought. But when he opened Evelyn's door, she rushed into his arms and held on tight.
He was stunned. She was crying. And something in her hug felt... wrong. Like she was hanging on for dear life.
"Hey, hey… what happened?" Damien asked gently.
She sobbed against him.
"Dad… I'm scared. Please. Help me."
He sat beside her, trying to remain calm.
"Tell me what happened."
Evelyn looked up, eyes full of dread.
"I lied. I didn't go to Jessica's. I went to Vincent's."
Damien frowned.
"Okay… go on."
"I thought we could fix things. But it wasn't what I expected. He wasn't alone. There were… others. Six of them. Strangers. When I tried to leave, they locked the doors."
Her voice cracked.
"They said I embarrassed him. That I humiliated him. They didn't let me go."
Damien's blood turned to fire. He clenched his fists, trying to stay composed.
"You're safe now," he whispered. "No one's going to hurt you again."
But in his heart, something was already tearing loose.
THAT NIGHT…
Alone in the dark, Damien sat on the living room couch. No tears. Just rage. A fire simmering beneath his skin.
He stood, walked to the kitchen, and opened a drawer. Inside—a long kitchen knife.
He rolled up his sleeve. Pressed the blade to his arm. A single cut. Clean. Sharp. Red.
As the blood dripped, slow and deliberate, he heard a voice—one from the past:
"It's not DID. It's something rarer… Intermittent Dissociative Personality Syndrome. His alternate self isn't random. It's triggered. By blood."
Damien stared at the blood sliding down his arm.
Then…
A familiar voice echoed from behind him—low, smooth, dripping with malice.
"So… did you miss me, Damien?"
He turned.
And there, leaning casually against the fridge, was the man from the interrogation room.
"LONG TIME NO SEE."
TO BE CONTINUED…