"The fun part isn't catching them.
It's making them think I helped."
⸻
The morning was heavy with mist. The second body lay near the river, stripped and cleaned. Lips sewn shut. Bones rearranged post-mortem in a spiral shape — almost like a ritual. Another tribute. Another plea.
Carol crouched beside it. "It's cleaner than the last."
Tim nodded. "More confident too. Whoever this is, they're escalating."
I stood behind them, hands in my coat pockets, silently taking in the scene.
Confidence, yes.
Not skill.
Not understanding.
You copy.
You admire.
But you'll never be me.
I knelt, brushing the dirt beside the body. "They left no footprints again."
Carol: "It's like they float."
I smiled faintly. "Or… like they know how you search."
Tim frowned. "You think this guy knows police procedure?"
"I think," I said calmly, "they've been watching. Maybe even close."
⸻
Back at the station, I planted seeds.
"I analyzed the cuts. The blade used? Not surgical. More like a boning knife — kitchen grade. They're messy. This isn't a professional."
A lie, of course. They were mimicking me, which meant they learned from somewhere precise.
Tim: "So, not someone with medical knowledge?"
I smiled. "No. Just someone pretending. Like an obsessed fan."
Carol: "Or a failed student."
Ah, Carol. Always the clever one. Always dancing near the edge.
⸻
Later that night, I made sure the media leak went through. A whispered comment here, a "mistaken" folder sent there. Just enough for the copycat to see that I was paying attention. To lure them in.
"Come to me.
Show me what you've learned.
Let me teach you."
⸻
They will come.
And when they do,
I'll make them kneel.
Not with fear.
But with admiration.
The purest kind of control.