15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  Malcolm stopped dead in his tracks as the Machete Man cocked his head back and searched behind him. Malcolm’s breathing became erratic. His heart rate picked up, and all of a sudden this didn’t seem like a good idea to the boy. He wished that he could back out. But there was no “pause” menu on this situation. There was no “reload checkpoint,” either. After all, this was no video game. And it dawned on Malcolm rather quickly that he wished it was. At least then he could find the secret power-up behind the fake wall. Maybe even upgrade his weapon for double damage. But in reality, he didn’t have a weapon. And there weren’t any secret walls with treasure and weapons to help him along his journey.

  All there was, was him and the Machete Man. And as he hid under a table near a trendy café, a few yards in front of him, the Machete Man caught hold of his scent. Before Malcolm could run, the killer yelled. He fell to one knee. He clasped at his right side with his left arm, the weapon still firmly in his right. Blood started escaping his wound. But he got up and turned around. As he did so, Malcolm spotted two young men. Maybe in their late teens. They were wearing flat-peaked caps and baggy pants. One of them had a knife. That must have been the reason for the Machete Man dropping to one knee. One of them must have stabbed him. But now the Machete Man was outnumbered. Two to one: one of them wielding a knife, the other pulling out a gun. Malcolm felt a smile creep across his face. He was about to witness somebody facing their fears. But the smile disappeared rather quickly. The Machete Man took one large swing at the gun-wielding teen’s legs. With one straight incision, both his legs detached at the kneecaps. A blood-curdling scream rose into the air as the teen fell to the floor. He was clutching what remained of his legs as they spewed blood out at a rate that Malcolm didn’t think was possible. Two bloody stumps coating the floor with crimson. But as one of them bled out, the Machete Man dealt with the other wannabe hero. This one raised his knife and tried to stab the killer again. But the Machete Man stepped aside, letting the knife-wielding teen’s momentum trip him up. The young man landed on his front. He tried to push himself back up to his feet, but the Machete Man came down with a forceful swing of his big blade. Malcolm heard a squelch and then a pop. After another three swings in succession, the knife-wielding teen no longer had his head. It rolled a little toward Malcolm, who was gasping in horror as he hid under the table. But the Machete man wasn’t done. He walked toward the other teen, the one with stumps for legs, and watched him die.

  He stood there for three minutes as the kid pleaded and begged. But the Machete Man didn’t give in. He wasn’t going to allow the kid a quick death. Not after he wounded the Machete Man.

  Malcolm’s knees were aching as he hid under the table a few feet away from the massacre. The Machete Man grunted as he wiped his blade off. He sheathed his weapon and took another look around. The mall was empty, yet all the shutters were down.

  “They must be around here somewhere,” he said under his breath, and began to walk again.

  Malcolm decided that he would get a little more distance from the Machete Man before he continued to follow him. Not that he really wanted to follow him at all. Especially since he’d just witnessed the Machete Man in action. He might be a young boy, but he knew that if he was going to die, he didn’t want it to be like that.

  “You must stop him,” he whispered to himself as he saw the Machete Man saunter off toward his next kill.

  Seventeen

  I was on my hands and knees, trying to force three steel bars apart. Behind those bars, a small basement window sat mocking me as I did so. I could see my reflection on the sheen of the glass. My red face. Sweaty brow. Bunged-up nose.

  This wasn’t how I imagined I’d spend Christmas Eve.

  “It won’t budge, Frank. Don’t even bother. You’ll pull something!” I heard Santiago say from behind me. It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who had voices sounding off in his head every second, mocking him. Testing him. There were just some things I wasn’t prepared to do, and sitting on my ass and waiting for the SWAT team to turn up was one of those things.

  “You mind helping me? Maybe we’d get in quicker like that?” I asked, huffing a little as I pulled on the three bars. It was as if I was trying to escape prison. But I wasn’t escaping. I was breaking in. I needed to get in there and face this guy. With every passing second, I feared that another human being would lose their life. I wasn’t prepared to let that happen.

  “Frank, give it up! That’s steel you’re fucking with. The only thing that’s giving way is your damn organs through stress. So I tell you what, let’s get back to the FBI hub in the parking structure and wait for the guys with machine guns to turn up. You never know, they might actually be able to break in.”

  I stopped what I was doing and turned to face Santiago. I was still on my hands and knees. It wasn’t the best of positions to be in, but I wasn’t going to stand up for this. Not when there was a job to be done.

  “You go back if you want, San. I won’t do such a thing! Don’t you think it’s strange that they turned off the power like that?” I asked.

  “They say it’s protocol,” San replied.

  “Well, it strikes me as odd that such a protocol exists. Surely shutting the power off and locking the whole mall down is nothing short of a damn death sentence!”

  I got off my hands and knees, and lay down on my back. My feet were facing the bars, and my head was just under Santiago’s right leg. He was looking down at me as if I’d lost my mind.

  “You trying to catch a look at my Christmas balls or something?” he asked.

  I didn’t reply. I just tucked both of my legs in, raising them slightly, and began to extend them, kicking the three bars that protected the basement. As I did so, the cold Christmas Eve air echoed with thud after thud, until I heard a snap and then the sound of glass breaking. I’d done it. All three bars were bent in, and the basement window was now glassless. I had officially broken into my first mall. It was a bit of a rush, but I didn’t see myself getting a full-time career out of mall heists.

  Still lying on my back, I exhaled a large mouthful of air. I watch as condensation plumed up toward Santiago’s face. He smiled at me and then looked at the hole I’d just created. It was our way into the mall. And I could tell he was half impressed, even if he wouldn’t admit it himself.

  “Into the demon’s lair?” Santiago asked.

  “It’s Christmas, San, you should have said something cool like ‘into Santa’s Grotto.’”

  San shook his head and stepped over me. He crouched down and knocked some of the jagged glass off the window frame. He then turned to face me and said, “Ready to fuck Rudolf in the ass?”

  My eyes widened. “Jesus, San, leave the puns to me!” I said.

  We both made our way into the basement of the mall. Luckily for Rudolf, he was nowhere to be seen. His cheeks were safe. But I had a feeling that somebody was going to die tonight.

  And it wouldn’t be us. Not if I had my way, that is.

  Eighteen

  Malcolm Holmes was still trailing the Machete Man as he made his way through the mall. No one was around, which immediately made the Machete Man audibly angry. He started to grunt and shout. Malcolm remained a safe distance behind the maniac killer. But deep down, the twelve-year-old boy knew that he wasn’t far back enough. He would have been better off if he’d remained at the arcade, waiting for the police to come swooping in and save the day. But part of him wanted to know what would happen next. And to whom it would happen. He would have definitely waited at the arcade if he’d really known what was going to happen next, that was for sure.

  The Machete Man continued to stroll down the left court of the mall. Shops to his left and right. A hot dog stand in the middle of the atrium caught the killer’s eyes. He walked up to the stand and stuck his large hand into a tray, pulling out three large wieners. He stuffed them into his mouth and started to chew. Malcolm could hear the killer chowing down from where he was hiding, which was behind a large
trash receptacle. Every so often, Malcolm would peek his head up a little to catch another glimpse of the killer. He did that every minute or so. That way, he knew where he was and how far away he was, which in Malcolm’s mind was very important indeed.

  Malcolm was waiting for his minute to come up. He wanted another peek at the killer. He could hear him all very well. Eating. Huffing. Breathing. Snorting. Mumbling. But Malcolm needed to see where he was, so he could gauge what angle he was at, just in case he had to scram.

  He kept looking at his watch, counting the seconds as they ticked away. By his count, he had another fifteen seconds before he could get a look at his fear once again. But something strange happened. The sound of eating stopped. He couldn’t hear the killer breathing anymore. Just silence. Too much silence. It was unbearable to Malcolm. He squirmed and closed his eyes. He could hear his watch ticking. It was ever so loud. He quickly unstrapped the watch and threw it. He didn’t know where, because he still had his eyes shut, but the main thing was that he couldn’t hear the ticking anymore.

  But the silence was still ever present, making its deathly tone known. Malcolm could hear his heart thumping in his ears. And then footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Behind him. Through the thin layer of metal that the trash receptacle was made from. That was when Malcolm knew that his time was up. There was no more counting the seconds. There was just fear. And it was creeping over him, much like the sensation of regret.

  Regret about leaving home that day. Regret about coming to the mall. Pestering his mom for quarters, only for it to be the last time he’d ever see her again. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, making his eyelids heavy and droopy. His cheeks were flushed, and his breathing was deep. The footsteps continued to sound off behind him like big jackhammers on a construction site. He was just about to scream when he opened his eyes and looked up. Leaning over the trash can with two massive hands reaching out for Malcolm was the seven-foot beast of a killer known as the Machete Man. He had a smile on his scarred face. His teeth were yellow, and half were missing. Some were cracked, and his breath smelled of onions.

  Malcolm batted the killer’s reaching hands away with his. It brought another smile to the Machete Man.

  “I’ve never killed a kid before,” he said as he grabbed Malcolm. But Malcolm wasn’t going out without a fight. He balled his fist real tight and punched the Machete Man in the ear. The killer let Malcolm go instantly. He lost his balance and fell to the floor. He was grabbing at his ear, trying to nurse it. The ear canal houses the brain’s balance mechanism. A stiff punch to the ear will knock most people loopy, no matter whether the punch comes from a twelve-year-old boy or a forty-year-old man.

  Malcolm sensed that it was the right time for him to make a break for it. So he leapt up to his feet and started to run. He slid under a few tables and then jumped over a few more. He looked like something out of an action movie. He was deliberate with every stride he took. He saw things that he could topple over to slow down the Machete Man. So he did just that. A gumball machine to his right. He tipped it over. The sound of breaking glass and rolling candy made Malcolm smile. He didn’t dare look behind him. He was too busy imaging the distance between himself and the killer. He knew that he would need to get plenty. But he was confident he could.

  He continued to run and run. Unbeknownst to him, the Machete Man wasn’t far behind. He might be big and heavy, but nobody said the Machete Man wasn’t fast.

  And he was fast. Mighty fast.

  Nineteen

  Santiago and I were inside the mall. The basement was easy to navigate. We spent the best part of four minutes trying to find the stairwell to the ground floor of the building. But luck had it that even in the dark, we still managed to figure something out. I guess San and I were a good team, no matter what time of the year it was or how much we might be getting on each other’s nerves.

  “We’re lucky we even got into the building,” Santiago sounded off as we explored the desolate-looking mall. It was completely empty. Not a single person could be seen. But I knew that would change. I knew that death was close. I could feel it in my bones. It was settling around me like a blanket. But this particular blanket lacked any comfort or warmth. All it contained was blackness.

  I reached into my jacket pocket and poured a few pills into my mouth. Not even at Christmas did I get a break from the demons of hell berating me from within the confines of my skull.

  “You all right?” Santiago asked.

  “Yeah, why shouldn’t I be? I mean, look at us! We’re inside a mall that should have thousands of people within its walls, and we can’t find a single fucking soul! Now, does that strike you as odd, or is it just me?”

  San nodded. “This whole fucking thing is odd. First we get a girl’s head in a box. Then three more decapitated women. Then calls that he’s here terrorizing the place, but the mall’s empty! Something spooky is going on. Should we call a shaman or something?”

  I laughed. Wasn’t the time or place, but humor was never lost on me. “No need for any witch doctors, San. I’m sure we’ll be able to sort this out on our own.”

  We continued to walk north. The entrance of the mall had disappeared behind us, and now we were getting to the main area of the first floor. It was flooded with shops and had three to four stories with more shops above us. I looked at the high-rise of retail shops above us and then back at San. We both sighed.

  “Guess we’re not taking the elevator, then,” San said.

  “Guess not.”

  I was mesmerized by the stillness in the air. As if it was masking something. Hiding something. And then I saw it. The blood. The bodies. To our right. A bunch of them.

  “Over there!” I said, pointing to a few lifeless corpses near a café. We both ran over toward the mass of humanity. I counted seven. San counted six. We agreed to disagree. There wasn’t much we could do from here. It was up to CSI to sort this mess out. And I figured that there would be a lot more mess for them to sort out by the time the shutters to this particular mall opened back up.

  “Where the hell is everybody?” San asked as he surveyed the area. He pointed to a shop in the far distance. It had its front windows smashed in. Six more dead bodies lay outside it. I read the sign above the smashed windows and blood.

  “Al’s Arcade,” I muttered under my breath.

  Somehow, the sight of Christmas decorations and decapitated bodies made me feel queasy. I guess years of seeing the same thing, day in, day out, couldn’t quite prepare you for anything much different. I mean, I’d seen plenty of dead people, just not many decapitated ones.

  “You hear that?” Santiago asked.

  I turned to him and shrugged. “Hear what?”

  And then after a few seconds, I heard it. Heavy breaths. Light footsteps. Followed by heavy footsteps. They were coming toward us. I felt my fingertips numb a little. They always did when I knew that I would have to draw my gun. And, sure enough, both San and I had our Glocks drawn. We both aimed at the same spot. A blind corner, a few yards from the arcade shop. The footsteps grew louder. And then they were replaced by the sight of a young boy. He turned the corner and then twisted toward us. He had a look of complete fear on his face. His color was flushed, and his eyes were wide. He spotted San and me, and immediately picked up pace. But then he was momentarily overshadowed. I spotted something behind him. It also turned the corner and then took the same running path. It was massive. Huge arms. Great big footsteps that sounded like masonry being broken in two. I felt my trigger finger spasm. I was nervous. But luckily for me, San wasn’t. The figure overshadowed the boy enough that taking the shot wasn’t difficult.

  I heard a pop. And then saw a spray of blood. San got him in the neck. I snapped out of my fear and pulled the trigger myself. The big bastard was still moving, still running. But my bullet connected with his chest. I heard another pop on delay. And then a crack. Must have been his ribs. He fell to the floor instantly.

  “Fatal,” San said out loud. He then grabb
ed his radio and reported our position.

  Suddenly, everything became a blur. I was shaken up. Trembling. I watched the life escape from our guy. Dead on a mall floor. The look of terror in the boy’s face. He didn’t stop running until he collapsed into my arms. I knelt down and embraced him.

  “It’s okay, son. You’re safe now,” I said.

  “Thank you, mister. Thank you for saving my life.”

  I smiled. Maybe it wasn’t all bad, working Christmas, that is. I guess if we didn’t, then a lot more people could have died today.

  “Suspect down. Requesting the coroner,” I heard Santiago say.

  The kid relaxed into my arms. I got up to my feet, holding him as I did so. I got one last look at the killer in front of us, lying motionless on the floor. The dim lights coming from the backup generators flickered a tad. And then they brightened. I heard the sound of window and door shutters sliding open. The SWAT teams came flooding in. EMTs took the kid out of my arms to check him over. I made my way back outside and reached into my jacket. Sticking a cigarette in my mouth, I lit up and inhaled. San stood beside me and patted me on the shoulder.

  “Merry Christmas, Frank,” he said.

  “Merry Christmas, reindeer-raper.” I laughed.

  We both stood there, staring at the moon for what felt like hours, but was most likely minutes. We were both beat and ready to hit the sack.

  Twenty

  “A Christmas epilogue”

  As the sun broke through the clouds on Thursday morning, Christmas Day, to be precise, San and I were sitting down at our favorite diner. We were having eggs, sausage, and bacon. Both our plates were served to us a little differently that day. Today, we had smiley faces laid out on our plates, made from sausages. Four in a circle for the face. Egg yolks for the eyes. Bacon for the mouth. San and I looked at each other, and then back down at our food.