Lucas

"Good news, Greg. I think I've got a lead on this guy."

For two years, I'd been on this case. A real pisser. Several leads, and all dead ends. It started with a message found on an sign-in book in the St. Mere Abelle Institute for the criminally insane. Not your average message, that's for certain. Average messages usually aren't written in blood.

"You mean that?"

That's Greg for you. Dense as a bowl of porridge and a crate of bricks. This is why I'm the one behind the desk.

"I certainly do. The Black Slasher. You know who I mean?"

"The one who kills people in mental institutions?"

"Bingo."

The Black Slasher. That's what we call him. Every week we've been getting reports from police all over the country. He stalks the reception areas of halfway houses and mental institutions, all over. And the worst part? Nobody knows where he'll strike next. That's the catch. He just seems to show up in any city, in any mental institution or halfway house he can get himself to. I swear, I've ground my teeth down to nubs trying to track him down. But I've finally got something to work with. Something I can sink my teeth into.

"What's the lead, now?"

"Anonymous tip. The confidant wants me to meet with him tonight."

This feels like it will be my trump card. My ace in the hole, if you will. Yesterday I'd been pouring over the evidence so far. Recordings, documents, recovered security footage, the documents written in blood, I might add. When I got a call. Guy's voice sounded strained, but he said he had valuable information on the Black Slasher.

"I'll come with you. Provide backup."

"Sorry, Greg. He wants me to meet him on my own."

Frankly, it left me suspicious. And rightfully so. I'd rather not end up like Amy James from the St. Louis PD. Poor girl's skull was split open, and that kill-happy thug somehow managed to escape. But I've told Greg and I've left records. If this is one of his tricks I won't be going down without a fight.

"Think you can trust this guy?"

"What choice do I have? I've been chasing my own tail trying to get to the bottom of this."

"Fine. You know what you're doing, Sir. I won't stop you."

So off I go. The location is a hotel on the other side of town, Sherwood Lodge, room 124. A room there doesn't come cheap, so it seems my client sure isn't strapped for cash.

"Hello. Officer Walton here."

"Yes. Come in."

Yep. That's his voice, alright. He's true to his word, it seems. In I go.

...

He's a suspicious-looking fellow, that's for certain. It's his smile. A little too wide for my comfort. And all gray. Gray hair, gray skin, gray suit. The creepiest part of this guy though, is his eyes. Cold, hollow, and dead as a shark. I'm starting to think I made the wrong choice coming here.

"Sit down, Lucas. I can tell you all you need to know."

"Now, hold on! I don't remember telling you my name!"

"That's unimportant, officer. I'll tell you my name, however, if it makes you feel at ease."

Damn! This has to be a trap! The vibes I'm getting off this guy are definitely unpleasant! Who is he!?

"My name is Jack Empty. Now sit down, Lucas. You can't escape, anyway."