‘Now this is cool,’ Duane said, jumping onto one of the leather chairs like a little kid in a bouncing castle. ‘And that’s sweet.’ His eyes had rested on the impressive TV set.

‘Give me that DVD, and stop acting like a stupid kid,’ Martin ordered. Duane handed the disk over and made himself comfortable.

The first thing Martin noticed was the amateurish quality of the images; this was definitely not a professionally made film. The opening scene showed a young woman, no older than twenty-five, already tied to a metal chair. Her long blond hair disheveled as if she’d just woken up. Her white blouse looked dirty and drenched in sweat. Her denim skirt had been ripped to expose well-toned and tanned legs. She’d been blindfolded and gagged and her running mascara was a clear indication she’d been crying. Her lipstick had been smudged off her lips and she seemed scared and exhausted. The room she was in was about thirty feet by twenty-two with holes in the walls as if someone had used a sledgehammer on it. Besides the chair she’d been tied to, the only other piece of furniture in the room was a small metallic table.

There were two other people in the room, both male, but the camera never focused on them. In fact, they were only seen from the torso down. Martin was instantly intrigued and his grogginess started to subside.

‘This is different,’ he commented. ‘Forget about having a plot, they just go straight into the action here, don’t they?’

‘I knew you’d like it, man.’

One of the two males approached the scared-looking woman with an erection bulging in his black trousers. He tried running his fingers through her hair, but when she felt his touch her head jerked back violently, her frightened scream muffled by the gag in her mouth. Her reaction angered him. His blow landed on her left cheek, the impact so powerful it lifted her off the chair.

‘Don’t fight it, bitch,’ he said in a menacing voice.

The man turned and faced the other person in the room who handed him a switchblade. He slowly ran it over the girl’s right cheek. As she felt the cold metal against her skin she gave a petrified cry, tears running down her face through the blindfold. He turned the blade towards her blouse. In a quick movement he tore it off her body. A small speck of blood formed in between her breasts where the tip of the blade had scraped her skin. She emitted a frightened moan and was instantly slapped across the face once again.

‘Shut up, whore!’ he commanded.

The second male approached the terrified woman and forced her legs apart before slashing through her miniskirt revealing a pair of see-through red panties. They seemed moist and that aroused Martin who shifted his position on his seat in an attempt to get more comfortable.

The film proceeded with both males touching her, rubbing their visible erections against her body and getting more and more abusive. The violence at times seeming to get out of hand. Martin, nevertheless, was enjoying every second of it, until the last scene.

One of the two males had positioned himself behind the young woman, who by then had been freed from the chair, stripped naked and raped by both men several times. Her blindfold was suddenly torn from her face forcing her into a blinking frenzy as her eyes struggled to get used to the light. As they did, they focused on the second man standing directly in front of her. First a look of recognition, then terror took over. Her horrified expression was reproduced in Martin’s face.

‘Jesus Christ!’ he breathed, quickly jumping to his feet. His body now shivering with fear.

With no warning her head was pulled back exposing her neck. The gleaming knife came out of nowhere. Her eyes saddened as she realized what was about to happen, there was no point in fighting anymore.

‘You’ve gotta be shitting me!’ Martin’s eyes widened in horror. His excitement evaporating into repulsion.

The knife slash was clean and swift, ripping her neck open from left to right. Her dark and warm blood first gushed out and then streamed down onto her body. Martin and Duane had never seen so much blood. The man behind held her head back while the camera zoomed in on her dying eyes. Laughs were the only sound track.

‘Holy shit… What the hell?’ Martin yelled hysterically.

Duane had now jumped to his feet as well. His horrified eyes were glued to the screen.

‘It’s a snuff movie? You got me a fucking snuff movie?’ Martin turned to face Duane.

‘I didn’t know,’ he replied, taking a step back. ‘They told me it was extreme BDSM, man,’ he said, feeling faint, his voice unsteady.

‘Extreme?’ Martin shouted. ‘She’s dead, Duane. Murdered right in front of our eyes. Yeah I’d say that qualifies as fucking extreme.’ Martin brought his shivering hands up to his face rubbing it as if trying to wipe away what he’d just seen. ‘Who are they?’

‘What?’ Duane looked confused.

‘You just said they told you it was extreme BDSM, who the hell are they? Who did you get this from?’

‘Just some contacts I have. You know the kind of people you can score drugs or girls from.’

‘Not my kind of people,’ Martin shouted nervously and walked over to the DVD player and retrieved the disk. His hands still shaking.

‘Why are you so fucking messed up about it anyway, man, it’s got nothing to do with us. Let’s just get rid of the disk and forget about it.’

‘I can’t, Duane.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I know who she is.’

Thirty-Seven

‘What? What do you mean you’ve seen it before? Where? When?’ Hunter’s voice rose a few decibels above normal.

‘I’m not sure, maybe three, four months ago,’ Isabella said casually. ‘Aren’t you gonna eat your breakfast?’

Hunter’s appetite had vanished. ‘Forget the breakfast. I need to know where you’ve seen this symbol before. I need to know when and I need to know now.’ He held her by the arms.

Isabella stared at him with fear in her eyes. ‘Robert, you’re scaring me. What the hell’s going on?’ She shifted her body trying to free herself from his grip.

Hunter let go of her realizing how crazy his actions looked. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, lifting his hands.

She stepped away from him as if moving away from a stranger. ‘What’s this all about? What the hell’s gotten into you?’ she asked scared.

Hunter paused and ran his fingers through his hair, taking his time to calm down. Isabella stood waiting for a reasonable explanation.

‘Please have a seat and I’ll explain it to you.’

‘I’m fine standing, thanks.’

Hunter took a deep breath. ‘I lied about the symbol meaning nothing at all.’

‘Yeah, I guessed that.’

Hunter proceeded to tell Isabella about the significance of the double-crucifix, being very careful to reveal only what he deemed necessary. He told her about the two latest killings, but none of the previous murders were mentioned. The symbol, according to Hunter, had been drawn into a piece of paper found at the scene of both crimes. There was no mention of it being carved into the victim’s flesh.

Isabella stood quiet and motionless for a minute, her eyes fixed on Hunter. When she spoke, her voice was unsteady.

‘So you’re talking about a serial killer? I could’ve been face to face with a serial killer?’

‘Not necessarily,’ he tried to calm her down. ‘The textbook definition of a serial killer is – “someone that kills three or more people in three or more separate events.” We’ve only had two murders so far,’ he lied again.

‘That doesn’t make him less of a psychopath.’

Hunter agreed but said nothing. ‘Isabella, I need you to tell me about that symbol. Where did you see it?’ He gently held her shaking hands.

‘I’m not sure. I’m too nervous to remember now.’

‘Please try.’

She let go of his hands and massaged her closed eyelids for a moment. ‘About two or three months ago,’ she finally said. ‘I was having a drink with a friend of mine in some bar.’ She reopened her eyes.