Serial Killers

Chapter 10

Alan Gravestone drove home, gripping the hard drive tightly the entire way. Once inside, he wasted no time and began examining it in detail. Its external appearance revealed nothing unusual, but he remained cautious.

Even if this thing is bugged, tapped, wired, or just full of police files… I don’t want it on my main computer, he reasoned.

He unplugged the drive from his main computer and connected it to his school laptop, running a full security scan before diving into the evidence.

He methodically reviewed everything on the newest copycat killer—an impressively meticulous criminal. The pattern was clear: one victim per week, always at the same location, always the same table in the back outside, and never deviating from poison.

Alan frowned, baffled by the shop owner’s lack of action. Worst-case scenario, this guy is a literal Casanova scumbag.

Bing…

A notification popped up mid-analysis.

Spyware has been detected on your system.

Further inspection revealed it was tied directly to the USB. Alan exhaled slowly, muttering to himself under his breath, “Thank god I put it in my school laptop. I, hopefully, saved my main computer.”

Closing the security tab, he returned to the evidence with renewed focus, taking meticulous notes on every detail that could be relevant.

Across town at the University of Riverdale, a man walked confidently toward a table where a blonde woman named Abigail was sitting. She immediately grew nervous and closed her notebook, which contained chemistry definitions for an upcoming test.

The man, dressed in a black button-up shirt, black suit pants, and black dress shoes, leaned on her table and asked, “Why do you sit alone?”

Abigail hesitated. Known for being quiet and anxious, she fidgeted with the cuffs of her sleeve and whispered, “I… I don’t know.”

The man slid into the seat across from her. “Would you care for some company? I saw you were studying chemistry, and I have a huge test coming up—but no one to study with. I was hoping you could help me out a bit.”

Relieved, Abigail smiled. She had navigated most of her freshman year alone and finally felt like she might have a friend. “Yeah, that’d be great. What’s your name?”

“John Prescott,” he replied without hesitation. “But feel free to just call me John.”

They studied for hours, until sunset, and Abigail found herself enjoying John’s company. When they finished the chapter, she began to pack up, but John asked, “Hey, if you’re not busy, could I take you out to dinner?”

Abigail froze. She hadn’t been asked that in years. “Sure… where would you like to go?”

“I know a place that serves amazing Italian food. The drinks are phenomenal,” John replied quickly. Seeing her excitement, he added, “I should warn you, my finances are a bit tied up with tuition, so it won’t be the most expensive place ever.”

“No worries. I bet it’ll be great,” Abigail reassured him.

“Perfect! Did you walk here or drive?”

“I walked.”

“Then I can give you a ride,” John said. They walked to his car and drove to a restaurant called Joe’s Plaza. John opened the door for her and escorted her inside, approaching George, the man stacking recently used menus.

“A table for two, please!” John said as if he had said it a thousand times.

George looked up and recognized him immediately, a flicker of guilt in his expression. John noticed and thought to himself, If she notices that, I can just say he’s always like this, guilty. If she presses, I’ll mention his struggling marriage.

George led them to a table. Once seated, Abigail excused herself to the restroom.

As John prepared, George quietly said, “You don’t have to do this.”

John snickered softly. “George, what is my name?”

George looked down,

“And do you know where I go to school? Where I live? Or what I do?” John continued, leaning in close. “You don’t even know what I’m doing—you just know it involves multiple people, once a week, every week, for the past eight weeks.”

George stayed silent, unsure what to say.

John leaned even closer, whispering, “And heaven forbid your wife sees that… ungodly picture. Suddenly, a loving father and husband would be nothing more than an adulterer.”

George panicked. “I thought we had a deal!?!”

John cut him off. “And if you stick to the deal? Neither of us has to worry. Simple, right?”

Abigail returned and sat down. John straightened, smiling. “Just in time! George was about to get our drinks.”

“We can order now. I usually get the same thing at Italian restaurants,” Abigail said cheerfully.

George reluctantly took their order. They ate for about thirty minutes, during which John’s poison slowly took effect. Abigail grew sleepy, and within ten minutes, it became potent. She insisted on leaving.

John paid the bill, drove her back to her apartment, and laid her on the couch. Fifteen minutes later, he checked her pulse and confirmed she had succumbed to the poison.

He placed her body in her bed, making it appear as though she had died peacefully in her sleep. Then, blending into the shadows, he left—fully aware that he had left behind only a silhouette in the dark.

Back at Joe’s Plaza, around 10:30 p.m., George was trying to pack up when the doorbell chimed.

“We’re closed. The only reason you’re in here is because I forgot to lock the door,” George called out.

“I won’t take up much of your time. Just a few questions,” a voice replied.

George turned to see a tall young man with brown hair, a brown blazer, a white button-up shirt, and khaki pants.

“Who are you?” George asked, eyeing him warily.

Alan Gravestone smiled confidently. “My name is Aaron Burr. And no, no relation to the historical figure—just coincidence.”

George studied him up and down. “What do you want?”

Alan sensed the hostility and cut straight to the point. “There’s a man who comes here once a week, every week. And every time, he’s on a date with a different woman. Why?”

George hesitated, trying to play dumb. “I… I don’t pay much attention to my customers.”

Alan stepped closer, holding up his phone with a zoomed-in image of a dark silhouette that could only be John. “Then let me make it simpler. Who is this man?”

George recoiled. “Y-you know…” He stammered, then hurriedly added, “I don’t know much. But the next time I see him, I’ll call you, and you can check it out. Okay?”

Alan smiled. “Perfect. Here—let me give you my number.” He handed George a piece of paper with a phone number, which went straight to a burner phone Alan had purchased specifically for this mission.

George typed it in. “I’ll call the second I see him. Now, can you get out so I can close up?”

Alan raised his hands in mock surrender and walked out without a word.

George immediately called John. His phone rang three times before John picked up.

“What do you want?” John’s voice was sharp, laced with frustration.

“A guy came snooping around, looking for you!” George said, panicking.

“What?” John barked.

“I didn’t say anything! Didn’t break our deal,” George rushed to reassure him. “But I have his number. I told him the next time I see you, I’ll call him, and he’ll come. So you can, like, poison him or something!”

John chuckled darkly. “You think you can just kill anyone? It doesn’t work like that. If he has any record—where he’s been, where he’s going—he’ll be tied directly to us. Or worse… to me.”

George started to speak, but John continued, cold and precise: “And just to make sure you remember this is your problem too—the second I get detained, every single one of those photos of you and that whore gets released.”

“Okay, okay!” George stammered, voice trembling. “Why don’t you just use one of those heart-attack drugs? The ones the police are investigating?”

John’s sigh was audible over the line. “That’s not me. That’s the Toxin of Riverdale—an entirely different killer. I don’t know how he makes his poison. Heck, I’m not even sure he’s actually real.”

George pressed on, desperate. “Well, you’re a perfect pathological liar. Why don’t I call him here, and you smooth-talk your way out?”

There was silence for a moment. George held his breath.

“That could work,” John finally said. “I’ll be there tomorrow. I assume he has no idea what I did today. Two visits in one week won’t trigger his radar. Then you call him, he’ll sit down, we’ll talk, and I’ll clear myself. And your marriage remains safe, George.”

John hung up. George exhaled, sinking into a chair, letting his nerves calm. After a few moments, he resumed closing down the shop.

Back at his apartment, after his evening routine, Alan reviewed his new plan.

Alright, he thought. This secondary killer is so similar to me that if I can shove him into Lisa’s hands, he could become my scapegoat. If they pin the Toxin of Riverdale on him, I’m free.

While brushing his teeth, he glanced at an old photo on the shelf — him and Lisa at fourteen, standing side by side. A memory hit him like a cold wave.

They were at the front steps of the Apex Center of Law and Security. Lisa had smiled at him then, hopeful.
“I won’t be gone for long,” she said.
“Why can’t I go with you?” Alan had asked.
“I don’t know. But when I graduate, I’ll find you. Maybe we can work together.” Lisa was always kind, but her words hadn’t comforted him.

Lisa had insisted they take a picture to remember each other. She pulled out a Polaroid, snapped two shots, and handed one to Alan. “Now we won’t really be separated,” she’d said.

They had hugged until they cried. A recruiter finally touched Lisa’s shoulder. “It’s time,” he said. After a dozen goodbyes and a hundred waves, Lisa walked up the steps and into the Apex Center.

Jolting back to the present, Alan felt the old ache again. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and forced the next words out.

Once I get this copycat pinned on my charges — once I clear my name — I’ll try to… He choked on the last syllables. Nothing and no one will be capable of pinning anything on me.

Back at the Riverdale Police Station, Lisa sat at her desk, eyes fixed on the stream of data recovered by their spyware.

Levi stepped up behind her. “What do we have?”

Without looking up, Lisa answered, “Everything from his school laptop—and from his main one. He plugged the USB into his primary machine to examine it. A lethal blunder. I thought Alan would be smart enough to dodge.”

Levi frowned. “What did you get?”

Lisa scrolled through a list of flagged searches. “He has bots constantly scanning for articles on our movements and investigation updates. Tons of alerts on Hunterdale.”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a crime. If anything, maybe he has a knack for this. Your old friend might actually be helpful to the investigation.”

Lisa spun around, her frustration obvious. “Then why lie about not having any information when we had him here? If he truly wanted to help, he’d have told us everything he’d found. But he didn’t. And if I know him, those bots are his tactical map—his way of consulting before making his next move. He’s been tracking us, making sure he’s always one step ahead.”

Levi hesitated, then said, “I’ll get a squad of detectives to visit his med school. If he’s guilty, we can probably dig up a lot there.”

Lisa turned back to the evidence without answering. Levi knew that was his green light.

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