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Prologue
The Citrus Grove Slayer Returns
The headline lingers for a moment across the screen, the mind numbing filler music playing for too long as it bounces across the media screen. I guess the news reporters want optimal drama before making their announcement, and I’m only marginally interested in what they want to say about me now.
For a brief moment, my gaze lifts to the two men sitting across the table from me, the laptop open to display the report but out of reach so I can’t touch it. I’ve already heard whispers of this gossip around Citrus Grove Penitentiary from various sources, but to see an FBI agent here to deal with the fallout…
Well, I guess people still fear me. I tune back into the video as two reporters appear on screen.
“That’s an old picture of you,” Fake Porscha grumbles, appearing behind the agent’s shoulder. “Do you think the FBI takes candids for updates?”
I zone her out, focusing on the image as the two people begin to talk. This Porscha will never help anyone anyway.
“Almost sixteen years after his infamous arrest a new face seems to be taking on the legacy of the Citrus Grove Slayer,” a woman with fluffy hair tells the camera. “The cozy town of Citrus Grove saw its days of madness over a decade ago when the CGS wreaked havoc here in northern Florida, killing fifteen women. The CGS was revealed to be Alastair Constatine, a newly-graduated eighteen year old who led a relatively unremarkable life prior to the murders. Constantine currently serves fifteen consecutive life sentences after being found guilty of the crimes. After his arrest and conviction in 2010 the brutality of the CGS murders was laid to rest. Now, an apparent copycat is making headlines once again across the US, building on that legacy. It leaves curious minds questioning if the true killer was ever put behind bars.”
The anchor turns to his co-host, who is nodding along even though she seems to be the one with all the intel. “And what do the authorities think of the copycat, Desiree?”
“Well, Tom,” the female newscaster responds, turning her focus to the camera. “For the past ten years convicted felon Alastair Constatine has resided in the Citrus Grove Penitentiary, or CGP, where he was remitted after good behavior and some favorable recommendations following a stint in the Supermax prison in Illinois. He’s been under twenty-four hour supervision at the CGP since. The brutality and signatures are identical to the original killer according to our sources, yet Constantine cannot be the true killer this time with his ongoing stay at the institution. Until recent events occurred only the CGS had a signature like this, and it leaves folks wondering if the true CGS is currently remitted to the penitentiary.”
“The working theory right now is that a copycat took up the bloody legacy of the CGS,” Tom continues. “Students at the local Citrus Grove University vie for the honor of visiting the penitentiary as a visitor during their senior year. Those with the highest GPA and glowing recommendations get to test their knowledge on some of the most fearsome inmates this side of the Mississippi.”
Tom adjusts in his chair before continuing. “The graduate program permits a select handful of students studying mental health to visit with the patients at the institution and understand the minds of some truly fearsome adversaries. Their professors and the medical officials at CGP assist with this process prior to graduation. This makes CGU one of the most sought-out universities in the country for mental health studies, and since Constatine took up permanent residence at the penitentiary, enrollment at CGU spiked for the chance to speak with the infamous CGS up close and personal. Speaking to the CGS is a truly unique experience and graduates often recount his disconnect between himself and the lives he stole away. Constantine is a chilling soul with a dark sense of humor, but no one recounts an instance where details were shared to explain the gruesome murder of Miss Estrada.”
“Right now there are no official suspects for the new murder, but police in Citrus Grove as well as FBI agents are working hard to discover who might be carrying on the gory legacy of the CGS.”
“”Folks have dubbed the new attacker the Citrus Grove Slayer Copycat,” Tom continues. “There is only one confirmed death at this time, following the original CGS’s timeline thus far, and there is a divide between crime enthusiasts online if this is the emergence of a new serial killer or simply a crazed fan letting the obsession go too far. Currently the CGS Copycat has a remarkably similar pattern, but only time will tell if this is a tribute to the original CGS or a new crime spree.”
“I wonder if the original CGS will have anything to say about that,” Desiree replies with a laugh. “He might be behind bars, but Constatine never stood by and let anyone believe he was anything less than the killer once the truth came out. He isn’t one to let the facts go unchecked.”
“And let’s not forget the impression that he left on his final victim,” Tom goes on. “While Porscha Surwright was the final casualty, her daughter survived an attack by the CGS and escaped the fire that burned down his hideout. Had Constatine succeeded in killing her she would have been his sixteenth victim, and this would also be the only time he attempted not only two murders at the same time, but a mother-daughter double kill.”
Tom shuffles some paper before he continues. “Aside from her statement in court, Joelle Surwright has made no official statements on the CGS since he was arrested. There is no new information on Ms. Surwright and she is not active in any groups or forums about the CGS. To date there is no statement from her on the new killing either.”
“Any tips or information on the alleged copycat killer can be relayed through the FBI tip line,” Desiree continues. “If you have anything to share please contact-”
They’re calling me a chilling soul with a dark sense of humor, like a single visitor who comes by actually knows me. I’m not even mad when the report is cut off while dear Desiree is still there rambling.
Fake Porscha doesn’t appear again to mock me when I look around. I don’t miss the apparition of guilt, but hearing the newscasters mention Joelle makes my chest tighten. I work to mask my expression before the agent across from me notices anything. I don’t need to offer him leverage over me; I seriously can’t take much more crap from this team.
From my seat across the table I eye Agent Gabriel Lapin and Kyle Wallsburg, the guard who sits with him. The agent already told me to call him Gabriel, but I know who sent him down here to chat. I had to take a phone call from Agent Sterling Gideon, which stirred up nothing but bad memories. Now I’ve got Gabriel here trying to act chill and give me a false sense of comfort, hoping I’ll spill something that would help them with this new case.
I don’t see things going that easy. Unlike Gideon, I don't have a history with Lapin, who doesn’t like to acknowledge me when I use just his last name. He wants us to be on civil terms, like he’s forgetting who he’s speaking to.
For eight delightful years I went without an official interrogation from the FBI and now suddenly a copycat murder at Christmas is taking the headlines by storm. So of course the FBI is interested in me again, and of course they’re using a team with a leader that has a history with me.
Propping my chin beneath my hands, I try to ignore the cuffs chafing my wrists. I didn’t get chained to the table, so I assume they don’t think I’m as big of a threat anymore, or it’s Gabriel’s lame attempt to act friendly with me. I’ve been on the inside for fifteen years now. Smart people tend to fear me.
The sad thing is, they have no idea what they really need to fear.
Gabriel drops his chair forward and clears his throat, ignoring the irritated look from the guard. Gabriel has the remote to the TV in hand, spinning it as he studies me. I guess agents don’t have a formal dress code to abide by anymore, or he’s skating the lines. His dark hair is tied back from his face, knotted at the crown of his head with a band that’s the same color as his hair. He’s a lot more casual than I expected, and doesn’t have all the tension locked into his shoulders like the agents that originally arrested me.
My mind wanders. If it were a tie holding his hair in place, it might be useful to me. But an elastic band would snap without doing any real damage. If I want to steal something off the guy, I need something that’ll actually help me out of here. I’m sick of sitting with mentally unstable people when my mind is just fine, if not better than everyone else’s in this place.
“Got any theories?” Gabriel asks, his voice scratchy as his fingers drag over his throat. He’s a smoker. I can smell the lingering stink of cigarettes on him, and with the media attention Estrada’s death is getting I imagine there’s a lot of pressure on his broad shoulders. Maybe that tension will be there after all.
I offer him a bored expression, studying the slope of his nose and the deep set of his eyes instead of mulling over what he’s asking me. The scent of tobacco on him makes my stomach churn and tries to push dark memories up from the depths, but I shove the thoughts away. There’s nothing I have to share about the new murder, so he’s just wasting time coming here to chat. I already offered to sketch Gabriel before he drives back so he doesn’t have to leave empty-handed but he’s ignored me.
Gabriel blows out a breath at my silence, eyeing the guard. It’s a precaution that’s in place when anyone visits, but the decorated agent looks a little silly sitting beside a Citrus Grove police officer. I’ve seen what the town's police force can do and it isn’t all that impressive. Gabriel would honestly probably be better off on his own.