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The mystery cloaking the murders of two teenage girls that haunted this small East Texas community for over a decade ended with the rescue of two kidnapped women and the arrest of a sheriff’s deputy living the double life of a serial killer.

“What do you think?” Denise stroked Harvey, who was nuzzling her lap. “A long lead, but it’s a big story.”

She sipped from her glass of diet cola with crushed ice, and continued proofing her article at her kitchen table.

It had been over a week since Carrie and Joyce-Anne’s rescue and Clay Smith’s arrest. Lynn had cleared Denise to work on the piece.

“Write it as long as you want,” she told Denise. “We’ve always owned it, and we’ll deliver the definitive story.”

Lynn had deferred all national media interview requests for Denise, freeing her to go flat out on her work. Nearly everyone Denise had approached spoke to her, except Clay. He’d refused all media interview requests. Still, Denise got exclusive access to some of the investigative aspects once it was known that Clay would plead guilty for the murders of at least sixteen women. With Clay’s permission, she talked to his attorney, his pastor and the psychiatrist who’d spent two days with Clay assessing him. As a result, Denise had learned several facts no other media outlet was aware of.

Since childhood, Clay, whose intelligence was above average, felt different, alone, consumed with dark, disturbing thoughts telling him that he was superior to mortals. At an early age, those forces evolved into a separate entity living within him, which Clay called “The Other.” The entity demanded Clay commit unspeakable acts to be a worthy servant.

He gravitated to law enforcement to learn skills that would better serve The Other. Before becoming a deputy, one of his first major “operations,” as he called them, was to lure two popular girls from his high school into Wild Pines Forest with a fabricated story of a body. He’d already studied textbooks on crime scenes and forensics. In homage to the Zodiac, he’d dressed as an executioner for his operation to sacrifice Abby and Erin, a couple stuck-up mean girls, to The Other. He collected evidence, took trophies and left a good scene. The fact that three arrived in the woods that day and one survived didn’t dissuade him.

Even if she’d remembered details, he’d been disguised, took precautions. No one would know. The risk was even gratifying, especially when he’d stalked Carrie in California, knowing he could sacrifice her whenever The Other demanded it.

Living on the edge was thrilling as Clay continued serving The Other over the years, collecting and sacrificing subjects, his power growing. And like Jack the Ripper, like the Zodiac, he knew he would never be captured. Other lesser lights, like Bundy, Green River and BTK, had made errors.

Clay basked in the glory of living in two worlds. On one side, a mild-mannered, community-minded cop, with no one having an inkling of his omnipotence, the power he possessed. But over the years, his work became sloppy. Returning to base with the Oklahoma project, the subject escaped from his vehicle. Fate allowed him to recapture her but only after she’d been struck by—of all people—Carrie’s husband, Luke. The mortal fool had bumbled his way to The Other.

But, Clay stressed, he had helped with the downfall.

Now that it had ended, Clay admitted his mistakes. He was proud of his early work in the woods, but its status changed when Carrie moved back and Hyde confessed. Then came the news story, shifting blame from Hyde to Carrie. It was an insult to The Other, an affront demanding action, prompting him to send an enlightening note and evidence to the news reporter, solidifying his stature and glory, while continuing his work.

The truth was, he’d panicked. Errors were made.

Now, on some level, he was relieved he’d been stopped. It was somewhat cathartic. He had nothing to say to the families of those he’d killed and hurt. No one could comprehend his being. As a dispatcher of death, he welcomed his own execution, as his destiny to reign over his subjects in eternity.

Denise shuddered but kept reading, scrutinizing other aspects, ensuring she addressed everything. Getting to the end, she pressed Send, shipping the article off to Lynn.

She sat back in silence, reflecting in the quiet on the darkness of which she had written.

It seemed the world wanted to know more. Denise had not yet responded to the many interview requests from networks, big outlets, even some from Europe and South America. And there were scheduled calls with her publisher for her planned book on the case.

But all that could wait until tomorrow.

Denise reached for her diet cola, which had diluted from the melting ice. She went to the kitchen to fix a new drink. Harvey followed her, nudging her leg. She freshened his water and got him a treat.

Kneading the tension from her neck, her phone pinged.

A text from Lynn.

One helluva story.