Young Writers Society

Kasimir sank into a restless, but thankfully, dreamless sleep once more. Huzzah, 21st century sleep drugs.

When he woke up, and remembered where he was and what had happened, Kasimir sighed wearily as he took his face in his hands, - the links on his arms had been removed while he was asleep- stretching it out as if it were clay, as if he wished he could just mold himself into a new person, one without so many insane problems.

He lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Where could the suspect be now? What was she trying to do with so many kills, anyways? He made a mental note to ask for a criminal report from his bureau the next time he saw a nurse; surely they wouldn’t hold him back from working?

He tried to collect his thoughts, to focus on this criminal. Everything had happened so fast, like a blur. How had a little thing, a little Polish thing, of all things best him like that? Maybe it was because he’d underestimated her, probably. He sighed as his thoughts returned to the lieutenant he’d encountered on his first day in the army.

Kasimir, the fresh high school graduate, had been the bookish, lanky kid he’d been through his high school years, wearing those grandpa style square glasses, and a vintage Doctor Who shirt, of all possible outfit choices. In order to avoid being mocked by the tougher cadets who’d already started training until he could make himself look less like a huge nerd, he decided to stay out of the training field for now and talk to some of his seniors in the cafeteria instead, hoping some would like him a little.

His eyes fell on a war worn man, who looked about 40, with scars over his face and a scraggly mane of a beard. He went up to him and asked if he could sit down. The man nodded.

Not discouraged by his silence, Kasimir asked him his name, and where he’d been deployed through all his years.

To his surprise, the man laughed.

“My name is not important. I’m not a war hero like you thought I was. I just came back from my first deployment in Afghanistan. I thought it would be easy, and that I could take it just fine.” He paused to show him a large, golden badge on his chest, which had been hidden under his collar even though it was the largest and most probably the most important of the rest of his badges.

“I graduated the army school at the top of my class. Everyone told me I was destined to do great things, that I could even end up as the chief of staff. I believed them, I was a fool. How could I have done that when I forgot the very first thing they taught me when I joined? I forgot to never underestimate the enemy, son. Look at me now. I’m a veteran at age 35, lost a leg in my first fight. Son, you mustn’t do what I’ve done. Learn a lesson from my fate, don’t underestimate your enemy at all costs.”

Kasimir had vowed to never forget what the man said. But after 10 years, just like the lieutenant, he’d forgotten.

Kasimir renewed his vow to never underestimate the enemy as he kept staring at the ceiling.

He then pressed the button for the nurse again, and asked her, with the calmest, steadiest voice he could muster, if he could request some files from his bureau regarding the recent issue of suspect 009. He was pleased when the nurse responded in the affirmative, and that she’d send for them right that moment.

While he waited, Kasimir stood up and walked across the room to pick up the television remote. He flopped back on the bed and turned to a news channel, it would not do to isolate himself while he was cooped up here. The report was on some sort of new amusement park being built in Frankfurt, good. If there was a report on amusement parks so early in the evening, it meant that nothing much had happened in his absence from the streets. The worst news were usually given the earliest. Kasimir peered at the date displayed on an LED shop window behind the announcer, it had been three days since he’d arrived at the hospital; it was now the sixth of December, and the number of Christmas decorations on the shops had doubled. He scowled. After spending a few more minutes listening to the presenter drone on and on about amusement parks and pet Russian dolphins, he flipped through the channels, looking for something to occupy himself with.

He decided on one of those mystery-police shows, and spent the next half an hour yelling clues and answers at the television- he’d found the serial killer before those flimsy, stupid cops even realized there was no corroboration in his evidence. God. He reminded himself that this was only a television show, and that these actors were only here because they didn’t have the brain to actually be a part of a federal investigation bureau and calmed down. He calmed down further when the police shot the criminal just before he raped another girl, rape, in his mind, was a more serious offense than murder.

The nurse came back inside, accompanied by a police officer holding a large carton box of files with notebooks and pens stacked on top who told him that anything else he needed would be supplied to him.

Kasimir sat down on the bed and put out the files on the end table near the bed, and opened the topmost one. In it were blurred snapshots of the same girl, the little red haired rat. She seemed to be wearing a distortion device on her shirts as her face appeared to be deliberately blurred out. There were also alleged shots of her, gathered from the traffic cameras around the crime scenes shortly after a murder, in all sorts of vehicles, cars, motorcycles, vans, without license plates. If she could find that many vehicles of all sorts, she must be working with a car dealer of sorts, stealing that many without being caught would be impossible. He noted that down.

There wasn’t anything he didn’t know in the papers, just summaries of the crimes and details of the victims. He paid close attention to the victims, hoping to find a correlation, a pattern, a link between them.

After hours of searching, with numerous notes and scraps of paper tossed around the garbage can and around the bed, Kasimir gave up. There was no correlation at all... Nothing. Ten murder cases, each with absolutely random victims and absolutely random deaths. Did these people just… Just have no motive? Why were they doing this? What was their gain from all of this? No, it couldn’t be, there was a bigger picture, something he was overlooking, and he was going to find it.

He was weary and tired, yes, that was it. He was going to sleep and try again with a fresh mind.

He arranged his files and books neatly on his bedside table and took a look at the news channel, which was showing that one history show he hated, which was talking about ancient coding methods used by soldiers at war. Whatever.

He closed his eyes, only to open them again in a few minutes.

He’d found it.