Good Morning, Killer!

What?..

I woke up with a start, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. It was 6:30 AM. I had overslept.  I remembered the scene from the night before. The dismembered body, a doll, still hung from the ceiling.

I couldn't let it stay there. If the police found it, they would know. They would know what I had done. I couldn't let that happen. I had to dispose of the body, and I had to do it quickly.

I rushed through my morning, my mind a mess. I couldn't afford to be late for work, especially not today. As I was leaving my apartment, I ran into Anya, my neighbor.

"Hey, Heinrich," she said, a puzzled expression on her face. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"I have to work," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

"On a Sunday?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded and quickly slipped out the door.

I drove to work, I received a call from Rebecca. "Heinrich, where have you been? I've been calling you for the past hour," she said, her voice filled with concern.

"I'm on my way," I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

"We've got a problem," she said. "The LAPD has assigned us a dedicated workspace in their building. They're rushing us to finish the FindMe app as soon as possible."

"Why the rush?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"There's a new killer on the loose," she explained. "They're calling him the Dollmaker. He's been dismembering his victims and sewing them back together into a doll. It's pretty messed up."

oh no, everything, my dreams, everything shattered now, this. Could it be? Could I be what they call Dollmaker?.

Dollmaker, haha..

I sped down the highway, my mind racing. What had I done? I had crossed a line, a line I couldn't cross back.

I arrived at the Los Angeles Police Department building, my heart, it's pounding. Rebecca was waiting for me at the entrance. "You're late," she said, her voice filled with concern.

I apologized and followed her into the building. The atmosphere was tense, the officers moving with urgency. I could see the fear in their eyes, the fear of the unknown.

I was given a temporary badge and escorted to the development team's workspace. The room was filled with computers and monitors, a hive of activity. The team was working around the clock, trying to develop new tools to help the police catch the killer.

I sat down at my desk, I feel a sense of unease. I was surrounded by people who were trying to bring criminals to justice, while I was one of them.

I glanced at the whiteboard, where the cases were listed. The Sculptor case was prominent, but there was a new case, a more recent one: the Dollmaker. The description of the crime scene sent a shiver down my spine. It was too familiar, too close to home, yeah this is it, that's what I did.

I turned my attention to the news on the TV. A news reporter was discussing the latest details of the Dollmaker case. The victim, a young woman, had been found dismembered and sewn back together. It was a horrifying crime.

I couldn't believe it. I, Heinrich Van Stownmann, the quiet, unassuming software developer, was the Dollmaker.

What should I do..

As the workday drew to a close, I found myself alone with Rebecca. The office was quiet, the only sound the hum of computers.

"You know," Rebecca said, breaking the silence, "we should go out sometime. Just the two of us."

I smiled. "Sure, that sounds nice."

We walked out of the building, I offered to give her a ride home. She accepted, and we drove off into the night.

"You know," Rebecca said, her voice soft, "I find you incredibly intriguing."

I was flattered. "You too," I replied.

We arrived at her house. As she got out of the car, she turned to me. "Maybe next time, we could..." She trailed off, her eyes filled with a knowing look.

"Next time," I promised.

I drove home, I had to find a way to solve this case.

As I pulled into my driveway, I saw a familiar figure standing at my door. It was Anya, and she looked worse for wear. She was drunk, her eyes glazed over.

"Heinrich," she slurred, "I need your help."

Anya stumbled inside, her eyes glazed over. "Heinrich," she slurred, "I need your help."

What a right time, when I'm about to relax..

I listened as she recounted her tale. Her ex-boyfriend, a drug addict, a menace, had been harassing her, demanding money and attention. He was a dangerous man.

I offered her some comforting words, trying to sound sympathetic and understanding. "Don't worry, Anya," I said. "As long as you're here, he won't be able to bother you."

I gave her a reassuring hug, hoping to provide some solace. She leaned into me, seeking comfort.

Finally,  I can be alone, I picked up a book, hoping to distract myself.

Suddenly, a loud gunshot shattered the silence. My heart pounded as I rushed to the window. A crowd had gathered in the courtyard, their faces marked with fear and confusion. Mr. Peterson, my landlord, was shouting at someone.

I quickly put on my coat and went downstairs. Anya was there, her face pale and drawn. "What happened?" I asked.

"It was him," she whispered, her voice trembling. "My ex. He broke into the building."

I looked at Mr. Peterson, who was speaking to the police. He seemed shaken, but he was trying to remain calm. I approached him and asked what had happened.

"Someone tried to break into one of the apartments," he explained. "The security guard fired a warning shot."

The intruder hadn't been seriously injured, but he had been scared off.

Perhaps this was a sign, a warning. Maybe the universe was trying to tell me to stop, to turn back. But a darker part of me was excited, loving the chaos.

I turned to Anya, who was visibly shaken. "It's going to be okay," I assured her. "He won't bother you anymore."

I approached Mr. Peterson, who was speaking to the police officers. "Is everyone alright?" I asked.

"Yeah, everyone's fine," he replied. "Just a bit of a scare."

I nodded, I had to be careful. I couldn't let my dark impulses consume me.

Back in my apartment, I picked up a book, "The Anatomy of the Human Body." It was a weird fascination, a way to understand the intricacies of the human form. I flipped through the pages, I thought about the victims of the Sculptor, their bodies transformed into works of art.

I wondered if I could do better. Could I create something truly terrifying, something that would haunt the world of the living?

I closed the book and leaned back in my chair. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, that someone was always one step ahead.

(Somewhere Far Away..)

A man, perhaps in his late thirties, was hunched over a workbench. He was working on something, his movements deliberate and precise. He was creating a sculpture, a brutal, horrifying sculpture.

The man turned to face his captive, a young woman tied to a chair. Her eyes were wide with fear, her body trembling. The man smiled, a cruel, twisted smile. He picked up a brush and began to paint the woman's face.