Though my chest was still throbbing from what I chalked up to be a hallucination, fueled by my emotions having been put through the wringer, I couldn’t quite figure out why I was so on edge about it. It wasn’t as if I was alone in the building when I saw the silhouette at my door. Why I assumed it to be something to fear, rather than the more likely scenario of it being one of my colleagues, I couldn’t say. Either way, it turned out to be nothing but my imagination, from what I could tell at the time.
“Get your shit together, Mac,” I told myself, attempting to clear my head and shake off this crazy night.
With the hour growing late, an abundance of paperwork to complete, and the lights continuing to blink in and out, I wanted nothing more than to head home to my family. When the clapping of the thunder outside grew more constant, I was tempted to just stash my responsibilities for the night and try to reach my house before it got any worse.
I began to do that very thing when the screaming broke out from somewhere below. Being fully aware that the sounds came from the holding cells, which currently housed only one occupant, I headed straight to the security room to get a read on what was happening.
“It just keeps goin’ in and out,” Parker said when I entered, “she started freakin’ out, pushin’ her back to the wall, and then it went to static.”
I stared at the screen, seeing only the occasional flashing image of what was happening in her cell. Though the display had no sound, her muffled shrieks coming from the lower levels provided a soundtrack to what we could make out. As Parker said, she was pressed against the wall, but it almost looked as though a violent wind had broken out in her cell, blowing her hair as hard to the bricks as her body was.
“I’m gonna head down there,” I said, caressing the gun on my hip to ensure it remained holstered in case I should need it.
“Want me to come with?” Parker asked.
“Nah, you keep an eye on things up here. I’ll yell out if it looks like there’s anything to worry about. Likely, she’s just putting on a show or some shit.”
As I headed from the room directly to the stairs, I had little doubt that this was some bizarre attempt to further convince us that she was insane. I had already thought the story she told was designed to set the groundwork of an insanity plea, and this ridiculous display was only securing that to be a fact, though I still did not understand why she would turn herself in, only to pull something like this.
When I reached the lower level, the woman’s screams were so loud and gut-wrenching, I could barely believe that anyone was capable of producing such a sound. I attempted to call out as I walked the narrow hallway between the rows of cells, but I couldn’t hear my own words, let alone expect her to. With the blinking of the lights and the trembling floor beneath my feet, I feared we may be experiencing far more than a simple storm beyond these walls.
Though the shuddering ground made it difficult to keep a constant pace, it didn’t take me long to draw close to the room we had Lullaby stored in, but as I closed that final gap between us, the woman’s agonizing wails suddenly stopped. My ears were still ringing from the sheer volume of her horrendous howls, even with the only sounds remaining being those of the still shuddering building.
I almost felt my legs give out when I finally reached the cell I was seeking; the one that no longer held the murderer I had locked away inside only an hour or so ago. It was as though some sort of exit had opened in the center of the room, like a rectangular, door-shaped hole, erected in between realities, as bizarre as that sounds.
It wasn’t that alone that caused my extremities to weaken, but the pool of blood that was smeared across the floor in the direction of the entrance to somewhere else. While I gazed at this puzzling and grotesque sight, something else began to register in my frenzied mind. I could feel eyes upon me; not from the strange and eerie gap in reality, but from the opposing side of the cell.
When I turned to see the flickering, red and orange, glowing eyes of the man who sat perched upon the cot against the other wall, I finally lost the fight to remain standing. He looked like some sort of feral beast; his long, blonde hair hanging in front of his face as he gazed back at me, with that piercing illumination burning into my retina.
As he tilted his head from one side to the other, I could only stare back, transfixed by this haunting individual. The gray, pin-striped vest and matching pants, the white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal pale and toned forearms. Even the polished, black shoes seemed completely out of place, compared to that beastly look in his otherworldly gaze.
While we continued to stare at one another, I feared that I may be his next victim before he darted so quickly from the cot, I could barely even register it. He just shot towards that door-shaped opening, which sealed itself back shut the second he crossed through, leaving only silence and a smeared puddle of crimson gore in its wake.
In that instant, though I didn’t quite notice at first, the storm outside fell still. The lights flickered no more, nor did the ground and walls shudder. When I would eventually pull my eyes away from the ghastly sight of the vacated cell, my still shivering legs guiding me back to the floor above, I would see that the rain had stopped as well. No lightning. No thunder. The ground outside didn’t even look wet.
When my senses began to return, I headed back to the security room to check in with Parker; to see if he had witnessed any of the maddening events I had seen. After finding the room empty, leaving me to assume he had headed to the bathroom, or something else far more rational than what my erratic thoughts were attempting to seek out, I took a walk around the office, to find no trace of anyone.
After a good ten or twenty minutes of inspecting vacant rooms and deserted hallways, I thought it best if I headed out for the night as well, as I had to assume everyone had bailed out during the storm. Rational explanations; as though that was even a concept anymore. It wasn’t until I headed back to my office, that I once more felt my legs turning to gelatin.
Though I hadn’t seen his face before, given the hair and glowing eyes blocking my view, I instantly recognized the man sitting in front of my desk when I entered the room. He still wore the pin-striped vest and pants, now accompanied by a matching jacket. His hair was neatly pulled back and tied into a braid, allowing me to see the surprisingly gentle and friendly expression on his face.
I didn’t speak a word as I strolled around my desk, taking my seat behind it. I just stared back at the man who regarded me with a small half-smile on his face; not arrogantly or mockingly, just pleasantly, in a way.
“You mind?” he asked after fishing a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
Normally, smoking is not permitted in the building, but I would be lying if I were to claim I had never indulged after a trying day. I just pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk, fished out the ashtray I would use for emergencies, and slid it across the tabletop, not breaking my gaze from the stranger.
“Thanks, gov,” he said, giving me a wink with the click of his tongue, lighting up his smoke.
From what I could tell from the few words he’d spoken, his accent sounded english; London, or the surrounding areas, if I had to guess, given the slang he used. Of course, I was well aware he likely did not originate from anywhere across the pond, nor on this earth, for that matter.
He held the open pack out to me with his eyebrows raised as if to silently ask if I’d like one. While I waged an inner debate about taking candy from strangers and such things, I highly doubted he planned to take me out with an exploding butt or something, so I fished one out, accepting the lighter he offered up next.
“I gave her one chance,” he said, tucking the cigarettes back into his pocket, “once upon a time, I wouldn’t have given her that. Well, back then, I likely wouldn’t have given a toss about her hobby, but that’s irrelevant, all things considered.”
“What…where..did..?”
“Sent her back home. She was gonna end up there soon enough either way. Saves time and energy, in the long run, this way.”
“Back home?”
He just gave another tongue-click wink, but I didn’t need an answer to that question.
“How…I mean, what do I tell people? How do I explain? We arrested the Lullaby killer, but…”
My mind and mouth were betraying me. The flood of questions thundered across the surface of my mind harder than the rain had been pelting the roof not so long ago, but I couldn’t form them into words. How could I account for what happened to the woman who confessed to these horrific crimes? What do I tell people? How do I explain this away into a neat and tidy package? Where did everyone go? What did this man want…with me?
“Abigail Lenore Branch was gunned down while attempting to flee the scene after the Grady Police department received an anonymous call. They showed up at the house before she managed to take the life of little Haley Benson or her parents, but she left behind enough evidence of what she had been planning,” he said, almost dismissively, “she would be cremated soon after any evidence was retrieved. She never entered this building, nor did she interact with anyone within these walls. As for your colleagues, well, I sent them home. It is Christmas, after all. They will have no recollection of what they may or may not have witnessed tonight.”
While all of this sounded way too far-fetched to even entertain, I believed everything he told me. Be it the facts of what I saw with my own eyes, the absence of my associates, or just something about this man that convinced me he was telling the truth, I cannot say, but there was still that lingering fear of why I was exempt from these altered memories.
“Why…I mean, if you sent everyone else home…changed what happened; what they saw…why…”
“Why not you?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair, “I think you know the answer to that one, mate.”
I felt a sharp pain ram directly into the middle of my spine, almost paralyzing me where I sat. The blood drained from my face with the realization that he knew everything. It was exactly what I feared when I found him awaiting my arrival, of course, but I think I still held onto that lingering hope that this was all about Lullaby.
“In a lot of ways, I understand why you did it. I can relate to it, you know? Still, that doesn’t make it right; doesn’t make it just.”
We just stared at each other as I attempted to mentally prepare for my door to erect in the center of the room; to drag me back to his place as it had the woman in cell thirteen.
“Always thought the Conscience Killer had a nice ring to it,” he said, snuffing the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray, “made sense, given how you chose your victims and all.”
It’s true what he said; the name did fit. All fifteen of the men I tortured and killed had slipped through the system in one bullshit way or another. Each of them did far worse things than I did to them, but the justice system was broken sometimes. I couldn’t let these men walk the streets again; not with what they were capable of.
“Always wondered,” he said, pulling my attention back to the matter at hand, “was it their conscience or yours that the name was based on?”
“Both, I suppose,” I said with a hollow laugh, finally attempting to accept my fate, “I just couldn’t sleep at night, knowing they were free out there, you know? In the end, I guess I thought of myself as their conscience, since they didn’t seem to have one of their own.”
“Why’d you give it up?” he asked, lighting another smoke and tossing me the pack.
“After my wife got pregnant, I just couldn’t anymore. Couldn’t risk it…risk losing everything. When it was just the two of us, I don’t know, I thought she would still be okay if something went wrong; if I got busted or any of them fought back too hard, but becoming a parent…it wasn’t just about me and them anymore.”
“Even knowing the monsters live in the same world as your little girl?”
“It’s not easy; knowing that, but I was never arrogant enough to think I could stop them all. It was enough, at the time, that I put down the ones I was able to. We’re teaching her to defend herself…but, I know life is unpredictable. All we can do is hope, you know?”
“Do you think they deserved what you did to them? The torture, the hours and sometimes days of suffering as you made them beg for death; did they deserve that?”
I stared back at the man who continued to study me with every question. I couldn’t know what answer he expected, nor which he wanted, but I wouldn’t play games. The more we talked, the more I believed I would never see my little girl or my wife again; something that almost caused me to scream out at the thought, but these are risks I took every single day I wore the badge.
If this was to be my last night, I would leave this world with my head held high. No lies, no pleas for mercy. No begging or bargaining. If this man was who I believed him to be, none of that would be of any use anyway.
“Daniel Mathews; the first one I killed. He raped and murdered his eight-year-old daughter. His own child! He viciously tore her innocence away before leaving her in a pool of her own blood, and he walked out of court, free and clear because of a technicality. Antoine Nash, a serial pedophile, and meth peddler also walked away with a slap on the wrist because the arresting officer skipped a few steps when gathering evidence. Those are just two of the sick sons of bitches I put down, and the world is a better place because of it. One hundred percent, yes! They deserved that and more and I hope they’re burning in Hell!”
As we gazed at one another, I saw the sliver of a smile reach across his lips. It wasn’t sinister. There was no malice in his eyes. I didn’t feel as though he was about to pounce on me or lash out in any way. He just smiled, subtly nodding his head.
“We are not all that different; you and I,” he said, smearing out the second cigarette as he had the first, “but I do believe it is in your best interest for Conscience to remain retired.”
He got to his feet, straightening out his waistcoat and jacket, looking back at me with a strange expression I couldn’t quite figure out. It was something compassionate, but firm. Understanding, but pensive, in a way.
“You will remember what transpired this night, for now, at least. After a time, these memories will linger, though not in a way you can so casually revisit. It will all still be there, but buried away. You will not be able to recall my face, nor the conversation we shared, but there will be excerpts in your dreams on occasion; more so when those old tendencies begin to rear their little heads.”
As he turned from me to head towards the door to my office, I was certain this was just a trick; something to set me at ease before the rug was pulled from beneath me, but that didn’t happen.
“You’re a good man, Clayton Mackenzie,” he said, stopping with his back to me as he stood in the doorway, “but should that ever change, we shall most certainly meet again.”
With that, he walked out of my office, rounding the corner and out of view. I just sat there, frozen in place, staring down at my trembling fingers. After a moment, I got to my weakened feet and followed the course the stranger had taken, seeing no trace of him.
Though my mind was still reeling, I shut off the lights and headed to my car. When I got home, I embraced my wife far more enthusiastically than I think I ever had before. I walked to my daughter’s bedroom, where she lay sleeping. I just sat there for a time, watching her eyes dart around beneath their lids’, feeling grateful tears leak down my face. While I sat in the darkness of the room, I swore to myself that I would never allow the Conscience Killer to reawaken; that I would never risk losing this most precious gift.
When I awoke the next day, I wrote all of this down before it would inevitably be buried away as the stranger warned. The news reported the death of Abigail Branch at the hands of the Grady Police department, as well as the truth about what she was in life. This, along with the glee on my little girl’s face as she unwrapped all of the presents provided by jolly old Saint Nick, by the way of her loving parents, caused my heart to burn with how content I felt.
Some weeks later, I handed in my resignation. Regardless of the years I had spent on the job, I was not fit for it anymore. Not to mention, I thought it best to remove any temptation to return to habits that were not good for me. My wife supported me while I took some night classes to earn an engineering degree, which led to a much more stable working environment for both my health and sanity.
As time passed; as the stranger said, I forgot most of what happened that bizarre night, but I do still see excerpts in my dreams, as he predicted. Though I remain true to the promise I made to myself back then; that I would never return to my old passion project, I am grateful for the meeting I now only revisit in my sleep.
One thing I can honestly say: regardless of what came before or what may still be around the corner, I will never receive a gift as life-changing as the one I got that Christmas Eve; the night after which two murderers would never kill again.