The Mask

"Marcia Goes Global." Marcia Goes Global. N.p., n.d. Web. 07 Jan. 2016.

 By the time Jack Kenley reached his Captain’s apartment at 3:27 AM, the entire team was already there. He could read the bright yellow letters spell out NYPD on the backs of their navy blue windbreakers. The apartment was pitch black other than the bright police flashlights surveying the scene. The power had been cut. Jack crossed the threshold into the apartment, and could see the Captain sitting with his back to him in the middle of his living room on a dark blue carpet, cradling his slaughtered wife. Jack sat down next to the Captain and put his arm around his shoulder as the rest of the officers barred the doorway to the apartment with barricade tape and continued to scour it for evidence. Jack slowly surveyed the room, but something caught his eye and sent a shrill sense of dread down his spine. The Mask. It was a blank pearly white mask with two perfectly circular black holes where each eye would be. It was the trademark of the most infamous serial killer in the history of New York City, known only as ‘The Mask’, and he left one at each of his killings. It was hung in directly in the center of the plain wall directly in front of the Captain, and just below it lay wide arcs of freshly drawn blood. Jack turned to look at the Captain who had his teeth clenched tightly and streams of tears running his cheek. He looked up to the mask, and in a moment his anguish turned to rage. He delicately picked up Sarah’s head and moved it from his lap to the floor, so her slashed throat gutted abdomen were plainly visible. He walked over to the window and listened to the pouring rain beat down on the glass before quietly vowing that he would destroy The Mask before he kills another officer. A rolling thunder cracked and when the light flashed against his face, Jack could see the Captain’s face filled with rage and determination.

The next day at the office, the Captain walked up to Jack’s desk with bags under his eyes and a cup of coffee in his hand as well as a folder. He looked pale and his face no longer had a single shred of warmth. He dropped the folder on Jack’s desk and looked at him with eyes that had seen everything. Then he continued on without a word. Jack skimmed through the folder of all the murders which followed the trademark of The Mask in the past few months, and there was an obvious pattern. The Mask would continuously target high ranking police officers who had much influence around the city as well as their families. There were never any survivors or witnesses. There was a case not so long ago in which the former police captain was eviscerated and his wife and two year old son were suffocated. Another in which the chief of department was beheaded and his wife was hanged from his balcony. The list went on and on. The one piece of evidence The Mask would ever leave, was his infamous pearly white mask with those haunting black eyes. The masks must have been hand made as well, seeing as every custom made mask shop in New England have been investigated already. Jack called it quits for the day and took the subway home.

Jack dropped his briefcase and unbuttoned his wrinkled white shirt as he entered his small upper east side apartment. He set some water to boil for his coffee and dropped onto his couch. He let out a deep sigh and switched on the TV as the rain beat down against the side of the building. He could barely see out of the window. He changed the channel to National Geographic as his water began to boil. As he went to pour his coffee, a chill went down his spine and he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened and he bolted for his front door grabbing his coat so viciously that the coat hanger fell. He slammed the door on his way out.

Jack stumbled out of his apartment building’s lobby and squinted through the heavy rain to try and spot his Mercedes C180 Elegance. He saw it parked on the corner of his street and he dashed towards it. He unlocked it and dove inside, momentarily relieved to be out of the rain. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his clothes were soaked through, but he had to get to the Captain’s place as fast as he could. He remembered that The Mask never left a survivor.

Jack crept into the eerily silent apartment lobby and made his way to the Captain’s apartment. The door was wide open, and the apartment was almost pitch black besides the vague moonlight. Jack drew his pistol and was incredibly careful not to make a sound. There were no bodies and no blood in sight, just a note taped to the mirror on the foyer. He inched towards it, and read the words off the piece of card. They read, “Sorry Jack.” Just then, he saw something dart past with immense speed in the reflection of the mirror. Jack snapped around, but before he could react, the Captain covered his mouth with his glove sheathed hands and stabbed him in the throat with incredible speed. As Jack collapsed backwards and choked on his own blood, he could vaguely see the Captain reach into his jacket pocket and pull out the mask. Jack’s last thoughts pondered why the Captain would slaughter his comrades as well as his wife but his thoughts faded into nothingness, as did he.