I’m an official
policewoman. Or, not exactly a police officer. Profiler. Twenty-six years old,
but a trained, experienced, young professional in my job. However, I’m not
either happy nor satisfied. Just on the contrary. My life has just been ruined.
days I lived almost a dream life. I have a small, two-story house in the quiet,
hidden, peaceful part of the downtown. I’ve been living in a merry, perfect
marriage, for seven years now. And this sweet, persistent, clear love was just
about to be strengthened by a new family member – I was pregnant.
But one and a
half years ago everything has changed.
an extremely cruel case, just few cities
further – about four hundred, four hundred and twenty kilometers away from the
city where I’ve been living. A young girl’s – about my age – corpse was found
in a swampy territory. At that time a lot of rain fell, it was a warm spring,
and the rivers flooded. That territory was under water for quite some time,
until the local authorities decided to drain it. That was when the body was
The girl had
been there for some time, we could saw it on her advanced decomposition.
Somebody buried her before spring arrived, as she wasn’t lying so deep – the frozen,
hard soil couldn’t be dig well. Our coroner determined that the girl was
pregnant – she was in the third month, when somebody killed her. In her body
some remnants of medicines and reagents were found, which led us to the fact
that maybe she would have liked to keep her baby in secret, and miscarry,
before anyone could have found it out.
marks, and silhouettes of fingers darkened on her neck. Little under the stains
was a big, rough cut. Her lips and fingertips were still a bit blue. The drugs
didn’t have an effect on her, she died by the lack of oxygen. Her carotid
artery had been cut later. It could be seen from the fact that her bleeding may
not have been so intense, with the discoloration of her lips and fingertips,
and the stains on her neck.
I went to the
location, I’ve been told what we were facing, and I could go round examining. I
shot some photos, then went back to my office. I asked for all the photos taken
from the traces, details, and everything else that the colleagues had in the
labors, under examination. I built up the perpetrator’s profile in two days.
Not long after the police found him. I didn’t enter the examination room, but I
was here on the outside, I heard him admitting everything. What was between him
and the victim, what led him to kill her, and what did he do after the murder.
The dirty bastard… The disgusting grin on his face, while he was talking about
how saint he was. His girlfriend killed their baby, so he killed her girlfriend
"because that bitch deserved it”. What a pity, this wasn’t the truth. The
chemicals she swallowed neutralized each other, or a very little amount of them
left behind, so the baby would have survived…if the mother wouldn’t have been
I got sick as I
listened to and saw him trough the mirror-covered window on the wall of the
examination room. I preferred to kill him instantly with my service gun. I
regret that I didn’t do it at that time. I regret it…so much…
As the guards
led him out of the room and he stared at me while he passed by…the lot of hatred and contempt radiating from his eyes…
- What are
looking at? Do you want to deserve the same, bitch – he hissed at me -? Watch out,
that may happen to you, too!
I had to attend
the trial, as a profiler working on the case. I met him again. He radiated the
same hatred, contempt and disgust for me. It almost burned my skin. The
luscious grin as he admitted the homicide…
He had an older
brother, who was present in court, too. But at time I didn’t know it. I learned
it too late…too late…
After the perpetrator
went in jail, his brother visited him whenever he could. I didn’t know, couldn’t
have known that they were planning something. After closing the investigation and
the lawsuit I threw the folder to the closed cases. but I shouldn’t have done
it… I shouldn’t have…
Not long after,
strange things started to happen around me. I am not, I was never paranoid.
Yet, I felt that somebody follows and watches me. I knew it. But I didn’t dare
to tell anybody immediately. Only when it has become clear. Only when I really started
About a year
ago me and my husband decided that after all the time we spent together, it was
time to get a child. Eight months ago we started to visit doctors in this case,
to learn more, clear the things, and to do it as safely as we can. Four months
ago I got sick at my work in the morning. Of course, we could have said that
was because of our current case. it was really disgusting and bloody. Some of
the freshmen ran out to the restroom to vomit. Though, it was strange that
nothing similar has ever happened to me.
Two days after
I bought a pregnancy test. The result was positive. It was obvious that my love
and me became really happy. Because of that, I paid less attention to my
follower, who, by the time made it so clear that he or she wants something from
From the first
mute calls from unknown numbers became appearing and vanishing silhouettes,
cars and shadows.
Besides, a new
serial killer showed up. In line he killed the young women at my age, always in
the same intervals. All the scenes he left a trace, that seemingly were just
for me to notice. A trace only I know what can be connected to. A cut like the
one on the neck of the girl from the swamp, traces of smothering, or the murder
of a pregnant girl. No matter what he did, who did he kill, or how he did it.
The point is that he always left a message for me.
It all began
about the time we started to visit the doctors. About eight months ago. One
time, when I was sitting in the waiting room, I realized that yes, each murder
is a message for me – perhaps, you’ll be the next one. In each case there was
something similar to the girl in the swamp, one and a half years ago. The
solved, thrown-away folder.
that time my colleagues and superiors learned about my follower. They tried to
help me, to protect me, but still – the plenty of murders and messages still
continued, growing bigger and bigger. I started to feel that I’m not safe
anywhere. They followed me everywhere – now it was not only my "secret admirer”,
but they were federal agents, a few friends and colleagues often showing up
around me. Everybody wanted to protect me on their own way. My husband, who was
a policeman too, repeated continuously this ain’t be good, this ain’t be good.
I should not go out even from the house, not to the scenes. He hardly let me go
to my workplace, to the safe office, too. Each morning he said goodbye like it
was the last time we woke together. He was always afraid that once somebody
attacks, catches and kills me. He was always afraid of this. Oh, how, he should
not fear for me… Not for me…
months ago my colleagues helped to identify the unknown serial killer. He was
the brother of the man whom I sent to prison, one and a half years ago. The
Only one thing
left: how to capture him. We knew he wanted me. We knew that sooner or later,
he’ll get me. So that we planned a trap to get him. A planned murder.
A young girl,
as old as me was the "victim”, who was similar to me. Of course, she was not
dead, it was only us who organized everything to seem like a crime scene. The
plan was that we go out to the scene. Somehow I leave the group and seemingly
be alone, in order to raise the attention of my follower, who, with a high
chance, will be there and watch me. As soon as he shows up and tries to get me,
a group of police officers appears, surrounds and makes him harmless. All this
sounded to be a perfect plan. Plus, my husband got the task to find at least
ten of his precisely targeting, confident and good subalterns.
On the planned
day, in the morning, as usual, he waked first. But now, he didn’t go down to
make some coffee, he didn’t sit in front of the TV, he didn’t even leave the
room, he did nothing at all. Only lied in front of me, watched as I was
sleeping, and awaited my wake. Then he pulled me close to him, gave a kiss on
my forehead and whispered this:
- I love you.
You two are the most important for me. But I’m so afraid. You see, I’m a police
officer for ten years. Actually, more than ten years. I met lots of murderers,
thieves, dangerous criminals. However, I never was afraid. Never ever in my
life. But today, I am. I am afraid, that I lose you. I am afraid that I will
never see you again.
- Don’t worry.
There won’t be any problems. – I promised, though I also had a bit of
I will never
see you again…never see you again…I’m afraid…I’m afraid… His words still hunt
me, I wake with this, I fall asleep with this, I wake with this from my
nightmares. How I wish it would never have happened…never have happened…
well. in the beginning. The investigation looked successful, the man really
showed up. He tried to be invisible, tried to vanish, not to be noticed by us.
He was sure from his succeeding. Just as we were sure in our succeeding. I
pulled the zip of my thin jacket, but only until it covered my holster, still I
could pull my gun out easily and fast, if needed. Everybody’s at their place, the
action started. I walk around for a few minutes, then I start to take photos.
Seemingly I sink in my work, like I knew nothing. I know now I am the bait, the
little mouse, yet I try to move closer to the colleagues, who should be hiding
somewhere near, and await me with the stranger.
- Excuse me –
says a voice to me -! Could you please help me, ma’am? I’m a journalist, and…
This moment my
heart beats so heavily, only one idea bolted trough my brain. There were
journalists, photographers, but all of them were our men, without a uniform, in
alter ego. Each of them knew their task, and short before they were besides the
leader of the action. Who called me must be only him.
I lift my
visage from the ground, turn towards the man, who was standing behind my back.
- I would need
- How can I
- You know,
here’s this little thingy, that I found here – he says while pushing his hand
in his pocket.
I have a
feeling that he wants to pull out a pistol. I too, reach under my jacket, just
as I would like to get a tissue, or a pair of gloves, still my hand reaches for
- Wait a
minute, show, let me see it! – say I, stepping closer.
this turns out
to be a fatal error. The man pulls out his weapon and points that right at me.
I stare into the dark, dreadful pipe. I froze. Never has anyone ever pointed a
gun at me.
- My brother
was sent to jail because of you, you stupid goose! He hung himself because of
you! Do you remember his face, you dirty little bitch? – he asks approaching
In his hand the
gun stands still motionless, rigidly. Now I do feel that I will die. With my
child under my heart. And now I cannot be saved. Nobody’s here to protect me. I’m
- No no! Just
pull hour hand out of there, mama! There ain’t be just one pistol, and it will
be me, who fires it. I will take care that you will never send any more people
behind the bars!
I stand mute,
numb. My eyes got teary from the fear. Only one thought is in my head: Never
ever will I see my husband again.
Now I notice
that somebody gets closer to us from the team, behind the back of the man.
- Excuse me
madam – he says.
Though he wears
a cap and lowers his head, I immediately recognize him from his voice. He is
the best friend of my husband, and one of his colleagues. So it’s clear they had
some ideas. But now what about my husband?
works, the man turns around to see who’s coming. He pushes his hand holding the
pistol into his pocket, but leaves it ready. I take advantage of the
opportunity, pull out my pistol and try to aim. Still, as he hears the noise,
my attacker pulls his own gun and shoots towards my colleague, who, doesn’t get
injured, but tries to divert attention from me. I still try to aim, when
somebody runs towards me and shouts my name. My husband. My Lord, please, leave
turns to me again, lifts the gun and aims.
- Now you die,
little bitch! I do it for you, brother! – he cries and pulls the trigger.
In the very
same moment a body gets in front of me, another gun fires. Both men collapse.
The attacker, with a bullet in his forehead, is dead. My husband falls in front
of my, dying. He’s shot on his chest.
- An ambulance,
right now! Help – I cry out as I collapse next to him.
I try to treat
him well, but my feelings are stronger. I pull him in my lap, calling his name.
- My love! Look
at me! Please, look at me! Hold on, the ambulance is here in no time! Please!
- Don’t be
afraid. I love you. I love you so much. You are my everything. Please, find somebody
for yourself, who loves you like me, and raise the little one! Love the baby
for me, too! Please!
usually shining so bright and happily, now his visage gets blurry, slowly he
would close his long, dark eyelashes, but I don’t let him. I can’t let him. I talk to him, almost
shouting, I try to keep his attention and soul. I only comprehend that
somewhere sirens vail, tearing up the so long soundless place’s silence.
Vibrating lights, shouts. Someone pulls me up from the ground. My clothes are
mere blood. In my one hand, a Beretta, within only one bullet. Only one bullet
that I should fire in time. If I shot the gun, maybe he could still live. If I
fire it in time…in time…he could still live…he could still…
surgeons, ambulance. Sirens, shouts. Smell of hospital. Antibacterial. What I
always hated. Adult people try to make me talk meaningful phrases, but they can’t.
Neither can I answer, nor can I understand what they are talking about. All my
thoughts are about the other ambulance, which rushed in front of us.
They took him
into the operating room immediately. Me, after examination, they made me sit on
the corridor. My husband’s colleague, who tried to interrupt, gets here right
now. He sits next to me. He’s silent, listening. He knows that now I wouldn’t
be able to respond. He takes my hand in his, and squeezes it. I lower my head
on his shoulder; silent sob breaks up from me. If I fire it in time…he could
still…if in time…
Not so later a
surgeon step out of the operating room. Opens up the door, and two others push
out a bed. I can’t see nothing on it. Or yes, something’s there. Or somebody.
But it’s totally covered with a white sheet. My God, please, give me that it’s
not him! Please give me that they made me sat next to a wrong operating room!
Please give me that they changed the patient! My God!
I stand up
silent, crying. The people stop. Around me silence, grief and sorrow. It is
almost solid. The time seems to stop because of me. In this very poignant
minute. I know who is under the sheet. I know that all my previous life ruins
if I lift the sheet. But I must have a look. For a last time, I must see…I must
see his face…I must see…
I pull the
sheet from him. He’s so peaceful. Like he was only sleeping.
- I’m sorry –
says a doctor.
I’m sorry. It’s
so dry now. So apathetic. Almost an everyday sentence in our lives. Our
previous lives. Now only in my life.
- Please, don’t
- I disclaim politely.
Now I need
silence. A little silence to calm down. I little silence to stop the time, turn
it back, make everything into nothing, to not happened events, like it occurred
never…But it can’t be…it can’t…
He lies here,
in front of me, his body is still warm, soft, but lifeless. His heart beats no
more. As much I can, I embrace him. My clothes are already bloody, it doesn’t
count if I get more dirty. I will throw out this shirt any way. As soon as I can.
Never ever could I even just think about it, as it’s my love’s blood drying on
it. Oh, how it would be my blood…or the blood of that bastard… But his blood
was swallowed by the ground, it’s been soaked in the dry soil and only a big,
red stain left behind. Only a red stain…only a stain…a red stain…
sobbing quietly. My body was soundlessly trembling from the weight of each
teardrop. The pain resting on me now started to become more and more
unbearable, now, when I commenced to understand what was happening around me.
Yet I didn’t want to comprehend that he’s not anymore, he has died, he had been
shot. All this because of my fault. If I hadn’t gone that way…if I hadn’t
talked to him…if I had immediately pulled the trigger… He could be still alive.
But now all this was four months ago. Four long, cruel months ago.
burial I wasn’t willing to go out from home. I didn’t go to work. I didn’t go
shopping. I put the receiver away, I turned my cell phone off. I didn’t pull
the curtains, the doors were closed, I opened them for no one. As I ate very little,
the spare food lasted relatively long. For three weeks. Then I had to break the
ice. One day my colleague and kindest friend came to visit me. A big basket was
in her hands. I struggled to open the door, after letting her shouting her for
me for an hour. It took me an hour to get up from the ground, clear the
teardrops from my face and gain enough power to step to the door and open it.
As soon as I saw her I bursted out in crying. She dropped the basket and hit me
on the face.
- Are you
normal? What the hell are you doing? Just think about your baby, you idiot!
Yes. That was
needed to wake me up. I didn’t really think about it as I was so submerged in
the lethargy and depression. A though was wandering in my brain; why do I need
this kid if I can’t raise it on my own. I wouldn’t work. It’s his child. It
would make me remember about him trough all my life, about that horrifying day,
what I could never forgive for myself. That I didn’t pull the trigger. And how
would my own child look at me, what would say about me, if he or she asked me:
mommy, do I have a father, too? What would I say? I couldn’t even look into
their eyes. If it doesn’t have a father, why would I have a child? but finally
I convinced myself. The slap and the manner of my friend talking to me, that
she didn’t pity, she wasn’t sorry, but he wanted to make me stand on my own two
feet. She woke me up. She opened my eyes.
after the horrifying day I went back to a doctor, to have my baby checked. The
doctor said bad news. As I starve, cried and felt sorry so much, the baby’s
conditions were very bad. It couldn’t flourish well. If it borns and stays
alive, there’s a low chance that the baby will be so healthy. The doctor
ordered me to take a lot of vitamins, medicines, food-supplements. He told me
to stay in bed and relax a lot, live without stress. My friend moved to me temporarily
and looked after me 24/7, in order I won’t commit anything serious. I was still
against the baby. Right now, I’m not really on the baby’s side, either, but
they convinced me to take the pills and drink the supplements at least for my
But now it’s
ended. I want to change the things. I can’t stand it anymore. I give up. I
escaped from home. My colleague went to work, so I left a letter for her in
which I wrote that I went on a walk, so she doesn’t have to worry about me. Of
course it was not my real intention. Not at all. I wanted to leave. I wanted to
see one more time the place where the one who gave a meaning to my life, died.
Who brought light into the night, into the darkness. Who stood always beside
me, whom I treasured more than my own life, who loved me.
I was alone.
The place welcomes me with a rigid, immobile silence. Memories evoke in me. The
stranger pulling out his gun. The police officer getting closer and closer, who
wanted to divert the attention. A running figure. Two gunshots, shouts, blood,
sirens, smell of gunpowder. Two dyeing bodies falling on the ground with a
thud. his last words…his last glimpse… I still feel the sweet scent of his breath;
I see the small clouds of vapor flying out of his mouth. It was cold on that
day. My shirt is slipper from blood, it freezes on me. My arms are bloody until
my elbows, from my fingertips, red liquid is dropping. I am splashing in his
blood, his blood, his life drying on my skin, my soul. It dried on my heart and
lungs, and squeezes them. Hardly can I breathe, I gasp for air, I almost drown
from the painful memories breaking out. I fall on my knees from the problems
towering, heavier and heavier problems. I tremble. I pull out the little
Beretta from the pocket of my jacket with shaking hands. It was with me that
day too. The same gun with the same only bullet in its repertory. The third
bullet that should have been fired for first and only. And still. This only one
left. For me.
I’m crying. The
world gets blurry, it is about to end for me. I can’t even sense anything from
it. I can’t hear the siren of the coming police car, the brake screech, and the
shouts. I can’t see the lights of the car, nor the blue and red lights on top
of it, nor the figure running towards me. Everything that reaches my
consciousness is the sound of the insurance lever of the gun, and the two red
stained piece of ground in frond of me. My muscles grow feeble; hardly do I
hold myself, even though I’m kneeling on the ground. I almost drop the pistol
as I lift it to my forehead. I push it on my temple, I play for time. I want to
say goodbye to the memory of my sweet, only love. And so, his last words come
to my mind…
"Don’t be afraid. I love you. I love you so
much. You are my everything. Please, find somebody for yourself, who loves you
like me, and raise the little one! Love the baby for me, too! Please!”
wanted it lo live…He wanted me to raise the baby. To live it. He wanted me to
find somebody besides the baby…besides me, who helps me to raise it. He wanted
me to stay alive. He wanted me…to stay alive…staying alive…he wanted…
resting so far on the trigger now moves in the direction of the pistol. Only
one shot… That’s all… Everything’s finished. I softly lean forwards, into
something dark. Under myself a red stain…
- You idiot
bastard! What the hell was going in your head?
What? How can
it be? That…I can hear the voice of my friend, whilst right before…I heard the
Beretta firing, the bullet flew out. I felt the blunderbuss on my wrist, as the
little pistol kicked back. Then the darkness…warm and soft…the red stain…no,
that can’t be… I open up my eyes. I can see. I can breathe. My heart beats
crazily, wants to jump out of its place. What happened?
attention! Look at me! Can you hear me? Do not dare to do such a stupid thing
again! When I got home and found your letter I almost got crazy because of you!
I came as soon as possible. I even turned on the siren and rushed through the
city that way, just to get here in time. I made it. Do not dare to die, got it?
Do not dare to die, you little stupid!
I bursted out
crying. I was really alive. Loudly, almost shouting, from belly I started
bellowing. My tears swarmed, flooding my face as a fast river, leaving shiny,
glimmering stripes behind. I was never this happy before that I was alive.
Slowly my mind started to clear out and I commenced to comprehend the things
around me. The pistol really fired. It was lying on the ground, next to me. Smell
of gunpowder flew in the air. My wrist hurt, it was such a long time since I
last used a gun. The warm, soft something that I fell into and embraced me was
not the eternal darkness, but the arms of my colleague. She arrived here just
in time. The bloodstain was not mine. it was my once love’s, but I couldn’t see
it clearly by my tears. Aster I cried myself out, my friend helped me up from
the ground and with a thorough brainwash she helped me to the car. She covered
me in a thick blanket and made me sit next to her. While she told me how much
she had been afraid on the way driving here, what she had felt when she saw me,
when she ran there and was afraid that se would arrive there just a moment
later and can’t kick the gun out of my fingers…when she collapsed on the ground
and caught me…I slowly, silently fell asleep on the passenger seat. I fell into
a deep torpor. When I woke up I knew it was a sign. A sign for that I cannot
die. My husband didn’t sacrifice his life for that. I couldn’t let his death to be in vain. I must stay alive.
Stay alive and give life to this child. I must raise it so if it asks me;
mommy, do I have a father, too? – I could answer: Yes darling, you do. Your
father is a real hero, who saved mommy’s life, when you were a little baby under
my heart… a real hero…
Post script: two weeks after my suicide attempt
finally I gave up the wish for death. I accepted that I will give life to his
child. I has happy that at least this remained for me from him. The ultrasound
recordings showed that the baby will be a little boy, from which I became so
merry. I can carry his son under my heart. His last, ground memorial, that once
he lived, breathed, his heart that he could love with once was beating. He was
an angel came to earth, who, before going back to the other angels, left a
little boy here for me as a memory, so that I know he loved me and I was his
everything. So that I can always remember him, never forget him, and that I
too, have somebody to love.
Two weeks after
I almost killed myself, I visited the bridge where I first met him. Where we
often walked in two, where we watched many beautiful sunsets. Where he first
kissed me… I watched a sunset. This sunset was the beginning of a new life and
the end of an old one. When the Sun ducked below the horizon, but its last rays
lit the horizon’s bottom, I pulled out the Beretta from my pocket. My fingers
froze on the handle. The bullets ran out, there was peace. Nobody wanted to
hurt anyone. I stood alone in the middle of the bridge. I lifted my hand high
and threw the weapon far into the river, the weapon that changed almost
everything twice. I didn’t need it anymore. I don’t go back to work soon, as
the baby will born in no time. Hardly do I have four months left. Then I’ll be
home for quite long time. And I need no weapon to raise my son.
I watched the
pistol fly a large arc in the air, far away from me. Its tube flashed a last
one in the rays of the lowering sun, then with a silent splash it disappeared
between the flaming, red waves. I don’t need it more. Anymore. Three guns,
three bullets, three gunshots. This was my life. This ended it. But from today,
I start a new one. And this will be the beginning. These three shots…three