A Serrated Discourse

An unusual tale of humans connecting in the most unlikely of situations.

A Serrated Discourse

By Elliott Thomas

 

The two figures ran through the night, one brandishing a knife, the other armed with a standard issue Glock 19.

The man carrying the gun knew he wouldn't be able to keep this pace up much longer. He didn't look unfit, but cardio wasn't his forte. The woman carrying the knife though; she was lithe and moved like a Panther.

"Stop!"  Detective Anthony Bledsoe  ordered as he attempted to suck in air whilst keeping his gun pointed down at his side. Bledsoe had been tracking the woman for so long, and now having her this close to capture, he wasn't going to risk shooting her in the back; she needed to be brought in for what she had done.

The woman didn't respond, Bledsoe didn't expect any rapport.

She continued to charge forward, she didn't even steal a glance back to acknowledge the tired Detective. She quickened her pace as the sound of her shoes slapped across the wet pavement.

"F**k, f**k, f**k." Bledsoe breathlessly spat, there was no way he was going to lose her now.

The two figures came to the end of the empty street, the woman with the knife turned left sharply and Bledsoe followed. The Detective had two thoughts in his mind at that very moment, Thank God there's no one on the street at this time of night, and, If only there were people out on the street here tonight.

It was indeed quiet in this part of town as they continued their chase, in fact, it felt like they were the only two living beings here. No cars drove by, each house they had passed had their lights off and blinds drawn, no life from any flats, no one wanted to witness this chase.

Bledsoe kept his mind on one objective, catching this woman, she was a danger to innocent lives, she needed to be taken down.

The Woman increased her speed and suddenly hung another left, disappearing down an alley between to apartment blocks, Bledsoe cursed and lost his footing. He hit the pavement hard, knees slamming together first, followed by his left shoulder, finally cracking his forehead against hard concrete to add further injury to his fatigued body.

"F**k! D****t!" Bledsoe seethed through gritted teeth, the Detective pushed himself up as fast as he could and felt the familiar burning sensation that came with a fall. His knees cried out in protest as he regained his balance, blood ran freely from an opened cut above his brow, irritating his eyes, pooling at his bearded lip, and his shoulder ached furiously.

Bledsoe took off again in pursuit, he could worry about injury later. He moved down the alley where the woman had darted down, she was already gone. He moved as fast as he could down the narrow alley and came out on the other side.

The alley opened up to another road, standing across the street was a large, empty tenement block. Bledsoe moved closer towards the building, his legs burning with every step. There wasn't anywhere else the woman could have gotten to, his instinct told him that she'd try to hide out here. As the Detective inched closer, he could see the front doors open, he smiled thinly, she had to be inside.

He checked the safety on the Glock, and brought it up into a defensive position. Bledsoe didn't want to kill the woman, but if it came down to the wire, he'd have no choice.

He looked up at the large building, it was a stern looking brick and cement structure; obviously a government housing project left to rot. Bledsoe laughed mirthlessly, typical, he thought to himself, not even the government cares about this part of town.

It looked deserted, the large CONDEMNED sign on the front doors also drove this fact home. She would be here somewhere and it was up to the Detective to finish this neatly.

Cautiously, Bledsoe pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was a mess. Bits of debris covered the hard cement floors, a door hung from its hinges at the back of the room and faded graffiti decorated almost every surface; evidence that even gangs and squatters left this place for greener pastures.

As Bledsoe edged forward, he could see what lay beyond  the ruined doorway, a large open area that would have housed tenants and the like. The large open space stretched out in a rectangular shape, doors lining each wall, looking like soldiers. A dangerously degraded railing encircled the middle of the room, and as Bledsoe stepped through the doorway and to the edge, he observed it was a small drop to what looked like a lower level of rooms below.

The bottom floor looked as decrepit as the rest of the building, Bledsoe couldn't make out much though, just that the floor was concrete and that there was a lot of fallen debris scattered across.

Bledsoe stiffened as his ears picked up the faint sound of footsteps to his right, the Detective swung around, raising his gun instinctively. At the same time the woman detached herself from the shadows and charged at him with the knife.

There was a dull clanging sound as the Glock met the metal of the blade and the two figures dropped back from each other, both hands jarred from the collision. There was no time for words as this silent battle began.

The woman regained her composure quickly and stabbed again,  Bledsoe was ready. He moved to the side and the woman swung wildly, cutting through the air, Bledsoe went to raise his gun, but the woman was too fast, she spun on her heel and swiped again, this time hitting her target.

The blade nicked Bledsoe and opened up a small wound across his knuckle, Bledsoe grunted and lost his footing, instead of falling back, he stumbled forward and collided with the woman, a move she didn't see coming.

As she received the full weight of Bledsoe, they both then lurched forward in a deadly embrace, their eyes both went wide as they suddenly tore through the balcony railing, wood splintering, and fell over the edge together.

They plummeted through the air for what seemed an eternity until the floor met them with a toughened kiss. Bledsoe heard a scream, a crack, and then the lights went out.

. . .

Detective Anthony Bledsoe gasped and snapped awake, the first thing that came to him was pain. Intense, burning pain.

Bledsoe grunted and lifted his head, he was groggy, but he remembered where he was, lying flat on his back at the bottom of a condemned tenement building. Where is she? His first conscious thought.

The Detective turned his head and cried out, the woman was sitting just across from him, slumped against the wall. He went to stand and roared in agony, falling heavily back to the unforgiving concrete. He looked down and groaned, Bledsoe's foot was twisted to an unnatural angle, he let out a low moan as he realised he was disabled and trapped at the mercy of a killer.

Miraculously, Bledsoe didn't lose his gun, he sprang up into a sitting position, ignoring the pain, and brought the Glock up to the woman.

"Don't move." Bledsoe rasped, hoping to sound tougher than he really was.

The woman responded with a humourless laugh before coughing harshly. "I'm not going anywhere." She stated simply after her coughing subsided.

Bledsoe fell back slightly, resting on his elbow and studied her. She was going nowhere indeed. Her face was pale, black and purple hair clung to her skull with sweat; she shivered as his eyes moved down to her stomach and saw that the knife that she had brandished was now stuck deep through her side.

"Christ." Bledsoe muttered as he tried to move towards her, but he wasn't going anywhere either. "I can't walk." He spoke a in a rasp to her.

She looked at his ruined leg and smiled, "Same here." She spoke back, "I can't feel my legs."

Bledsoe grimaced as he realised the knife must have severed something within her. This was not a good situation. He reached quickly into his pocket to dig out his phone, help was only a call away.

A deep frown etched upon the Detective's face as he saw the phone had been destroyed in the fall, dead and useless.

"F**k." Said Bledsoe angrily as he dropped the phone to the floor. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and glanced over at the paralysed woman, "You wouldn't happen to have a phone on you?"

The Woman chuckled, "Nope."

Bledsoe grunted and fell back to the floor, they weren't going anywhere fast now.

"This is mighty fine situation we find ourselves in huh?" The woman murmured.

Bledsoe closed his eyes and massaged his temple, a headache throbbing through his skull.

"Pretty much." He answered. "We could have avoided this if you'd have just surrendered."

A thin smile traced across the woman's lips, "Then there wouldn't have been any fun."

Bledsoe raised his head, annoyed, "You call this fun?" He asked roughly, "Me with a broken ankle? You paralysed? No help coming? This is fun?"

The woman looked down at her wound, a single tear escaping and sliding down a pale cheek. "For some people yeah."

"Well, I'm not one of those people." Bledsoe said defiantly, letting out a hissing sound.

"No, you're not." The woman agreed.

They fell into a painful silence and took stock of the current situation, it looked bleak, there was no way to move; being at the bottom floor of a condemned tenement building didn't help matters one bit.

"You know," The woman began, disturbing the silence, "I just wanted to say that I really admire your tenacity."

Bledsoe frowned but said nothing, waiting for the woman to continue.

"I know how long you've been on my case, and how close you've come to catching me, I didn't expect it to happen tonight like this, but.....Yeah, I'm impressed with your work."

Bledsoe grunted awkwardly, "I can't say I'm a fan of your work. Four dead bodies over the course of last year, it's reprehensible."

"I know." The woman agreed, sounding almost melancholy, "I know." She repeated, more softly and possibly to herself this time.

Bledsoe sighed and lay his head back down, after a moment he broke the silence. "Why?" He asked, "Why did you do it?"

The woman tilted her head, eyes unfocused, looking as she were trying to catch an old memory. "That's a really tough question to answer Detective." She began, "I guess you could say, compulsion, addiction, blood lust." She scratched at the floor with a shaking hand, "That's not the full answer I know, I also did it out of fear."

"Fear?" Bledsoe frowned.

"Yep." She answered in a single syllable.

"I don't understand? What were you afraid of?"

The Woman shook her head, "I don't know really, I can't explain why, but fear has always taken hold of me every time. I just lay my eyes on a random stranger and sometimes I feel a deep seeded fear, then the compulsion sets in, and I have to....." She trailed off.

"You have to kill them." Bledsoe finished.

"Yes." The woman nodded, looking almost embarrassed. "That's right."

"You know that you've taken the lives of innocent people? Do you realise the hurt that you've left their loved ones with?" Bledsoe angrily shot his words towards her.

"I do, every single time my thoughts turn to them." She bowed her head, "I am definitely not looking for sympathy, I am a monster, but that doesn't mean I don't regret what I do."

"You could have sought help." Said Bledsoe, "You could have turned yourself in."

The woman smiled sadly, "That's the thing, I wanted to, every day I wanted to, but another type of fear gripped me. The fear of getting caught. My guilty conscience apparently only goes so far, before survival instinct kicks in."

She looked up at Bledsoe lying on the floor across from her, "I also tried killing myself, but that didn't work either," She chuckled, "You'd think someone like myself could easily just snuff out, but nope, when that compulsion isn't there, I can't do it."

"What about tonight? You were coming at me pretty hard." Bledsoe intoned as he lay on his back.

"I wouldn't have killed you, It was just that fear of getting caught." She rested her head back against the wall, "I probably would have maimed you, but just enough so you couldn't follow me."

"Well then," Bledsoe raised his head and looked back over at her, "Now I feel so much better."

She laughed and cast her eyes down, "Well, I guess it fired back on the both of us huh?"

Bledsoe grunted, "You've got that right."

It felt odd to Bledsoe, conversing with a serial killer in such a mundane way, considering their current predicament though; it strangely took his mind off his mangled ankle.

"Do you have any family waiting at home for you Detective?" The woman asked suddenly, Bledsoe shifted uncomfortably onto his side to face her, wondering what game she was playing. 

"Why do you want to know?" He enquired cautiously, His sense of calm ebbing away.

"We're gonna be stuck down here awhile." She explained, "I figured it would help if we passed the time with some conversation."

Bledsoe sighed as he rested his head on his palm, wincing at the cut across his knuckles.

"I mean if you don't wanna talk about it, that's fine." She said gently, "If it's a sore topic or anything-"

"It's not." Bledsoe cut her off, "It's just that, well, it's....."

"It's weird talking to a serial killer about random s**t right?" She cracked.

Bledsoe grunted, but couldn't hide the smile tracing his lips.

"Yeah pretty fucked up hey?" She spluttered and began to laugh.

Bledsoe nodded, "Yeah." Was all he could get out before he joined in her laughter. 

After the two of them overcame their fits of laughter, the woman spoke up, "So, wanna start again?" She grunted and clutched at her side, "Have any family waiting for you?"

Bledsoe hesitated for a slight second but gave in, "Wife, two kids." He breathed in deeply at the thought of Helen, Zack and Hayley, "But they'll only miss me tomorrow." He smiled lopsidedly at the woman, "I told my wife I'd probably be out late."

"Damn." The woman said gravely, "That sucks." Bledsoe believed her sentiment too.

"I don't have any family, or any friends truthfully." She spoke, Bledsoe felt that she'd been wanting to say this to someone for a long time, so he kept silent. 

The woman closed her eyes and held onto her side, "I never knew my real parents, I was your typical foster child bouncing from orphanage to family, and back again. I even was one of the lucky kids who got molested not by one, but three different sets of parents." She looked up to the heavens, tears running from her eyes, "Lucky me huh?"

Bledsoe felt a stab of pity for the woman, serial killer or not, he wouldn't wish that torment on her. On anyone. Especially a young child.

"When I was of age I got dumped from the foster agency and left to fend for myself." She continued, "I was homeless for a time, doing odd jobs here and there until I could manage to find a place to live in." She locked eyes with Bledsoe, "The world is a wonderful place sometimes." She dead panned.

Bledsoe kept his mouth shut, he imagined Hayley or Zack in the same position and his soul died a little.

"I don't remember if this compulsion was in me only until recently or if I've had it forever, it just is in me." She quietly continued, changing track, "All I know is that I don't deserve pity, I'm a monster and I know I have to be snuffed out eventually."  She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, "It really is the only way to pay for my sins." 

"You do deserve pity." Bledsoe croaked, surprising the woman, "Even if you don't believe it, you do."

She smiled thinly, bottom lip quivering, "....Thanks, it really means a lot, coming from someone like you."

Bledsoe grunted in reply, marvelling at the turn of events. He lay back down, his hand numb.

"What a night huh?" The woman murmured.

"Yeah..." Bledsoe agreed, staring up to the ceiling. 

"You know what else?" The woman began again, "I really think-"

"Shhhh!" Bledsoe held his hand up to silence her, he could hear something, voices and footsteps. "I can hear people!" The Detective cupped his hands together and yelled as loud as his lungs would let him, hoping for a reply.

The voices became animated and he saw flashlight beams pierce the night above, they were going to be ok.

Bledsoe sighed, "When we're out of here, I'm gonna make it my responsibility to get you the help you need, you don't need a jail cell, you need rehabilitation. And I'll make sure you get through this." Bledsoe smiled as the flashlights got brighter, "I keep my promises you know that? I always do." 

Bledsoe frowned as the voices grew louder, "I actually never bothered to ask your name. How terrible of me." He rose up painfully to a sitting position and turned over towards the woman. He never got a chance to ask.

She lay lifeless against the wall, eyes open, staring up to unseen images.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Feel fre to comment about anything you like, what works, what doesn't. I'm toying with the idea of turning this into a full length but not sure yet. Looking forward to hearing peoples thoughts.