"Please don't kill me," begged the woman to her would be killer. "Take anything you want from the house, but please don't kill me," she continued to beg profusely. She was wrong of course. He wanted to kill her. That was all he had in his mind, murder.
He had just been released from prison two days ago. He found it difficult to survive outside, so he wanted to go back as soon as he could, murder was the way in. He had a new large samurai knife with him, which he stole from a nearby Chinese shop. He stabbed her twenty-three times and she died of bleeding. He watched her as she laid still, her corpse bleeding from the knife wounds. He stood up and picked up the phone and called 911 and told them about his crime.
As he sat waiting for the police to arrive, suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his chest, almost like, it was a piercing sword entering his heart; he was having a heart attack. He couldn't believe it. He screamed, no one came to help him. He screamed for help again but still no one came. He stood up to go to the bathroom, his feet stumbled on something. He fell down, and then suddenly the knife was taken from his left hand and shoved into his heart. He screamed in pain. The knife was pushed in more slowly this time; he could not move because he was already paralyzed with pain. He was bleeding heavily. He breathed his last breath and died. The knife fell from his body next to his still corpse. All this took less than five minutes. Then the cat purred and briskly walked out of the room, leaving behind its paws' prints in the blood splashed on the floor.
"Where is the murder weapon?" Asked Detective Sullivan.
"Sir we could not find it," replied a uniformed policeman. "We have searched everywhere in the house, but no sign of it," the uniformed policeman continued.
"What's the story here?" Sullivan asked. "It seems that woman has been stabbed repeatedly, but we don't know who this man is! He also suffered a stab wound in the heart," again the uniformed policeman continued to speak. Sullivan stood there looking perplexed. He was doing the initial walk through to have a feel of the crime scene.
'What the heaven is going on here?' He thought to himself. As he was thinking this, a cat purred and came to his left leg, brush itself on his leg. He picked it up; and stared at it. It was covered in blood. It purred again. "I bet you saw who the killer is! This time," he said it out loud to himself. "Bag some sample DNA from the cat, it has some blood on it," ordered Detective Sullivan.
Earlier on that week before the horrific crime took place…
"You are the luckiest man alive my friend," said the prison guard. He was talking to Peter O’ Toole who has been released from the prison. He was one of the few prisoners released on the Presidential Pardon for his birthday as president of the country.
"I didn't ask for this," said Peter, scowling. He did not like the idea that he was to go to the outside. He didn't see life after prison. He grew up in prison; from being a foster child growing without a family and in foster care all his life; which led him to the life of crime. He had been in prison all his life. When he entered the prison system, he was only sixteen years old. Now he was fifty years. 'What will an old man like me do on the outside?' He thought to himself. What will he do on the outside? Who did he know? He continued to think. This worried him a lot. Suddenly he had an idea. Since he was released without his asking, then he will go out. But then he will return to prison sooner than they thought. He was to be released on Tuesday, a day from today, and on Friday he was planning to be back into prison. Peter smiled shrewdly.
"Lights out," shouted the prison guard. Suddenly all lights went out, the block where Peter's cell was, went dark. Peter signed as he listened to the footsteps of the guard as he walked away. Slowly he drifted into sleep.
At the police station….
"What’s his name again?" Asked Detective Sullivan.
"His name is Peter O’Toole," answered the Coroner. "The cause of death is a stab wound with a sharp object to the heart. He died from heavy bleeding which probably took for about five minutes or so, He suffered from a hemorrhage, he must have first suffered a mild heart attack," continued the Coroner. "I see his file says that he had been released from prison just two days ago!" Sullivan said, "He was one of the presidential pardon prisoners," he continued.
He shook his head; confused by the whole case. Why would a free man want to go back to prison, who was the woman he killed to him? How did they know each other? Who killed him or was he killed along with the woman by another killer? Who killed them? What had happened to the murder weapon? Why were there no fingerprints or footprints in the crime scene, only cat paws prints? Why was the prisoner’s blood on the cat? How did it get there? All these questions ran through his mind as he was reading the case file. And most of all, there was no suspect. Detective Sullivan then called his partner Detective Powell and asked him about the woman who was murdered. He found out that the woman was a self-proclaimed witch. The cat found in the house was her familiar. The detective learned that a familiar was any animal that a witch keeps with her because they believed that it was a reincarnated soul of another good witch. Suddenly he started laughing at himself. What was he thinking? Did the cat kill the man to avenge its owner? Did it really turn into a human? But all the evidence shows that the cat did! The more he thought of this idea, the harder he laughed at himself. The Coroner who was in the next room came and peeked through the door to see what was happening.
"What is so funny?" He asked, surprised; because he had never heard Sullivan laughed this much before.
"Oh nothing," replied Sullivan, shaking his head, still laughing at himself. He walked out of his office. As he was leaving the building, it occurred to him that may be he should go back to the crime scene again. When he arrived, he found a policeman in uniform outside, flashed his badge and entered the place. He went around inside the house trying to see if he could find anything that might have been missed in the beginning when they were processing the crime scene. As he stood there; suddenly, a shadow moved a few feet away from where he was standing. He jumped and took out his gun and ran after it.
It had gone into the bedroom. His heart was beating fast. He felts as if someone was pounding it with a hammer. He was sweating too. "Come out with your hands in the air," ordered Sullivan. His hands were shaking. The gun in his hand was moving up and down as if he were trying to shoot a fly. "I said come out," he screamed. Nothing moved. It was silence. He could feel the tenseness in the house. It was so tense that one could actually cut it with a knife. Again, still no one came out.
Suddenly he saw something like a tail thrusting from the door of the bedroom. It was a cat’s tail. He rubbed his eyes, not believing what he was seeing. "I said come out," he screamed again for the second time. Still nothing came out from the bedroom except for the tail of a cat sticking out which was motionless too. He now used his gun to push open the door to have a clear view of the bedroom inside. Then the cat jumped into the bed, which made him to jump too. He fired a shot out of fear, screaming almost to the point of swearing. The policeman outside rushed into the house to see what was happening. Detective Sullivan calmed him down telling him it was a mistake. The cat had jumped and frightened him and he fired a shot by mistake.
The cat was sitting on the bed purring, it was looking at both of them. It had piercing eyes and its tail was moving up and down as if it was excited to see them. Sullivan stood still, staring at it. Finally the other policeman left the room and went outside. Sullivan went into the bedroom. He shut the door behind him. He put on his crime scene gloves. He looked around to see if anyone was seeing him. Then slowly he moved towards a picture that was on the wall. The large picture looked expensive. He stood before it, looking at it as if he were lost into the painter’s thoughts when he was painting the picture. The cat purred. His focus moved from the picture to the cat. Then his hands moved towards the picture, and slowly removed it and brought it down from the wall. He placed it on the bed. He noticed something. Behind the brown cover at the back of the picture was a small compartment. He also noticed that there was something reddish on the brown cover. It was Just like a small dot; difficult to see to the human eyes if care was not taken. So he moved closer to see. Yes, it confirmed his suspicions, it was blood.
Since he had his gloves on, he slowly and carefully used tweezers that he took out from his jacket and opened the compartment from the back of the picture. He did this with such precision; one would actually swear that he was a surgeon performing a major surgery. Finally it opened. He was sweating. You would think there was a bomb in that picture. Then he saw it. It was the murder weapon. It was a large samurai knife. It had dried blood on it. 'The blood will have to be tested for DNA and this would help identify the killer or suspect,' he thought to himself. He removed the knife from the picture. He paused and stared at it. A twisted smile was showing from the left corner of his mouth. He then removed a small bag from the left pocket of his jacket; he place the knife inside it and returned it in his jacket. Again like a nurse sewing stitches on a patient, he returned the brown cover on the picture. After he had done everything, he returned the picture back on the wall.
Sullivan left the room and walked out of the house. He passed the policeman who was standing there and went straight to his car. As he was about to enter the car, he saw the cat staring at him from the window in the house. He stood there. Fear gripped him as his eyes met with shallow eyes of the cat. He now knew what he had to do with cat, even if he had to force it to confess, cat or familiar, he needed a closure on this case. He slowly walked back to the house. "This cat needs to be taken to animal control center," he told the policeman. The man just nodded. "Here," he continued as he picked up the cat, "I will do it myself," spoke Sullivan again. He went back to his car with the cat, entered and drove off.
Later that evening on the prime news on the television…
"The two corpses that were found today had been identified by the police. The man’s body belonged to Mr. Peter O’Toole who was a recent beneficiary parolee from the presidential pardon just two days ago. Mr. O’Toole was found murdered with a stab wound on the chest. It is also suspected that he might have suffered a mild heart attack before his untimely demise. The other body belonged to a Miss Glen, who; it has since been discovered that she was the girlfriend of Detective Sullivan who has since vanished without a trace. It is alleged that Detective Sullivan knew Miss Glen before but failed to declare it to the investigators. It is also alleged that he was suspecting his girlfriend; Miss Glen, for cheating on him. Detective Sullivan is known for his bad streaks of short temper and had been on two occasions suspended for police brutality and excessive force. The whereabouts of Detective Sullivan is still unknown since he was last seen at the crime scene with a cat that he said he was taking to animal control center which he never made the trip. In other news…"