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Zaltrac was not himself anymore, he slept dreaming about nabbing the psycho and Avinash kept murdering one after one to quench his thirst for blood. It had been more than 22 days since they both had shaved their heads but nothing had changed. Avinash had visited the barber three days ago and Zaltrac had just shaved his head again using a razor his uncle had gifted him.

The city was shivering with daily murders and yet there was no progress on the case. Zaltrac’s superiors had started believing that he had lost his mind and had decided to pull him off the case. It was now or never. Bangalore Psycho had become an International topic of discussion and the incapability to nab him was affecting the city’s reputation. 27 murders had taken place already and each of them had a scent of a rotten egg lingering somewhere nearby.

Unable to handle the heat, the commissioner had called Zaltrac down to the headquarters. Zaltrac knew exactly what was about to happen as he took his seat in the plush office.

“You look sick.” The commissioner replied.

“I have been better but I will be fine once again when I bring down that bastard.”

“You are going nowhere with the case. 27 murders later, you are still stuck with his appearance and some clues which are as useless as you on this case.”

“I know that.”

“I want you to hand over the case to Prafful Kuriens straightaway. He is coming down from Mumbai in the afternoon.”

“I knew you would call the supercop down but I can assure you he cannot do anything about it.”

“Leave that to me, you are to take over Mysore crime branch with immediate effect, and for god’s sake stop smoking so much. I thought you had quit, you smell and leek of nicotine.”

“That is a personal thing but anyway I have already forwarded my resignation to your secretary. Please do accept it, I cannot live with guilt of a failed case and serve elsewhere.”

“You are completely aware that it is not possible. Resignation is not an option.”

“I will not take up any other case, Sir.”

“Then you will be flagged as an absconder.”

“We have not caught a serial killer who is absolutely insane, and you think you can nab a man like me with years of experience on handling criminals.”

“I will leave that choice up to you. Bangalore does not need your nonsensical attitude anymore.”

“Do you know why we have not caught him yet?”

“Enlighten me.” The commissioner shrugged sipping his cup of tea.

“The psycho knows us, he thinks like us. He kills at places where there is a blind spot. No CCTV has captured him even on the roads, he is smart, he is frustrated and he is angry for some weird reason and angry men are hard to catch if they are wise enough to understand the system.”

“Bullshit.”

“Then, I will take your leave, sir.”

Zaltrac walked away in silence as the commissioner continued sipping his tea. It was raining in Bangalore again but today was a bit different. Zaltrac called up Janak only to be notified that he had been assigned to the incoming officer from Mumbai.

A few hours later, inside the VIP lounge of Bangalore International Airport, the sweeper found egg shells in the restroom. As he opened the door, his eyes laid rest on a tall man who was stabbed in the eye. In his hand was a boarding pass from Mumbai.

The psycho had killed Prafful Kuriens before he could even enter Bangalore. The news spread like wildfire and by evening, Zaltrac received a call from Janak.

“Sir, where are you?”

“Enjoying a cup of tea on some hill with a cigarette!”

“Prafful Kuriens was killed at the airport.”

“It was bound to happen, I told the commissioner the psycho thinks like us and is always a step ahead.”

“I have a doubt, sir.”

“Shoot away, Janak.”

“Why didn’t he try and kill you?”

Zaltrac laughed and took another puff of smoke, felt his bald head and replied bluntly.

“Maybe he wants me to play the game. Remember, he sent me clues initially as to where the murders will happen, and as the days passed by he started posting on Reddit. We could not figure out when and where he would kill again despite that, maybe he wants us to figure it out.”

“So, what will you do now, Sir?”

“Enjoy my tea and enjoy the game, and see the downfall of this great city.”

Zaltrac was drenched in rain as he kept the call but somehow the rains felt different today. He had just gone rogue to play the game in a better way. Avinash was in the city somewhere planning his next kill. He hadn’t killed anyone in the past two days and he was eager to strike again.

 

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Death does not need to be invited. It arrives when it has to and there is no escaping it. Some of us help others to escape it and some of us ensure it arrives sooner. Agents of death, if you may call them or in plain words, cold blooded serial killers who do not give a fuck about your feeling and emotions. The value of a human life in their eyes is as low as the respect we have for humanity these days.

Death is but a wish we all strive for in the end.

Zaltrac was waiting for “Bangalore Psycho” at 1800 hours outside a numerologist’s house in Jayangar. He had shortlisted 5 more numerologists and stationed police escorts outside their houses as well but the psycho never came.

Zaltrac was on his smoking marathon waiting for the serial killer to arrive but he didn’t turn up till 9 pm. 4 cigarettes later, he got a call from Janak.

“Sir, 4 people have been murdered at the TV7 headquarters.”

“How?”

“These 4 people were waiting in the green room for the live broadcast where they were stabbed in the eye.”

“Were they numerologists, Janak?” Zaltrac clinched his fists.

“Yes, sir.”

“How the fuck did we miss them?” Zaltrac shouted and sighed simultaneously.

“They were from different cities who had come down for the show. One was from Mumbai, two were from Pune and one was from Haridwar.”

“I am going to shove my hand up this guy’s ass and make him squeak when I catch him.” Zaltrac closed his eyes and inhaled to calm himself down.

Avinash sat in the barber’s chair as shaving foam fell off his forehead into his lap. In the background, a shady Bollywood song was playing which clearly had no sensible interpretation. A few minutes later, he felt his head by running his hands. A clean shaven head with a heavy stubble made him feel like a hippie but deep inside his soul, he was a monster who had tasted the joy of killing. He wanted more blood.

Why does anyone kill?

To satisfy ego or inflict revenger or pain.

Why does anyone kill again and again?

No fucking soul except the killer knows.

Human psychology is a weird subject and mostly, there are no explanations for a lot of phenomenons. Bangalore Psycho had already become a phenomenal case study for local psychologists,  and for Zaltrac it had become an egotistical issue.

He took a vow that he will shave his head daily until he grabs hold of the psycho, and so in a hair salon not far away he shaved his head too.

Now, there were two bald people, both frustrated with their lives, both addicted to nicotine ready to run behind each other and satisfy their ego. The city was to be their battleground.

Zaltrac looked at his phone as he walked out of the Barber shop. It was a message from Janak.

“ 2 Killed in Koramangala, matrimony match makers, stabbed in the eye, rotten egg all over their desk.”

 

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Darkness often originates in places where we least expect it to and sometimes in places where it is pretty obvious. What more can you expect from a child who has not seen a night where there is no chaos at home. Avinash lay still in the grasslands as he fathomed inside his mind to find a plan of action. He wanted to end his life as well but he could not gather the courage. There was nothing left for him in the morbid world anymore.

He had killed his own parents, and then he had killed her brutally as well. He looked at his hands against the backdrop of the sky. He wished they never shook again but that was something he had gotten used to; from the very first day he realized that his father was a drunken monster.

Next to him on the dew laden grass sat a newspaper he had bought on the way. The 3^rd page of the newspaper had headlines that sprouted confusion inside him.

Bangalore Psycho – Serial Killer On The Loose In Bangalore

“In a startling revelation by the city police, a serial killer has been identified in Bangalore. He stabs people in the eye, throws rotten eggs around and has no said pattern with his victims. Officials believe that he is a lunatic with no purpose in life and perhaps is a deranged soul.

The Police are yet to reveal more details but the officer in charge of the case has stated that they are just one step away from nabbing the psycho killer.

Press Trust Of Bangalore “

At times, even if you want to lay low and be unseen, your ego does not let you do so. Avinash stood up, lighted a cigar and watched the newspaper burn. He picked up the knife and concealed it in his velvet bag. As he walked towards his car, he searched for the keys ruthlessly only to discover it inside his car.

He put the car in neutral and started pushing it. He kept pushing it for an hour, in the humid weather, against the heat of the sun until he reached the lake in the middle of the grassland. The car was buried under water. For him, it had been days since he took a bath, for his car, it was just a moment ago.

Zaltrac was reading the newspaper article he had asked to be published. It is always about satisfying your silly ego!

Janak walked in with an envelope in his hand. It was addressed to Zaltrac. Janak took his permission and tore the envelope gently. Zaltrac looked on at the activity with a cigarette in his mouth. I need to quit smoking again, godamn!

Inside the envelope was a small letter. Janak handed it over to Zaltrac who stubbed his cigarette and read it. There will be times in your life that even the most morose and mundane things will seem exciting and yet there will be times when even the most exciting things may seem morbidly morose.

Zaltrac laughed and swiveled around in his chair. He knew he had hurt the Psycho’s ego.

He placed the letter on the table and asked Janak to bring in the entire team. It was time to play games.

Janak walked away and Zaltrac read the letter again.

1800 Hours

Next  Murder, 27 year Old Numerologist

Catch Me If You Can!

 

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A few months ago, Avinash was sipping his cup of tea when his father initiated a conversation with him. It was a Sunday afternoon and even his mother joined in for the sake of it.

“What are your plans for the future?”

“I want to kill her.” He replied to his father vehemently.

“Talk like an adult. Get over with it, she left you, deal with it.” His father tried putting some sense into his dilapidated mind.

“Did I ever stop you when you used to come drunk and beat the shit out of my mother? I never did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Stay away from my life, else I will kill you and kill mother also because she is too devoted to you despite being mistreated all her life.”

“Your son has lost his senses.” His father started screaming at his mother.

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Zaltrac had stopped near a tea shop outside the town hoping to find answers from all the possible clues that had crawled up. His cigarette count had gone up again. He looked at his forearms as he let go of some smoke from his cleansed mouth. His father had stubbed a cigarette on his arm when he was still 9. It was his way of punishing Zaltrac for not sleeping on time.

Long hair- rotten eggs – number plates

Why are you killing people? Zaltrac wanted to ask the Bangalore Psycho as soon as he caught him but that seemed like a distant dream. Janak had raided the address picked up from the number plates. The entire house was empty. The kitchen had been burned down and one of the rooms had a huge graffiti on the wall.

“You should Have Killed Me Instead”

It was written in blood and it had been sent for DNA profiling. Now, they also had the DNA of the killer but there weren’t any new leads since the past 3 days. No new murders, no new victims and no new clues or witnesses.

The same day, somewhere near Banshankari, Avinash opened the elevator doors and knocked on the door. As soon as the women opened the door, he stabbed her in the eye. As she fell to the floor, and begged for mercy, he went to the kitchen and broke a few eggs in the kitchen sink. He washed his hands, and came back to the hall and stood over her.

He opened his hair and lifted the knife above his head. For the next 15 minutes, he kept stabbing her till there was not an inch which was not perched. He went to the kitchen again and washed the knife, tied his hair again and popped a cigar in his mouth. His hands started shaking again. Amazingly, they never shook when he held the knife in his hand. His mind suddenly went back in time when he was a 7 year old. His father was kicking her mother on the bed while he hid under it. He was a drunken monster who did not even have the balls to talk and apologize in the morning. He feared his father, and every time he saw his father at night, his hands started shaking. It was a reaction over which he had no control.

A child idolizes his father, even if he is a monster!

A few minutes later, Zaltrac’s phone rang.

“Sir, Janak this side. One more murder has taken place in Banshankari. Victim is stabbed in the eye, and rotten eggs were found in the kitchen sink. This time he stabbed her all over the body multiple times.”

“I thought he would not kill again.”

“He has and that too very brutally, sir.”

“I am on my way.”

“One more thing, Sir.”

“Tell me.”

“The victim, Akshara, was friends with our previous victim, other than that she has nothing to do with any sort of astrological practices.”

Avinash lay still on the grasslands outside Hessarghata. He had dug the knife next to him and was watching the sun burn him up.  He was hungry, sick and fatigued all at once.

I didn’t want to kill again but I just couldn’t stop myself. She had to die; she instigated her to leave me because I was not good enough.

Once, you have tasted blood, you will make others bleed, again and again.

 

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He had killed her with his knife and concealed the weapon next to his chest again. She was hardly 5 feet 5 inches and yet she felt like a burden to him. He picked her body up and climbed down the stairs towards his car. He placed her on the backseat and drove towards the main junction. He was suddenly filled with guilt of murdering someone, his brain had malfunctioned according to him and deep inside he was fighting his inner demons. In the rear view mirror he could see her lying still. His heart told him to save her and his mind wanted to stab her again.

He applied the brakes, took out his knife again, jumped onto the back seat, and started stabbing her again. In a final move, he stabbed her in the eyes, and scratched her palms completely. At around half past midnight, he threw her body out on the bridge connecting JP Nagar and Jayanagar, tied his hair and drove away. Unknowingly, he had smeared blood all over his hair. The velvet bag he had tied to his chest was half torn and the knife was now poking his chest hair.

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He did not stop until he reached the toll gate near the airport. He came out of the car in a hurry, took out a cigar from his pockets and lighted it from the hot silencer which was still fuming because of the breakneck speed it had just undergone. He placed his back on the bonnet and took a puff overlooking a plane which had just taken off. It was around 2 hours past midnight; the blood had dried in his hairs and on his hands. He took the cigar and pushed it in his forearms. He badly wanted to scream but he did not.

Never think twice before killing someone, even if it is your ex-lover!

Zaltrac woke up from his abrupt sleep to find his phone vibrating. He had just taken a few sleeping pills to ease his restlessness. It was Janak who had been calling him from the past 1 hour. He looked at the wall clock in front of him, and then at the empty house that greeted him. Nobody ever called him at 4:30 in the morning but today was different. He opened his eyes to the cigarette buds he had left on the table and a phone which he had forgotten to charge.

“Yes, Janak, what happened?”

“A girl, 25 years, stabbed in the eyes but this time thrown out in the road.”

“Rotten eggs? Or anything related to her trade?”

“Her palms are completely scratched, and there are broken eggs around her.”

“What was she?”

“A Palmist, she read palms and predicted the future.”

“It is him, then. I am on my way, send the body to forensics and avoid any media interaction till I come. Let’s just hope we have at least one clue he has left behind.”

Around 8 hours later, at the Bangalore Traffic Police headquarters, Janak and Zaltrac were browsing through the CCTV footage of the bridge. It was a red sedan in which the killer had escaped. They could only see his back, and him tying his long hair.

“At least now we know his height, his basic physical description. We also have his car identity. Check the registration numbers.” Zaltrac asked Janak while he sipped his tea.

“Already did. The present owner is some guy named Avinash who stays in Shivaji Nagar.”

“What are you waiting for, then?”

“His death was reported around 3 weeks ago.”

“Then the killer must have stolen it.”

“Their descriptions match.”

“It must be a co-incidence.” Zaltrac screamed.

“Sir, what is the probability that two guys with the same height, same style of long hairs and with no fingerprints would be driving the same car?”

“What do you mean? No fingerprints?”

“The guy whose death was reported, his hands were burnt. The killer we are chasing, he has no fingerprints. See in the CCTV footage, he has not even wearing any gloves.”

“I still believe it is a co-incidence, Janak.” Zaltrac affirmatively replied.

“Alright, sir.”

24 days ago, Avinash had gone to the police station to report his own death. A fake doctor certificate along with the documents from the crematorium, he had filed a missing report for his parents as well. In his wallet was a picture, a small passport sized photograph of a short heighted girl who lived in JP Nagar, and worked as a palmist. He had always wanted to kill her, and for that he had made up a huge plan to distract the police.

Every life taken is a distraction!

Although he never wanted to poison his parents but they would have never understood his goals, his goal of tasting blood every night to calm his inner demons. For him, his knife was his wife now and his hands which shook were his enemy.

When you’re insane, humanity goes for a toss!

 

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“Anymore reports of deaths in the city with rotten eggs and peeled out eye sockets?” Zaltrac asked Janak as he sipped his tea. The cigarette was still in his hand. He was yet to make up his mind if he wanted to smoke or not.

“Not yet, sir.”

The 10 by 12 cubicle reeked of cardamom. Zaltrac preferred his tea with a strong aroma. It should awaken my dead nostrils is what he always told the tea vendor outside his office. He had not slept peacefully in the past 2 days, and pressure from the media had started to pile up.

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One of the newspapers read, “Psycho Killer Loose in Bangalore, Police Unable To Track Him Down.”

Another newspaper read, “The Dreaded Times Of Bangalore Psycho”

“Janak, why does anyone become a serial killer according to you?”

“They need closure or attention or primarily they despise a particular section of society.”

“True! His first victim was a Tarot Card reader and the second was an astrologer.”

“He hates the section of the society which predicts the future?” Janak threw in a question to keep the brainstorming moving forward.

“Or he hates people who mislead others into believing nonsensical things. That is how I see it.”

Janak smiled, took the last sip of his tea and walked out of the door. He had an appointment with the Forensic team. Zaltrac lighted his cigarette finally, inhaled a huge chunk of death inside his lungs and let go.

Rotten eggs!

Knife in the eyes!

Far away, the ‘Bangalore Psycho’ woke up from his deep slumber. His mother on the left was numb and the father on the right was still. He had only shut thee, up by poisoning their food. Every morning, he used to wake up and see their blue faces and close the jute bag again. He hugged his mother’s body in the night at times and cried. Sometimes, even he had no clue why he was on this path but this was his destiny. He picked up the knife again and hid it in a small velvet bag that he could keep against his chest. He tied the bag to his chest and tied it up with muslin. He had not washed his clothes from a month so he sniffed everything and wore a shirt which had the least unpleasant smell.

He opened a small notepad from his trousers, and read the next name on the list. The list had to be obeyed!

201, Leeway Abode

J P Nagar 6^th Phase

Janice Patterson

Palmist

 Zaltrac on the other hand was still in his cubicle hoping to hear from Janak and the forensic team. He had finished 3 cigarettes by now. He looked at his phone every now and then to remind himself that his phone was still functional. A man without a family and a social life hardly gets any messages.

The cubicle was filled with smoke and a tinge of cardamom, and Zaltrac was filled with questions he did not have answers to. Janak came in running disturbing Zaltrac’s mental retreat.

“No fingerprints at all. No substantial clue, nothing at all.”

“The Bangalore Psycho is very clever as well, just not an emotional fool.”

28 days ago, in a rural bar somewhere far from his parent’s dead bodies, a man named Avinash was rubbing rum all over his hands. In an instant he let his lighter go crazy on his hands till the flesh was barbecued ever so lightly.

No skin, no fingerprints.

 

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The jeep drove past the Silk Board signal even as buses from the other side were trying to cross the signal. Zaltrac had put up the siren above and the noise made him feel nauseated. He had hated sirens from his childhood as they reminded him of his father. He was only 9 back then when his father was murdered by his uncle in the local flea market and by the time the Ambulance screeched in blaring its sirens, it was too late.

“Sir, we are here.” The driver disturbed his chains of thoughts.

Zaltrac got down from the jeep and asked the driver to fetch him some cigarettes. He hadn’t smoked in a week and all he wanted to do was break them or just light them up to hear the crackling of tobacco. In front of him stood a huge 40 storey building and behind him were scared residents of the housing society. Everyone had gathered around the jeep mumbling up their doubts and queries.

Zaltrac ignore all of them and opened up his phone to check for the mail in which he had received the address of the crime scene. He looked around momentarily and walked towards elevator. At the reception desk on his way up, he was stopped by a man wearing a white shirt and a trouser.

“You must be the president of the housing society?” Zaltrac asked him.

“No, I am the treasurer here. The President is the victim. My name is Virat Bhai.”

“Makes sense, white clothes suit only the rich ones. It is easier for them to cover up their black souls behind them.” Zaltrac remarked as he pressed the elevator button for the 13^th floor.

“I am sorry, I do not get you.” Virat Bhai replied back.

“It happens, I understand. The truth is hard to digest when you play with lies more often than not.”

“Are you a nutbag? Who sent you on this case here? Why are you talking here in riddles?”

“All the residents are shit scared out there, and yet you are extremely calm and flashing your gold chain which you must have probably bought after looting one of your business client. There is no riddle here and to answer your first question, I sent myself for this case.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Virat Bhai turned his face away as the elevator slowly made its way past the 5^th floor.

“Nor do I. Wait till I reach the 13^th floor and you can take the same lift back. Do not forget to tell all residents that the investigating officer is a total nutbag.”

It was the corner most apartment on the 13^th floor. Everyone had the same design on their door except the one in question. There was a huge sculpture of Ganesha on the door and there was no handle as well. The door opened only from the inside.

Wonder what they do when everyone has to go outside!

The body was decorated on the dining table in the living room. Glass pieces and a few fishes lay scattered across the floor with intermittent puddles of water. Someone just him with an aquarium!

“Janak, what did you find out?” Zaltrac screamed out loud. The driver came in running by this time with a pack of cigarettes and handed it over.

Janak came walking in from the kitchen and asked the driver to wait outside.

“Sir, I have cleaned the kitchen.” Janak informed Zaltrac.

“When did I ask you to clean the kitchen here? It was in the previous crime scene.” Zaltrac furiously looked at Janak.

“There were rotten eggs here as well in the kitchen sink.”

“What else?” Zaltrac sighed.

“Male, 38 years, stabbed in the heart twice and once in the eye. He lived with his aged mother who is also missing. Neighbors told me that she never left the house.”

“Hence, there was no handle on the door from the outside and yet she is missing today when her son is murdered.”

“We also found a magnifying glass, some beads and a Hindu calendar smeared with blood in the balcony.”

“We have a serious issue at our hand. A serial killer, who stabs people in their eyes, throws rotten eggs in their sinks and disposes off tools of predictions. First, the tarot cards and now the magnifying glass used to read hands, and the Hindu calendar to predict the future.”

“Only two incidents have been reported so far, Sir.”

“Oh, he will kill again. He hates people who predict future and misguides people. That is his motive and there are plenty of them out there. Get me a list of all the famous astrologers, tarot readers and everyone who does similar shenanigans.”

A few miles away, with his hair still tied, the killer entered his small cottage. He untied his long hairs and dried with a cotton towel. He threw the knife on the bed and took off his pants to nurse the small wound the knife had caused near his groin while he was walking swiftly.  I need something better to conceal my weapon!

He wiped his body with a solution of alcohol and hot water while he stood in front of the mirror admiring his deeds today. He picked up the knife from the bed and his hands started shaking again. He was fed up of his physical shortcoming, there was no control over his hands when they shook and it drove him even more insane.

He took the knife high up in the air and kicked the bed aside. Below the bed were two bodies concealed in jute bags. He stabbed both of them until he lost his breathe and he slept next to them.

A month ago, his parents were reported missing but only he knew the truth behind it.

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