Drip...Drip...Drip…

“Ughh…” As the dark room slowly came into focus Alan cringed from the intense pain in his head. The pain was so severe that the kitchen faucet, which was a room over, was enough to intensify it. As he groggily brought himself to stand he realized that something was wrong. He found himself standing over a leather couch instead of his cheap futon. “Where the hell am I?” he said as he stumbled towards what he perceived was the kitchen of this apartment, no, house? His pain overcame his confusion as he continued into the kitchen to put an end to the incessant dripping.

As Alan approached the faucet he reached out and turned on the cold water. After a quick splash of water on his face he shut it off and gave both knobs as much pressure as he could muster. “Thank fucking god.” He said while massaging his temples. After he slumped to the floor with his back against the cabinet he began to nod off.

Drip…Drip…Drip…

‘You have got to be kidding me.’ Alan thought, he wished for nothing more than to sleep so that he could deal with this situation in the morning. He took one deep breath and willed himself to stand.

The trip back to where he woke involved a stubbed pinkie toe and a round of cursing. Once the pain in his foot subsided Alan was standing at the bottom of a large staircase. He brought his head over the bannister and turned to look up. What greeted him was a thick drop of liquid in his eye. “Shi-“ Before he could finish the four letter word all hell broke loose behind him.

“GO NOW!”

The windows exploded and Alan’s entire world went white.

“ON THE GROUND HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!”

Alan complied, what other choice was there? He felt himself lifted and constrained by a zip-tie around his wrist. By the time he felt fresh air on his face his vision began to clear and he understood a few things.

One, he was in a richer neighborhood than he ever deserved to be in. The houses were modestly sized but they looked impeccable and their driveways contained cars he could only own on a poster. Two, he was pretty sure the foreign object digging in his back was a shotgun judging by what the SWAT team members were carrying as they flanked him on the way down the front yard. And three, he was not falling asleep anytime soon. This Alan deduced by noting the disregard of his captor as Alan’s head met the roof of the police cruiser that he was now sitting in.

Alan lifted his head to take a look at his reflection in the window. “Damn am I bleeding?” He looked even closer before realizing that it was dry. ‘Where did the blood come from? Did I wake up like that?’ As his brain struggled to keep up with everything going on, something clicked. “Oh fuck…”

. . . .

“Alan Messer…white, male, 27 years old, single, no living relatives, college student...for seven years? Any contacts for questioning, Agent Correa?” said the aged man behind his desk. “Yes sir, we are talking to his professors and supposed friends as we speak.” replied the smartly dressed woman standing rigidly in the center of the room.

The two people having this conversation worked for the FBI and were currently posted up in the local police station. A knock at the door told them that their next pieces of information had arrived. Agent Correa immediately left the room and returned with her face buried in a manila folder. “Messer’s story matches with what his friends gave us, he went on a date with someone who he had been speaking to on a dating app for the past week and then blacked out when he got back to her home. His toxicology report also came back with traces of zolpidem, a common sleep aid, and alcohol. Surprised he woke up.” she said candidly before she continued. “Psych also gave him a once over and with what his acquaintances are saying about him they believe him sound of mind. I don’t know if we can hold him.”

“What about the girl? There was only one body and it was male.” The man behind the desk was getting visibly agitated. “Me-Messer said her name was Jenny and that is all, he’s helping us work up a composite photo as we speak.” Correa’s composure was beginning to waver under the tension in the room. The man stood up and put his hands on the desk which was Correa’s one barrier between them. “Are you telling me the first solid clue we have in the largest serial killer case in the history of the United States is a kid who got date raped and a bullshit picture of a girl who we don’t even know is real?” he roared. “Well sir we have witness accounts of him with the girl but no clear details on her appearance, nothing solid on camera either. Also forensics doesn’t think he had intercourse last night.” Correa said as calmly as possible. The man slammed his hands on the table as he sat back down.

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT IF HE GOT LAID OR NOT, GET ME THE FUCKING PICTURE AND LET HIM GO BEFORE YOU GIVE ME A FUCKING STD REPORT ON HIM!”

“Actually they swabbed him and th-“

“I SAID GO!”

Correa removed herself from the room as quickly as humanly possible before bending forward and taking a large breath. She looked up at the sign on the door which read Senior Special Agent Matthews, she frowned and made her way downstairs.

. . . .

Alan sat down as the officer left him in the empty office. This seemed like the first time that he was able to think throughout this whole ordeal. ‘Sigh…my dick hurts.’ He still hasn’t been given a clear explanation on what has happened to him, all he could do is wallow in pain and fatigue. Just when he thought he could finally get some sleep he heard the door open. When he looked up he saw a beautiful Hispanic woman. She was shorter than him by a head with dark brown hair which matched her light brown skin. He wasn’t done taking in the sight before she ruined the mood with her serious tone.

“Hello Mr. Messer I am Special Agent Correa. As you know we found you in the middle of a crime scene with a dead body impaled onto the ceiling, I am sure you have some questions.” Her tone went unchanged as she casually mentioned the murder. “Unfortunately this is a federal investigation and you aren’t qualified enough to ask questions. I will explain the situation to the extent of what I am allowed to tell you.”

‘And here I thought I was going to be treated like a human being for a second…’ Alan couldn’t take any more of this.

Correa continued without reacting to Alan’s visible frustration. “- this would mark the 84th murder in the Collector case if forensics confirms it.”

Alan stood up straight and stared blankly. There was only one Collector that he knew about and it was the most fucked up thing he has heard about in his life. Over the past 30 years there have been murders across North America with no distinct pattern other than three things: the victims were always male, they were always mutilated beyond recognition, and they were all missing a single bone in their body. The bone was never the same and not a single person has gained any solid evidence or description. Hell, there were no dots to connect whatsoever. The fact that he was even in the same town as this monster made him want to piss himself, but he was in the same house!

Alan started pacing in the office. “This can’t be the same one, if it were I would be dead.” He pointed at her. “You know this.” Correa stood and tried to ease him back into his seat. “Please relax Mr. Messer, given the evidence we found we must proceed as if it was the same person. With your description of the woman you spent the night with we have a lead, albeit a weak one.”

This was too much, he did not want to be responsible for this one piece of evidence. He would always be looking over his shoulder, he was a loose end. “H-How would that even help? I know that you guys think it’s a woman but these murders have been happening for 30 years! There is no way I went out on a date with a lunatic cougar that can pin someone to the fucking ceiling!” This situation was getting crazier by the second. He couldn’t help but think of last night, Jenny was mesmerizing and he knew they had a genuine connection. Why did everything have to go to shit? What had happened to him, to her?

Before he knew it he was being walked out of the office. “..and this is my cell phone number. You are to let me know of anything you remember or if anything new happens. We will also keep in contact with you until this local investigation is finished. I hope you feel better Mr. Messer.”

“Y-Yea, sure.” That was all Alan could muster at this point. He went through the procedure to get his belongings and was soon on his way back to his apartment.

By the time he reached his apartment Alan realized that it had been a full day since he had left it. He connected his phone to his charger and turned it on, what he saw was too many notifications to count. Friends and acquaintances all wanting to know what the hell happened. ‘Join the club’ he thought. He collapsed on his bed and turned on the TV. What her saw was the same photo he had helped the FBI with. It resembled Jenny but he didn’t think it would be enough to pick her out of a crowd. She just had something…more about her. You probably couldn’t even photograph her and see a strong resemblance. As he started to drift to sleep he thought about that date, and her.