Through the Eyes of Madness—Part Nineteen
By: David K. Montoya

Grayson gripped the wheel as he sped along the weathered asphalt, he fought back the urge—the need to get his hands on the man who he believed to have killed Betty. The Killer had made his onslaught personal with the young detective, and in return, he wanted to enact the most personal revenge by ending the Copy Cat's life.

When Grayson saw a sign only a few feet in front of him his heart raced. It read:

Miller's Court Mobile Home Estates

Without a single glance, Grayson snatched up a microphone to his CB Radio and pushed the talk bar: "This is Detective Copeland, I have a visual on the suspect's location, over?"

Tidwell looked down at the CB Radio in his own vehicle and spat, "Shit," the older detective picked up his mic and responded, "Copy that Gray, what the fuck did you do? Run every red light from the station?"

Without a word said, Grayson leaned forward and clicked off his radio.

Tidwell lowered the microphone and waited for his partner to respond, but there was only silence.

Grayson slowly turned into the entrance way of the trailer park, breaking the vehicle's pace slowed to a crawl. He looked from left to right as he said, "Space thirteen. Space thirteen."

Tidwell in full realization of the current situation, brought the mic back up to his mouth and shouted, "Grayson! Do not proceed without backup! Do you copy?! DO NOT GO IN ALONE!"

In a combination of frustration and anger, Tidwell threw the microphone to the floor and stepped on the car's accelerator. He banged his fists on the steering wheel and cursed, "Dumb fucking cock–hard punk! Bloody fucking hell!"

Grayson stopped in front of space ten, and slowly moved from his car around to the back and popped his trunk. Inside, he removed a dark blue bullet–proof vest that read POLICE on the back in yellow letters and slipped it over his shirt. After a brief moment of thought, grabbed up a Mossberg 590 pump–action riot shotgun, with 20–inch barrel—the kind of gun that would do more than kill a person, it would physically destroy them.

He used his elbow to close the trunk, and with his weapon readied, Grayson begin his march toward the trailer that sat in space thirteen.

Grayson watched out of his peripheral vision at the people who rubbernecked as he walked by. On the outside, the young detective appeared cool and calm, but on the inside was actually quite the opposite. He felt his heart as it rapidly beat in his neck, it was a healthy dose of excitement and fear.

As if it was on cue, the dark clouds which were overhead begin to release its storage of rain water in a flash flood once Grayson stepped onto Space thirteen. He ran to the closest corner of the mobile home and knelled down. With his safety secure and the weapon leaned against his inner thigh, Grayson removed a pair of tactical gloves and slipped them on.

Now, with the ability to hold his riot gun in the rain, he picked up his weapon and while remaining in a crouching position quickly moved toward the trailer's front door. Grayson moved cautiously up a set of large wooden stairs on to a platform that was the entry way.

Grayson reached out and carefully opened the front door.

A strong musk awaited for him as he stepped inside, it was an odor of a vacant house. Am I too late? Grayson thought to himself as he stepped inside and found that he stood in a very small kitchen area. It was dark, very little light made it inside the trailer. The floor creaked beneath him as he moved forward.

Grayson with his weapon at the ready stepped from the kitchen into a hallway which divided the dinning room and the living room. A singular sixty watt light bulb illuminated the hallway which gave the detective little time to decide his direction.

He found himself in the living room, like the kitchen it was dark and dank. It was not furnished. He saw a slim slight vertical slit of light to his left. Is that a door? Grayson thought and moved forward to investigate the origin of the glow in the shape an aperture.

Once at the light, Grayson peeked in through the small opening and his heart fell to his knees. There, in front of him was Betty, who sat on a rickety wooden chair. She looks sickly, Grayson thought to himself. From countless horrors she gone through…But, none of that matters for the moment, she's alive!

Next to her was a man, who was naked and covered in blood. He was bent over, as his left arm moved back and forth, in a sawing motion. Grayson's eye moved downward and noticed the large puddle of blood that collected by the bed. The detective saw passed the man's shoulder and saw a bloody foot and thought: I'm too late, he got Mary Kelly.

Without further thought, Grayson stepped back and then with his boot extended, kicked out the door and yelled, "Police, Freeze!"

In more of a reflex than a conscious decision Jack ripped Betty up from the chair and held her in front of him with the bloody knife to her throat. She saw her lover's face and mumbled, "Gray?"

"It's me. I'm here, now," Grayson replied in a tender voice. But anger returned to his words as he addressed Jack. "Put down the weapon!"

Wild eyed, Jack cried out, "NO! No! No! NO! I wasn't finished! My work is not completed! It needed to be perfect!"

Where do I know this bastard from? Grayson thought.

"You… You will pay," Jack commanded.

"Sorry to mess up your plans, you piece of shit," Grayson growled. "It's over, you lose! So put down the knife, NOW!"

Jack glanced at Betty and chuckled.

"I think not detective, I have your whore," Jack mocked. "You won't dare take a shot at me, not while she's in front of me anyway. The blast would tear her in half too. Won't it detective?"

With Betty still in his grasp, forced forward and Grayson begrudgingly stepped back into the living room.

"I don't care what it take, I am not letting your punk ass get away," Grayson snarled and aimed the barrel of the gun at Jack and Betty.

"Ooooh," Jack said with an evil expression. "I see why she liked you. You've got balls son. For a moment, I actually thought you weren't bluffing."

Jack took another step forward.

"Put down the knife," Grayson demanded. "It's over."

Jack shook his head and said, "No. You fucked everything up. Now I have to start all over again, in a different city. All my hard work in vain."

"There is no way in HELL you are leaving this place a free man," Grayson barked. "Unless you have a pistol hidden up in your asshole, you brought a knife to a gunfight."

Jack and Betty stepped from out of the room into the Living room.

Jack utterly ignored what the detective had said and continued on with his previous thought, "Well, not all in vain. I got plenty of practice. Imagine next time will be picture perfect to the original magnum opus. Yes. It will be quite a beauty to behold."

"Put the MOTHERFUCKING knife down, or as God is my witness I am going to blow your fucking head off!" Grayson screamed as Jack and Betty took another step and forced him backwards.

"You know what else was nice, Detective," Jack asked with a giant smile attached to his lips.

"I don't give a shit about what you think." He said.

"Oh, but this one you will," retorted Jack. "See just about every night since meeting Betty, I have pounded and pounded her sweet little body. Isn't that right, my dear?"

Betty who appeared to be in an almost hypnotic state, did not respond, but came to as Jack pressed the blade closer to her skin and screamed, "I said, isn’t that right dear?"

Betty nodded several times.

"See…I have filled her up so much that she might be carrying my baby inside her," Jack continued and took another step forward. "Oh, I completely understand why you made her your whore. She is quite nice."

He watched as Betty dropped her head in shame.

"Aww… Don't feel bad sweetie, it's not your fault. I mean, sure, he'll never touch you again," Jack said softly. "But, hey, that's the way the ball bounces."

Grayson gritted his teeth and the though and hissed, "I should blow your no good piece of shit head off!"

"Go right ahead, Detective," Jack said with a big smile.

"You're butt–ass naked, you really think you're gonna go outside like that," Grayson pointed out. "I have the upper hand here. Put down your weapon and we can end this peacefully."

"I have clothes in the car," Jack laughed. "Try again."

There was a brief moment where no one said a word, and the three found themselves in the middle of the living room, Grayson knew he was at a stalemate with Jack and aware that the killer had the upper hand in that situation, unless the detective was willing to take Betty's life too.

What do I do? Grayson thought.

"So we are at a crossroads, Detective Copeland," Jack said, while he surveyed the area.

Grayson lowered his gun and sighed.

"Defeat?" Jack asked.

"All right…All right," Grayson said in a tired voice. "I'm willing to negotiate a deal."

"Really," Jack Chuckled. "Tidwell would be disappointed…but, go on."

"I will set my gun down and let you go, and in return release Betty to me," Grayson offered.

Jack considered the offer for a few moments, and then said to Betty, "I guess this is were our paths separate, my dear."

Grayson cocked the weapon and expelled a single shell, then cautiously lowered his riot gun onto the dirty carpet and looked up at Jack while he extended his hand toward Betty.

"Your turn, let her go."

With the same level of caution, Jack lowered the knife and let go Betty, who jumped from him into Grayson's arms. She grabbed him tightly and begin to weep frantically.

"Aww… That warms my heart," Jack sarcastically said and slowly moved away from them toward the kitchen. "Just remember, if I did knock you up from all of that screwing and it's a boy name him Patrick the Third, but if it's a girl name her…Tamara.

"That's a good Christian name, don't you think?"

Once Jack was in the hall, he ran into the kitchen and out the front door onto the wooden platform. As he turned to run down the stairs to his car, he was met with several officers all armed and had their sights set on him. The scared killer dropped his knife and turned to flee back inside the trailer, but was stopped with the barrel of Grayson's riot gun pointed at his head.

"It's over," Grayson said calmly. Jack collapsed onto his knees and begin to cry.

Tidwell walked up the stairs with his revolver drawn, once he stood next to the would–be copycat killer, said "Patrick O'Neil Junior, you are under arrest for the murders of Polly Nichols, Eliza Smith, Kate Eddowes and…,"

Tidwell looked over at Grayson who nodded.

"And, the murder of Mary Kelly," Tidwell continued. With the chain of the handcuffs, he pulled the scared man to his feet. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…"

Betty walked out from behind Grayson on to the wooden platform and watched as Tidwell place PJ into the back of a patrol car. Once the door was slammed shut, she said softly, "Is it really over?"

"It is," Grayson replied in the same hushed tone and helped Betty down the steps toward an ambulance that had pulled onto the scene.

To be continued…


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