Epilogue:
Sidebacker went to his home that night. He was tired from the mound of paperwork that had been set in front of him. Her body hadn’t been found but quite possibly it had been destroyed from the fall. He plopped the mail on the table and then one letter caught his eye. He picked it up. Hamlet had written to him. He opened the letter and saw her writing.
Dear Sidebacker,
Do I have you confused dear sir? You see, I was planning my play. It was a masterpiece, but then Jester came along and stole all of my glory. I knew what to look for and so I found him and watched him. He seemed to be planning something much more spectacular then killing every two weeks. He was going to choose a woman who would understand and love him then they would jump together off the dam. I watched him and saw all his rejects, the women that were killed. I narrowed down their mistakes.
My play was written. I was the irresistible woman with a fascination with darkness, and he was a killer. However, only by the end did it come out that I was a killer as well. The last body you found is not one I killed. I couldn’t at the time. I paid a young man to do it. You can fin him in a field north of Westchester. He disobeyed my orders.
By the way, am I or am I not? Don’t worry if I am. I have reached immortality. You may see a spattering of murder here or there, but other then that, Ill leave you alone now.
The Immortal:
Hamlet
Sidebacker set the envelope down and stood up slowly, walking to each window and door in his house and locking it. This case would go on for a while it seemed. He didn’t even pay attention to the file in front of him. It was her file. Under notes it said that she was a very good diver.
Hamlet watched in the shadows as he walked to each door and window. A wicked grin touched her lips very lightly. "Analyze and take notes detective, you’ll never know me." With that she stood up and began to walk down the street. She was the only one there, walking as a dark stick against the moonlight. Hamlet decided to stay there, where the birds fly.
She grinned. Jester had told her the story of the birds. His father was a cruel man. He had taught him as a boy to kill birds. He began to hate women with a passion, simply because his mother allowed this. He loved birds though. It took a special strength to lead enemy away from your children even though they weren’t hatched or they wouldn’t care. He had sought these streets because it was here that the birds fly.
She now laughed. Straight spines and split veins. They meant death and comfort to her. But still, as she heard the owl calling softly, she couldn’t help but feel comfort at its tone. She would stay where the birds were she supposed. She wouldn’t defile the memory of her greatest adversary. He had earned the respect of Hamlet.
--The End--
Authors note: Well, was it good? Bad? Wrong? Tell me! A sequel maybe? Any ideas?