The Ann Arbor Assassin
She is sitting at the bar all by herself hoping someone will come talk to her. Her finger is twirling her short blonde hair as she sips on her drink through a straw. The bar reeks of cigarettes and liquor as some gentleman shoot pool. There is an older couple singing a Dolly Parton song at the karaoke stand when he first approaches her. He is tall and has long black hair with piercing blue eyes. His smile is wide and full of perfectly straight teeth. He is not nervous at all but rather calm like he’s done this many times. He extends his hand and introduces himself as Quincy.
“Hi Quincy, my name is Ciara,” she responds with a flirty smile on her face. She didn’t know why but immediately liked him. There is something about him she thought, something special. You can tell when someone is intelligent by how they speak, this is how she felt about him. His words were smooth and charming, and he frequently made her laugh. They sit at the bar laughing at the people attempting to sing karaoke for a while. They suck back a shot together and she tries to get him to sing but he refuses. A pair of younger men get mad at one another over a game of darts as the two-sit talking about their past and future. She barely knows this man but felt safe in his presence. After a while of conversing, she gets up to use the lady’s room.
“Last call,” the bartender bellows out in a raspy voice as Ciara maneuvers through the now crowded bar to the restroom. She does her business and looks at herself in the mirror. She can’t help but feel giddy over the cute and charming guy she’s met. When she returns, she takes a few sips of her rum and coke. They continue talking about anything and everything, people are leaving the bar rapidly now. Finally, the bartender corrals them out the door and into the humid summer air. He asks for her number which she gives up willingly. They smile at each other and part ways for the night. She gets into her car which is parked a little way away from the bar. Drowsiness begins to wash over her, and she starts to doze off. In and out of consciousness she hears a knock on the window. Unable to make out the face the only thing she sees is a wide menacing grin.
*
There is a big red barn a mile off the nearest road, it sets in the middle of a secluded woods. The night is clear and the full moon beams off the top of the barn as various bugs sound off in the night. Inside the barn the room is pitch black, there is a hum of a fan somewhere in the distance. The room has a weird scent to it, it smells like iron. Ciara’s limbs are strapped down by rope to a table in the center of the room and duct tape is covering her mouth. She can tell the room she is in is large without seeing anything. Footsteps appear in the distance and sound closer and closer to her. The lights suddenly flicker on, blinding her momentarily. After her eyes adjust to the light, she sees Quincy staring over her. His long black hair dangles as he stares at her with a possessed look in his eyes. Trembling in fear she twists and turns attempting to break free from the restraints. A tear slides down her cheek, and hopelessness fills every part of her body.
“Shhhh,” he says pressing his thick finger to her mouth, “This will all be over soon just relax okay,” he says in a soothing voice. There are various instruments laid out on a small table to her side. Lining this table are trash bags, a set of knives, rope, bleach, a saw, and a few other items. He turns his attention to these items. He stares into her eyes once more and grabs the knife. The girl sees this and lets out muffled screams, her breathing is erratic and fast. Quincy takes the knife to her throat; he feeds off the intense fear in her eyes. It is the same energy as an antelope being caught in the inescapable claws of a lion. He moves the knife swiftly up to her face and cuts three vertical lines in her forehead. It’s a shallow cut but is deep enough to leave a noticeable scar. Her eyes are flushed with tears as she pleads with her eyes for help. As the blood drains from the wounds the slender body of Quincy returns to the table. He selects a different and much larger bowie knife. Ciara sees the size of the bowie knife. She shuts her eyes tight; never did she imagine death would knock on her door at such a young age. A thousand memories flash through her mind as she sends out a prayer. She didn’t know this would happen, how could she? This man seemed so normal when they first met in the bar. He fixes his gaze back on his prey and places his ear to her chest. The heart beats a song of death like it knows what is to come. He thinks a happy heart has a different rhythm to it. He notices his own heart thumps a peculiar rhythm, as if it wants to break from his chest and devour hers. Leaning up, he snatches the golden locket from her neck and fondles it between his fingers before placing it in his pocket. The blood on her forehead is dried now and he admires the pattern of it. For some reason it brings him comfort. Quincy strokes her hair and forcefully plunges the knife into her throat severing the jugular immediately. The sound of the knife entering her neck sounds like when someone steps on wet soggy grass, a mush type of sound. He removes the knife quickly as the blood spills from the open wound, splashing on the tarp below. Her eyes begin flickering between life and death, the color draining from her face. The blood is now pooled under the table on the clear tarp. He takes a moment to please himself to the dead corpse. He then goes over to the smaller table and fetches the cordless saw. Starting with the arm he rips the saw through the bone and muscle of each limb, including the neck. Garbage bags on the ready he places the bloody tarp and remains of his victim inside and ties them off. To be safe he cleans the floor thoroughly with bleach and then takes the multiple garbage bags to his car. He pops the trunk and tosses the bags in like its last weeks trash. The car fires up and he heads down the long driveway to the road. The bumps of the driveway feel so familiar from his time spent there as a child.
*
The barn was handed down to him after his father passed many years ago from colon cancer. When he was just a boy his father would often take him there. Quincy’s father was an old-fashioned blue-collar man who worked as a mechanic. He was a handyman and spent a lot of time in the woods behind the barn working on various projects. He was a smart man but was angry at the world and always had a drink in his hand. Quincy had many chores to do that his father assigned to him as a boy. If these chores weren’t done to his father’s liking, he would be taken out back, bent over a log and beat with a small whip. He deeply resented his father for ruling with such an iron fist. Long pulsating cuts would fill his backside for much of his youth at the hand of his father. Quincy used to hate this barn with a passion. The big red barn didn’t have concrete flooring then, just dirt. It always smelled like shit and the only thing Quincy liked about the barn was its seclusion. A getaway from the outside world he thought. There were two horses who grazed in the back in a relatively small fenced in area. In the winter his father would move them inside to keep them from the harsh Michigan winters. He seemed to admire these horses more than his own son, Quincy often thought. The two horses were brown and black, his father bought them from a neighbor when Quincy was just a toddler. The black horse was Quincy’s favorite, it was a gentle horse and seemed to understand him. The brown horse on the other hand was a dick. It would always pin back its ears and try to bite. This horse was bigger than the average horse. Its rear leg muscles were massive and looked like they were carved from marble. One day Quincy was out brushing the brown horse. The sun beat down on his pail shoulders as sweat formed on his brow. He was brushing the horse when it became startled. There was a snake below its feet which was difficult to see because it blended with the grass. The horse started to stomp its feet and suddenly took off sprinting. It forcefully sprinted through the surrounding fence and away from the barn. It made its way through the woods and down to a small river. Quincy followed and spotted the horse just lying in the shallow water, it looked calm. Quincy was able to return to the barn and round up the other horse and tie it to a post, so it didn’t escape also. He then ran to the front to tell his father who was fixing one of the barn doors. His father became irate and didn’t even listen to any explanations. He just grabbed a lead rope and headed down to the horse. He passed the fence with Quincy trailing and only became more agitated by the damage to the fence. Quincy thought of running away forever. The two made their way down to the fallen horse. The stream was tiny, but its banks were exceptionally steep in comparison to the actual river. His father slowly descended to the horse, it was lying down and the only thing moving was its head. His dad examined the horse checking to see if it was injured. He reached the horse’s front legs and lowered his head into his palm. He then fixed his gaze on Quincy who was still at the top of the bank, fidgeting with his hands.
“His damn front legs are snapped in half,” he said in a loud yell. He rubbed his brow and glanced back at the horse, “go grab my .22.”
Trembling with fear Quincy ran back and fetched the rifle out of the back of his father’s old pickup truck. He made his way back to the horse and his dad, the thought of running away crossed his mind again. Along with a new more sinister thought, as he held the gun and felt its power. This thought vanished, he arrived on the bank to his dad who was stroking the horse’s nose.
“Come down here boy,” his dad said. Quincy slid down the bank to his father’s side and held out the gun. “Oh no, it’s your mess clean it up.” His face was expressionless.
“But dad I don’t”
“Shoot the damn horse,” he said in a scream, the vein in his forehead had emerged.
Quincy’s feet shuffled nervously as he cocked the gun and aimed it at the horse’s head, the gun was shaking.
“But dad,” Quincy said lowering the gun in one more plead. His father just stared back as the rage boiled in his eyes. He gestured forcefully to the horse. The barrel raised and a high pitch pop sounded off followed by a dull thud as the bullet struck the animals skull. Quincy didn’t feel sad he didn’t feel anything at all. His father could sense this somehow and this only angered him more. He grabbed Quincy by the hair and drug him back up the bank. Clouds covered the sky and a heavy downfall washed over the pair as they made their way to the edge of the property. They got to a small shed just outside of the woods and his father threw him in. There was a distinct locking sound followed by the startup of the old pickup. He heard the truck pull away from the barn. Quincy screamed at the top of his lungs to no avail. The shed had nothing in it besides a shovel and a few roles of sod. He swung the shovel forcefully at the walls, but it snapped in half a few swings in. He was boxed up like a convict for two days without food or water, just his thoughts.
*
Cruising down the highway with his dismembered victim in the back, he taps the steering wheel. The occasional car passes them unknowing of what hides in the trunk of the car. The wind blows strong forcing the car over the center line momentarily.
“God damn wind,” Quincy says under his breath as he veers the car back. He always found wind to be such a nuisance.
Interrupting his thoughts, the radio blurts out, “today marks 10 years since the Ann Arbor Assassin began his rampage. Will he strike tonight on the anniversary and bring the body count to 13, who knows. Stay tuned to your favorite radio station, we’ll be right back after a word from our sponsors.” A chill climbs up his back as he pulls into an abandoned quarry. There is a break in the fence where he slides through, the trash bags in each hand. He walks a way to the edge of the quarry and looks over the water which is a good distance below. The water is still, and trees line the edge of the quarry. The water looks like a mirror the moon reflects brightly off of it. He places the bags down and heads back to the car to retrieve a cinder block for each bag. He ties them to the bag and one by one chucks the bags over the edge to the motionless water. They each smack the water sending an echoing sound across the landscape.
*
The rain drips down the long window, the sky is full of greys as he sits grading papers. His small office has a decent view of the Michigan football stadium. The classic #1 Professor coffee mug sits on his desk outward to visitors, along with other knickknacks. The pen moves over the paper scanning for any errors. His long black hair is still damp from the walk inside as he scrunches it with his freehand. The clock ticks to 3:30 pm as Miss Rowel the secretary pops in. He glances at her from under his glasses.
“You have a visitor coming in 5,” she says trying to look like she did something important. He hated when she did this as if her job wasn’t extremely easy.
“Visitor?” he says in a questioning tone, continuing to grade papers as she is now fully in his office.
“A gentleman from the Michigan State police,” his eyes dart up to Miss Rowel as she exits the room. His palms start to sweat making it hard to grip the pen. Thinking back to the quarry. Did I become careless and leave something behind he questions himself. The rain subsides and a beam of sunshine lights up his office. Two knocks emerge from behind the door.
“Come on in,” he says his voice shaky. A tall thick man enters the office, he’s bald and wears a suit. Their eyes meet and they both feel the tension in the air.
He says, “Hello Professor Sarz,” a thick southern accent coating the words. “I’m detective Fowler with the Michigan State Police, I have been assigned to the Ann Arbor Assassin case.”
“Okay, can I help you with something?” Quincy says in a bothered tone.
“Well Mr. Sarz we’ve been hunting the Ann Arbor Assassin for quite awhile now as you might expect,” as he explains, taking a seat across from Quincy. His frame leaves no room in the chair as he examines the mug on the desk and leans back. “We’ve narrowed the killer down to someone at this university and it is just a matter of time before we catch him.” He looks hard at Quincy whose head is buried in his work. Detective Fowler suspects Quincy as the perpetrator but doesn’t have enough evidence for conviction.
Quincy snarks back “sorry I’m not sure I’d be much help, now if you don’t mind, I have work to do,” gesturing Mr. Fowler to the door.
“Very well,” Fowler’s jaw tightens as he stands to head for the door. Halfway out the door he turns back and says, “Mr. Sarz we are a lot closer than you may anticipate to catching this coward.” Quincy smiles and Fowler exits leaving the door ajar. Quincy exhales and gets up from his chair. He looks out over the football field in the distance trying to calm his nerves. He shuffles to the door to close it and spots something on the ground that makes is heart sink. There on the floor was a Michigan University parking pass with faculty printed on it. He immediately recognizes it because of the small tear on the loop which made it fall off in his car often.
He is staring at the pass in shock, Miss Rowel calls out “Quincy are you alright?” No answer comes and the door slams shut behind him.
*
The room is filled with a dozen attentive people. A large bald man is before them speaking in a commanding voice.
“We’ve received the DNA results back from the semen that was collected on Ciara Coopers remains which were so ruthlessly thrown in the old abandoned quarry. It has been ran through tests and the results conclude that the DNA is a match for Quincy Sarz. Quincy is a criminology professor at the university of Michigan. We must be careful when we encounter him as he is extremely intelligent and dangerous, we roll out in a few hours so get prepared to come face to face with the devil.” Detective Fowler dismisses the room and retreats to his office. He sits down behind a desk and pulls out his phone. There is a picture on his phone of Ciara’s family and his own family at a barbeque he hosted a year or so back. He’s known Ciara’s parents since high school. A tear strolls down his cheek as he remembers her eccentric laugh. There have been many victims of this monster but this one hit home. He will never forget the expression on her parents face when he gave the news. It was like their whole world shattered in front of him. They burst into tears and fell to the ground crying. It wasn’t a normal cry, more like a scream mixed with tears. The only thing they had left of their daughter was memories.
A knock sounds “hey,” another detective says, “we got the search warrant early, do you want to roll out now?”
“Yeah of course,” he says wiping the tear, trying to conceal his anguish. “I’ll be out in a second, round up the team.” The door shuts, he rubs his eyes and glances at the picture one more time. The team is ready to go and they all pile into their respective vehicles. There are three separate units that all head out. No words are said on the way to Quincy’s apartment. All the officers feel it, the calm before the storm. The feeling of anticipation is worse than the actual event. Fowler is in the lead car as they pull into an apartment complex a few miles from the university. The cars come screeching to a halt as a swat unit rushes Quincy’s apartment. They hustle up the stairs to his door and take out a battering ram. After two forceful rams the door bursts open slamming against the wall. The men rush in, their guns drawn. They move swiftly through the apartment and clear it in a matter of minutes. Quincy is no where to be found in the apartment. It is unusually tidy like he had cleaned just for them. Fowler enters with visible frustration on his face.
“Fowler you need to see this,” a voice calls out from the bedroom. One of the swat team members is holding up a golden locket necklace. Fowler’s face turns sour, he recognizes this necklace immediately. They search through Quincy’s place and find most of his belongings are cleaned out. He knew we were coming; Fowler thinks to himself but how? He makes a call back to their base while standing in the middle of Quincy’s vacant apartment. A young gentleman with the Michigan State Police answers.
“Look up any other properties Quincy could own.”
“I’ve already done that multiple times sir,” the young man replies. “Oh, shit wait, how did I not catch this,” he says in an excited voice. “There is a barn in Quincy’s fathers name its 30 minutes outside of town, I’ll send the address now.”
Fowler shares the news with his team, and they hustle to their vehicles. Still on the phone Fowler requests “Send a cadaver dog as well,” and hangs up the phone. They get in their vehicles and leave just as quickly as they arrived. Bursting down the roads they cut the 30-minute drive down to 20 and arrive at the location. They rip down the long driveway to the entrance of the barn, the swat team leaps out and goes to work. They move efficiently through the property as Fowler looks on with a concerned expression. A group of men check the shed by the woods, nothing. The large barn is swept through and once again nothing.
“God damnit,” Fowler screams out in frustration. He walks to the back of the property to think. He tries to come up with a solution but is drawing blanks. He bends down and picks at the grass and spots something down in the woods, buried. Curiosity engulfs him and he walks down to inspect. The trees are eerie and feel haunted to him. An owl flaps overhead, momentarily startling him. Focusing back on what looks like a tree branch sticking out he clears the debris surrounding it. His body jolts back, it is a human hand that is rotted down to the bone. Attempting to run back to the group he keeps losing his footing, the shock overwhelming him. The group of men are talking about what is next when they see Fowler running towards them, fear in his eyes.
“Where is the cadaver dog,” he spits out trying to regain his breath.
“They are pulling in now why,” a member of the swat team responds. Fowler doesn’t answer but just sits there hunched over. The cadaver dog and its handler get out and rush over to Fowlers finding. The dog sniffs intensely over the site and hits on it. Fowler radios for an excavation team to be sent out to the scene immediately. The dog hits on multiple different areas throughout the woods.
“The woods are riddled with bodies,” the handler says as he leads his dog back to the onlooking Fowler. Fowler palms is face and walks back to the front of the barn leaving the team behind. He feels he has failed Ciara and their family. As he makes shapes in the dirt with his boot, the excavation team arrives to the distraught detective. Fowler explains the situation and points them in the direction of the bodies. They take their supplies to the woods out back and begin digging up where the dog hit. The team digs for several days trying to uncover all the bodies. Day after day they dig out the remains of what used to be human beings. After a full week of digging, the leader of the excavation team reports its full findings to detective Fowler. He explains there were 22 different bodies uncovered during their search. Some of which were estimated to be 40 years old. Quincy would have been an infant child during these murders. The media frenzies over this, lining the driveway trying to get their story. This becomes the biggest news story in years and receives worldwide attention.
*
Quincy is sitting in a small coffee shop in Spain. His hair is buzzed, and he wears brown colored contacts now. The shop is buzzing with people requesting coffee in a language foreign to him. He sips on his coffee as the waiter takes a couples order next to him. The sound of a baby crying catches his attention in a store across the street. The baby is crying because its mother spilled water on its head. A mixture of tears and water stream down its face as the mother tries to quiet the baby. She leaves the store to take the baby outside to console it. Quincy smiles and looks at the vacancy of where she was standing. She was blocking a large TV that is in the corner of the store. His vision is poor even with the contacts in, but something stands out to him. He wanders out to the street and waits for a motorcycle to pass.
The TV becomes more visible and sounds off, “In the U.S. the state of Michigan unmasked a serial killer.” Assuming it was him he puts his hood up and turns around to leave when the TV sounds again, “some of the bodies uncovered were predicted to be 40 years old.” His blood runs cold, and he slowly turns around to face the screen. The TV continues with the story as he sits there frozen, eyes glued to the screen.
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