The next morning, technically the next afternoon, I awoke. The only thing about the previous twelve hours was the Willis’ deaths and the visit from the space guy.

      Digging in my shirt pocket, I retrieved it. It was roughly five inches square, although it seemed to have no controls on it. I was about to drop it back into my shirt when it seemed to come on.

      At what I would become familiar with, the video began with the location and year of the occurring event.

                                                                                 London, England 1888

      I heard his voice before I saw his face. He was reading aloud a letter he would send to the local paper.  

      “Saturday 30th September 1888. A day of double murder in London.” He laughs.

      “I understand that another body was discovered, cut from ear to ear. My blade is very sharp and becomes ever sharper with each cut. It is most distressing to learn of the inefficiency of the Bobbies, as I have yet again evaded capture. I am quite sure that Sir Robert Peel, the founder of your once feared police force, would be extremely disappointed.”

      The picture disappeared.

      I stood shaking my head to clear the cobwebs. That’s when the hangover kicked down the doors. I mean kicking down the doors the way daddy did that one Saturday night when I had Mary Jo Malone in my room.

      I sat on the floor before I fell down. “I thought ya drank to feel better Junior.”

      “It usually doesn’t work that way, dad.”

      Oh, I didn’t mention, my dead father occasionally drops by and gives biting commentary on choices I’ve made.

      I crawled to my nightstand and, after fumbling through the drawer, popped on my pair of sunglasses.

      “Actually, they’re my sunglasses.”

      I adjusted the old pair of aviators, thankful for the relief.

      I stared at the screen again.

      Nothing.

      “What is that silly thing?”

      “It’s a viewfinder given to me by an alien to help him track down his time travelling serial killing brother.”

      “I can see you ain’t lost that. That . . . what did I use to call it? Your facezia.” He had called me the Italian word for ‘facetiousness’ since I was very young. “You would do that when I tried ta correct ya.”

      “You did it a lot, Junior.”

      The receiver started vibrating in my hand. Glancing at it, I saw Cain was in his new location.

*                                                  *                                     *                                               *

                                                         Riverside, California, 1966

      Cain was under the hood of a lime green Volkswagen. With a deft hand, he nimbly moved over the wiring. Pulling the wires from the distributor, he moved to the condenser. The VW belonged to Cheri Jo Bates. After disabling the car, he disappeared back into the shadows and waited. “Tonight, starts another spree. Another opportunity to strike terror into the public.” He laughed to himself. “Let’s the games begin.”

      Finding her car disabled, the eighteen-year-old Cheri was preparing to walk to the nearest phone when, appearing as if on a midnight stroll, the killer stepped from the darkness.

      “May I be of some assistance little lady?”

      “My car doesn’t seem to want to start. I’ve been at the library studying most of the day. I’m a student at the university and have been having trouble in a couple of my classes.”

      “My, my” he said, adopting a southern accent, “that certainly is too bad. I was never able to go to school. Only thing I was ever able to get good at I guess was fixing stuff, at least that’s what my Daddy said anyway.” He bowed his head. “God rest his soul.” He had found that by turning up as what appeared to be an idiot or, to use the term of the time, as a ditz, people relaxed around him and it was easier to kill them.

      Cheri Jo followed him blindly back to her car and never suspected anything was wrong until she felt the blade stab her the first time. Her last thought was how upset her parents would be. 

      After killing the girl, he dropped the knife he had brought to add to the confusion. He also dropped a watch he had smashed earlier. The watch he had bought in the country of Her Majesty. He spattered the watch with his own blood. Even though  DNA technology was decades in the future, once available, his blood would still be untraceable. Before leaving, he slipped Cheri’s driver’s license in his pocket. Cain strolled back to his waiting vessel, laughing to himself, while pondering his next adventure.