Page 95 of Unholy Masks

“Just read it.”

22

THE TATTOOIST

RYDEN

THE TATTOOIST STRIKES AGAIN

Who is he killing by killing these women?

Three days ago, the Detroit police recovered the body of a young woman from an abandoned pool. As the city slept and the DPD watched, the Tattooist had quietly claimed his third victim.

Inked into the girl’s forehead was the mark that has become the calling card of a killer, “The Tattooist.”

Authorities have not released the victim’s name, but sources close to the investigation confirm that she matches the profile of prior victims.

The tattoo is said to be a geometric sigil etched in black ink, nearly identical in each case. A former ME, speaking under condition of anonymity, described the work as “ritualistic, deliberate, and almost certainly done postmortem.”

The article followed into another, which described the girls and their deaths in cruel detail.

My fingers clenched.

“He’s a weasel,” she muttered.

The overwhelming urge to tear the paper and Thatcher apart made my skin burn.

I ached to kill… if not the bastard who did this to three girls, then the bastard who wrote about it like it was some twisted, grotesque show, feeding the masses. He made a spectacle out of this horror, and gave a stage for the madman, a stage that might make him escalate.

The article didn’t have a tinge of empathy in it for what these girls went through. No, it was a sensational piece, to push the people into a frenzy. I knew how it went. I had gone through it a million times. It was why I always took my time to write an article, triple-checked it each time to make sure that I hadn’t crossed the line I had drawn for myself.

“That fucking bastard,” I breathed just as Yara stepped out the door. Her eyes narrowed when she looked at Shayna… who stood there panting like she had run a marathon.

“What happened?” Yara asked. “You okay?”

Shayna quickly shook her head.

“It’s Thatcher. He—he wrote an article about…” Shayna winced. “The Tattooist. That’s what he called him. The one who killed Nikki, Sofia, and Rose.”

“How did he find out?” Yara asked, frowning.

Shayna shook her head. “I don’t know. He always joked about it, saying Ryden was chasing ghosts.” Her jaw tightened until her teeth clicked. “I have no idea how he sniffed it out. That low-life—”

“I want to break his nose, boss,” Shayna grunted. “Break all his teeth.”

“Don’t. I’ll deal with him. Now, go. I’ll be there soon.”

She huffed.

“I’m being serious, Shayna. Don’t do anything reckless,” I warned.

“Yes, yes,” she said, looking at me like a petulant kid. Yara laughed, and Shayna pouted.

“Why not? This is low even for him.”

“It is, and your boss will take care of it. Just trust him,” Yara said.

Shayna gave a nod before she stormed toward her car. Yara turned toward me, a frown on her face.