Mind of a Killer

Detective Elena Ward had studied killers her whole career. She didn’t believe in monsters—only in men who lost their way and the patterns they left behind. But this one? This killer didn’t leave patterns. He left chaos.

The media called him “The Hollow Man.” Five victims in five months. All strangled. No fingerprints. No forced entry. Nothing but a single white feather placed gently in the mouth.

Ward had seen worse. But never someone who taunted her personally.

The sixth feather had come to her office—mailed, addressed to her name, and tucked in a small black envelope with no return address.

He knew her.

She didn’t panic. She studied it. The feather was from a snow goose—rare in this area. It had been bleached further. Clean. Pristine. Like him.

She scoured old case files, interviewed pathologists, consulted with retired profilers. No clear suspect. No CCTV. Just victims with no common link—different neighborhoods, different ages, different backgrounds. The only similarity? Each had once been in therapy.

A week later, a seventh victim. Male this time. Former army medic. Elena stared at the report. His therapist had been…Dr. Marcus Ellery.

Her blood went cold.

She had spoken to Ellery only once—years ago—during a joint lecture on trauma behavior. Calm. Precise. Impressive, in that polished, glassy sort of way. She pulled his name again. He had treated two of the victims. Maybe more.

Her hands trembled as she dialed his office.

“This is Dr. Ellery’s office. How may I help you?”

“This is Detective Ward. I need to speak with the doctor. Urgently.”

“He’s out of town. Left last night for a conference in Albany.”

Ward’s heart sank. She checked airline logs. No flights. No car rentals. Ellery hadn’t left the city.

He was watching. Waiting.

Three nights later, she found a feather on her doorstep.

Not in an envelope this time.

She drew her gun, swept the house room by room. Nothing. Just silence. Stillness that pressed on her chest like a cinder block. She didn’t sleep that night. She filed a formal warning and assigned patrols to her street. But it didn’t matter.

She had underestimated him. And he knew it.

The break came by accident.

A technician flagged a partial print on the inside of the seventh victim’s window frame. Not enough for a match—but enough to suggest he wore gloves after opening the window, not before.

Meaning: he was already inside when the victim came home.

That told Elena one thing: the killer wasn’t improvising. He was staging. Like theater. Carefully timed.

So she baited him.

She appeared on the news, stating they had a suspect in custody. “We believe the killer will not strike again. We’re close.”

It was a lie.

And it worked.

That night, the killer called her. Not blocked. Not hidden.

“Detective Ward,” he said smoothly. “You shouldn’t lie to the public. It’s beneath you.”

She froze. The voice was calm. Cultured. Familiar.

“Dr. Ellery.”

He chuckled softly. “You almost had me worried.”

“You made a mistake. Calling me.”

“I wanted you to know something,” he said. “The hunt ends tonight.”

Then the line went dead.

She didn’t wait for backup. She already knew where he’d be.

His private clinic on Morland Street. Closed for months. Under renovation, supposedly. She approached from the back alley, flashlight in one hand, gun in the other.

Inside, the air was stale. Old wood, dust, and bleach. Her beam cut across empty therapy chairs, overturned bookshelves, and…

A mirror.

Cracked.

Her own reflection stared back at her, fractured.

And then she heard it—a creak behind her.

She spun around.

Ellery stood there, arms raised, unarmed. “You came alone. I hoped you would.”

“Hands where I can see them!” she barked.

“You think you understand me. But this…” He gestured to the empty room. “This is your story too. You hunt monsters because you’re afraid of the one inside you.”

“I’m not like you.”

“You could be. That’s what makes you interesting.”

Ward stepped forward. “You’re under arrest.”

But Ellery didn’t run. He smiled.

“You've been in my head for months,” she said quietly.

“And now you’re in mine.”

Backup arrived minutes later. Ellery didn’t resist. He wanted to be caught—or at least, that’s what he claimed.

But as they led him away, he turned to her and said, “It’s your turn now, detective. Let’s see what you do with the mind of a killer.”