The Parliament

The light of the moon was blinding as Rickard looked up at the night sky. He could not remember the last time he saw the moon as bright as tonight. Though he knew that this moon would most likely be his last. As he thought about it, a tear began to roll down his cheek, and the brisk winter air quickly turned the tear into ice on his face. Rickard closed his eyes to shield them from the light of the moon as he felt his body being pulled over the forest floor. The grunts of his captor could be heard with each and every tug of his body. Rickard tried to struggle once more against his restraints, but it was no use. The knots that bound him weren’t going to give and escape was impossible.

The captor dropped Rickard's feet, causing them to fall to the forest floor with a thud. Pain shot up Rickard's back, causing him to flinch in pain and let out a stifled gasp against the gag that was in his mouth. Rickard opened his eyes once more to look around and see where they were. But there was no point; all that surrounded the two men were trees and whatever wildlife was hidden within. Rickard’s breath quickened as he realized his life could very well be ending in seconds. The cold of the night seemed to be nothing anymore. He could feel the cold air on his bare skin, but it no longer had the same effect as his demise grew closer. Thoughts from his past flooded his mind and seemed to play on fast-forward. His 9th birthday when Penny, his elementary school crush, kissed him on his cheek. Walking across the stage in college to be handed his first diploma, kickstarting his journalism career. Winning his Pulitzer Prize for his story that brought down the serial killer that terrorized Chicago for 5 years. Marrying Penny nearly twenty years after the kiss she gave him on his 9th birthday.

Rickard’s breath suddenly got caught in his throat as he thought about Penny. What was she going to do without him? Would she move on? Would she spend the rest of her life mourning him? Would she try to avenge his death? More and more thoughts flooded into his head, all about Penny. His heart rate and breath quickened with each thought and before he knew it, tears were streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t imagine a life without Penny; how would she go on without him? The night air wasn’t fast enough to catch every tear streaming down Rickard's face this time. Some tears were solidified on his cheeks, while others dripped off the edges of his ears.

The thoughts in Rickard’s head were deafening, but they transported him. No longer was he in the forest listening to his captor rustling around at his feet. Instead, he was back home, in Penny’s arms. He was once more feeling her soft fingers caressing his face and her breath upon his cheek. He heard her voice once more tell him that she loved him. Then, suddenly, everything went dark. No more thoughts, no more worries, no more breaths. Rickard’s eyes stared lifelessly up at the night sky and a single final tear rolled down his cheek.

The captor panted heavily as he stood above the body that was, just seconds before, Rickard’s. The ax in his hand felt heavy as his body was exhausted from the journey out here and the deed he had just completed. He could feel the warm drops of blood that belonged to Rickard slowly making their way down his face. He could see his breath painted against the night sky with each and every exhale. He tried to slow his breathing as he knew there was still a lot of work to do before he could rest his head tonight.

He lifted his ax once more over his head with a deep breath, prepared to swing it down upon Rickard's lifeless body. Just as he began to build the momentum to swing the ax forward, a loud deafening hoot filled the night, causing the captor to jump and drop the ax behind him. He swirled around quickly to find where the noise had come from, frustrated that something had broken his concentration and ritual. His head glanced from tree to tree to find the annoyance to put an end to it when another loud hoot resounded once more through the night. There, a small barn owl stood staring down at him perched upon a high branch in an old oak tree. The pale face of the bird contrasted against the dark branches of the oak made him seem to glow in the night. The captor gave a single smirk and laugh as he looked upon the bird. Never has his ritual been interrupted before; now tonight, of all things, it was by such a small creature.

The captor picked up the ax, turned back towards Rickard's body, and once more lifted the ax to continue his work. Once more, a loud hoot filled the night. The captor relaxed his shoulders and let the ax fall to his side as he turned back towards the owl. Irritated once again, the captor looked up towards the bird and let out a loud yell hoping to scare it away. But it was unphased, its pale face staring down upon the captor. "Ah, whatever, watch if you'd like, I don't care," the captor said, turning once more towards Rickard's body. The captor lifted the ax and began swinging it. The owl let out a deafening hoot with each thud the ax made.

Hours passed as the captor worked and the owl watched relentlessly. The captor would look over his shoulder and lock eyes with the small owl staring from the tree from time to time. But he couldn’t let it get to him; he had to put it out of his mind and finish. He had always been so careful; this wasn’t going to be the reason he slipped up. No way he would let a bird be the reason he got caught. The night slowly turned to morn as the captor finally finished his ritual. He allowed himself to fall back against a tree in exhaustion and looked up towards the branch across the way where the barn owl had perched all night. He smiled and laughed once more when he realized the owl had finally gone.

After a few moments to allow his body to recoup, the captor stood and grabbed his bag that held his blood-soaked clothes and ax. He threw the bag over his shoulder and turned to begin retracing his steps back out of the forest when the familiar deafening hoot filled the air once more. The captor looked over his shoulder to see the owl standing upon the fresh grave of Rickard staring once more back at him, hoot. Confusion is the only thing to describe what the captor was feeling in the moment. A puzzled look spread across his face as he stared upon the pale face of his one and only witness. Frustrated and annoyed, the captor yelled as he grabbed the strap of his bag from his shoulder and flung the bag at the bird. Effortlessly the bird spread its wings and flapped a few times to avoid the bag before resting once more upon the grave, hoot. "What the hell are you? What do you want," the captor let out a crazed yell, anger burning in his eyes. Hoot. The captor lost all sense of control and ran towards the owl in a feeble attempt to grab it. But once more, the owl effortlessly flapped its wings and flew to a nearby, low-hanging branch, hoot.

All sense of calm lost, the captor let out a maddening scream towards the bird before turning and running along the path he took into the forest. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, making it difficult to see his path from the night prior, but he had walked this path many times before and knew it well. He ran until his legs finally gave out, and he fell forward into an untouched pile of snow. He rolled onto his back, gasping for air, looking into the sky that was turning a bright pink color, his heart pounding in his chest. Hoot. On a high branch in the tree above his head, there it was, the barn owl staring once more down upon the captor, his head tilting back and forth, taunting him.

The captor stood, brushed the snow off of himself, and attempted to regain his composure. It’s just an owl, he thought to himself, shaking his head. Get ahold of yourself! The captor continued on the path back towards his car, every so often hearing the loud hoot fill the air and each time sending a chill down his spine. Finally, he reached his car. He made his way around to the trunk and bent over, placing his hands and head on it, taking some deep breaths. He pulled his keys from his pocket and hit the button to open the trunk. As he did so, he went to grab his bag from his shoulder and panic set in. He forgot it. How could he have forgotten it? How could he have let that owl get to him so much that he had finally messed up? He slammed the trunk close and let out another maddening scream feeling his heart pulsing in his head. He turned to head back into the forest when he noticed another car pulling into the dirt lot where he was parked and took pause. He knew it was too late. He couldn’t risk anyone in that car seeing who he was, and he certainly couldn’t risk them finding his graves. He’d have to return tonight to retrieve the bag when he’d have the cover of night to hide himself. Begrudgingly, the captor got into his car and returned home where his exhausted body quickly fell asleep.

* * *

By the time the captor awoke, the sun had long gone and was replaced by the moon's bright light. He pulled himself to the side of his bed and rubbed his face with his hands before standing and making his way to his living room. He clicked on his television and continued to his kitchen to put some leftovers in the microwave. As he watched the turntable of the microwave spin around in the pale light it provided, he thought about the night before. He couldn’t believe he had allowed himself to make such a ridiculous mistake. That owl, he thought to himself, it was like he knew what I was doing. How is that even possible? He laughed at the idea and brushed it off. He was in the middle of the forest after all. There were probably hundreds of owls there and to top it off, he was tired. His mind was probably playing tricks on him in a sleep-deprived state.

The captor continued to watch the microwave, mesmerized, as his food spun around in circles but was quickly pulled back to reality when something on the television caught his attention. He spun around and returned to his living room, where he looked upon the television in horror. On the tiny screen before him, there were the graves, his graves, for all the world to see. He quickly found his remote and turned the volume up. “...it was a family of hikers who came across this grisly discovery,” a disembodied reporter was saying as the camera panned across the forest showing multiple areas that had been exhumed and police officers scouring over every inch of untouched earth. The reporter continued, "but this story takes a turn for the supernatural in how these hikers came across this mass burial site.” The camera returned to a male who was identified only as ‘Morning Hiker’ and the captor’s heart fell into his feet as he listened to what he said. “We enjoy taking hikes off the beaten path and that is how we ended up out here this morning. Before we started our hike, we noticed a small barn owl sitting on the ground near the start of the tree line. Being an ornithologist, I knew this to be strange behavior for such a bird as they normally perch in trees. As I got closer, he flapped his wings and moved into the woods, landing once again on the ground. Thinking the poor bird was hurt, we decided to follow it into the woods to attempt to catch it so we could bring it to a local sanctuary to get the proper care. It led us on a chase for about an hour through the woods and then it just up and flew off. It was the weirdest thing; I had never seen such behavior from a bird in my entire career."

The camera then cut to the reporter standing in front of the chaos taking place at the burial site. "It was then that the hikers came upon a discovery that led them to call the police and this burial site to be found. I am being told that at least 25 bodies have been exhumed so far. Based upon decomposition, the coroner's saying some of them could have been in the ground for ten to fifteen years. No identifications have been made as of yet. Still, the police are confident that the murders are all related and that we could be looking at the work of one of the most prolific serial killers of the past couple of decades." The captor screamed and threw his remote at the screen, causing the screen to shatter and the remote to break into multiple pieces and fly in different directions.

"This can't be possible," the captor screamed, seething with anger. "It's just a damn bird!" Rage overtook the captor. A lamp was ripped from a side table and thrown against a wall. The coffee table was overturned, causing all its contents to be strewn across the living room. Pictures torn from the walls. When all was said and done, the captor sat on the couch surrounded by the wreckage that was once his well-organized living room. He stared at the shattered screen of his television, unblinking as he ground his teeth, unbelieving of everything that was taking place. But the captor didn't fear arrest. He knew it was only a matter of time before the police ran the clothing in the bag for DNA. They'd undoubtedly find both Rickard's and his DNA on them. But he knew that his DNA was not in any law enforcement database for them to make the connection to him. The anger came from being out in the open now. Everyone knew he existed; that alone would make his work that much harder. It also meant that all his victims would turn from individual missing persons to interconnected murders. He knew he couldn't continue his hobby in the same place any longer. It was too risky and, eventually, the police could make their way back to him. He had to disappear; he had to become someone new.

The captor stood from his couch and went into the closet in his room. He removed a big black duffle bag that he had prepared for a day such as this, his go-bag. It contained multiple new identities in the form of ID cards and passports, stacks of cash, a few pairs of clothes, and burner phones. He threw the bag onto his bed and returned to his closet. He dropped to his knees and began throwing all of his shoes out to clear the floor underneath them. He ran his fingers across the floor until he found the small hole just barely big enough to fit his pinky in. He pulled up a small portion of the floor, revealing a storage place beneath. From it, he removed a small bag that made an odd rattling noise as he dropped it on the floor in front of him. He then reached into his pocket and removed a human tooth. He picked up the bag once more and opened it to deposit the single tooth from Rickard into its final resting place with all the others from his other victims.

He tossed the bag up and then caught it in midair as he stood to his feet and made his way back to the bed, where he deposited his trophies into his go-bag. He pulled some of the cash out and put it into his pocket before zipping the bag closed, picking it up, and leaving his home. He made his way to his car and threw the bag across the driver's seat and into the passenger seat. As he sat in his car, he heard it. Just barely, but it was there. Hoot. He froze, hand still on the door, ready to pull it close. Hoot, a little louder this time. He got back out of his car and looked around but saw nothing. Hoot, even louder. Finally, he saw it. Perched upon the roof of his house, folding in its wings, there was the barn owl. Impossible, the captor thought. It has to be a different owl. He sat back in his car and closed the door, still staring at the owl perched on his roof staring back at him, hoot.

The captor shook it off, started the car, and pulled out of his driveway. He made his way towards the interstate with a plan to make his way to Canada. Before getting onto the highway, he stopped at a small gas station to fill up his tank. He went into the store, grabbed a few snacks, and made his way to the register. He paid the man behind the counter using some of the cash in his pocket and then made his way back out to his car. Hoot. There it was again. This time, sitting on top of a light post staring back at him. Hoot. He swung around to see another barn owl staring back at him from atop the gas station sign. They’re just birds, they’re just birds, the captor kept telling himself while trying to ignore the owls. He quickly made his way to the gas pump and filled his tank. Hoot, hoot. He promptly got back into his car and sped out of the gas station and onto the interstate. He turned on some classical music to help calm himself down as the interstate lights rhythmically passed overhead.

After a few minutes, the captor composed himself and got lost in the music playing over the car speakers. With each key of the piano played and each light post he passed, he felt his worries melt away. Once in Canada, he’d assume a new identity, find a new home, and find a new spot to resume his hobby. No stupid bird is going to be the end of me, the captor thought to himself. But his calm was short-lived as up ahead he noticed rows of taillights. His car came to a crawl and eventually was at a standstill behind a line of traffic. He noticed up ahead all kinds of people were out of their vehicles and moving towards the cause of the traffic jam. He too left his car and began walking up towards the commotion. As he made his way, he asked multiple people standing outside their car what was going on, but many of them were just as clueless as he was. As he neared the commotion, he passed someone that was returning to their car from whatever it was that was holding everyone up.

"You'll never believe what is going on, babe," the man was saying on the phone. “There is an entire flock of owls blocking the entire interstate,” the man said before pausing. “Whatever, an entire parliament of owls blocking the interstate. Regardless, it is crazy! I have never seen such a thing before.”

The captor froze in his tracks. “No, no, no,” he said to himself under his breath. "There is no way this is actually happening." Panic set in as he turned and sprinted back to his car. As he made his way back, he knocked over a few people making their way towards the parliament and slammed doors of other people's vehicles that were in his way. Once he finally reached his car, he quickly got back into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut, and threw the car into reverse. He hit the car that had come to a stop behind him, but the captor didn’t care. He pushed his foot down harder on the gas to move the car until he was able to turn the steering wheel enough to cut across the median and into the opposing lanes of the interstate. He floored the car, no longer caring about the speed limit or where he was going. He just wanted to get as far away from here as possible.

The captor had a crazed look in his eye, perpetuated by the darkness of the night and the orange hue of the street lights that intermittently cut through it casting shadows upon his face. He pushed his foot down harder on the gas, making everything outside the car only a blur as he neared 100 mph. Thoughts flooded his mind as he sped down the highway, drowning out everything around him until...HOOT. The captor looked in his rearview mirror to see the barn owl’s pale face staring back at him from the back seat. He threw both of his feet onto the brake pedal as hard as he could. The abrupt forceful stop of his speeding car caused the car to flip end over end. All of the car's side windows shattered as the vehicle's roof slammed onto the pavement. The car slid on its top for quite some time before it finally came to a stop.

The captor repeatedly blinked to try to remove the blood dripping down his face from his eyes and shook his head to try to make everything stop spinning. He slowly reached for his seatbelt and fumbled with it a minute before he was finally able to get it to release, causing him to crash down onto the ceiling of the car. He attempted to roll onto his hands and knees but was met with a searing pain in his leg, preventing him from doing so. Instead, he used his arms to pull himself from his car, wincing in pain as he felt glass pierce his skin with each pull of his arms. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally made it out of his car, where he lay on his back, looking up at the night sky.

The moon was brighter than he had ever remembered seeing it, almost blinding. But, the light of the moon was quickly blotted out. The captor blinked repeatedly and squinted to try to see what was in the sky, but it was no use. Glass must have gotten in his eyes during the crash because everything was a complete blur. But he didn’t need to see to figure out what it was that was blocking out the light of the moon because suddenly all he could hear filling the night sky was HOOT. But not just one owl, no. This was the entire parliament. There had to have been at least a hundred owls circling overhead, HOOT HOOT HOOT HOOT.

“No," the captor screamed. "This isn't possible; you're not real! This is all in my head!" He continued screaming as he turned back to his stomach to attempt to crawl away. But his path was blocked. There, directly in front of him, was the pale face of the barn owl that had watched him the night before. Hoot. The owl turned its head sideways, almost as if studying the captor. Hoot. “Go on, get the hell out of here,” the man screamed at the owl. The owl turned its head to the other side, hoot. For a moment, the two locked eyes, then the owl stepped forward and bit into the man's ear. Pain coursed through the side of the man’s head, and he screamed in pain as he attempted to swat at the owl. But the owl was much faster than the man and dodged him with ease. He took another bite at his nose. This time, the man could feel the owl tear away a piece of flesh and roared in agony. Then, almost as if signaled, each of the owls in the parliament overhead began swooping down to take bites of the captor. His screams pierced the night as he flailed around, failing to swat away the owls whose wing flaps were thunderous to the captor.

A gunshot echoed through the night. Suddenly the only noise left was that of the sobs of the captor who lay on the ground quivering and covered in blood. The captor turned his head and saw the blue and red lights of a police car and the silhouette of someone with an outstretched arm holding a gun in the air. The figure holstered the weapon and dashed to the side of the captor. “Sir, my name is Officer Riley. I am here to help. An ambulance is on the way, just try to be still; it’s going to be ok.”

"The owl," the captor said, voice shaking. "It saw, it knows." His voice trembled with every word. His entire body felt like it was on fire and each word he spoke felt like pure torture.

“Sir, it’s ok. You have been in a horrible accident. Please just be still!” the officer pleaded.

“You...you don’t understand,” the captor could taste the metallic taste of blood in his mouth as he gulped. “It was me....the bodies in the forest. I did it,” the captor confessed. “I killed them, the owl...the owl saw me. He..." the captor tried to continue, but the pain was too much and once more, the night faded out as his eyes closed and the pain overtook him.

* * *

Muffled voices were all that he could hear at first. The captor tried to open his eyes but realized that they were covered with what looked to be gauze. He attempted to lift his hands towards his face but was quickly prevented from doing so by the cold feeling of shackles on his wrist. He heard some commotion around him, followed by a voice of someone saying he’s awake.

“What....what's going on," the captor said, trying to remember how he ended up here.

“Why don’t you hear for yourself,” a voice said before the captor heard the volume from a television increasing.

“...they are calling him the K9s Killer as police are saying that he removed a single K9 tooth from each of his 47 victims. Today, Julius Bernard Thompson is in custody after he confessed to the murders to Officer Penny Riley, wife of the late award-winning journalist Rickard Riley, who police believe to be the final victim of the K9s Killer. If you thought the story of finding the burial site was strange, just wait until you hear how the K9s Killer was brought to justice. More on this after the break here on the Evening News at Channel 11.”

The captor, Julius Bernard Thompson, felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. “The owls,” he mumbled to himself.

“Julius Thompson, I, Officer Penny Riley, am placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

Across the street, perched upon a lamppost, sat the barn owl, staring into the window of the captor's hospital room. With one final hoot, the owl flapped its wings, turned, and flew off into the light of the moon.