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“No, no, no, no. Please, don’t, please. Please, please, please. Take whatever you want-- there’s money in the b-back of the freeze, just please, don’t-- “
“Shh, shh, shh.” A flash of silver and the words turn to gurgles, turn to rasps. Rivulets of red spill out to pool between the man’s legs where he sits slumped on the floor.
The last thing his eyes will ever see is this: too-bright teeth set behind a sinisterly sharp smile and eyes so wide and bright, they seem to glow.
The last thing he’ll hear?
“You’re gonna be famous, kid.”
“A shocking discovery was made in the early hours of this morning. I must warn viewers that the details of this case are disturbing. Twenty-seven year old Curtis Krauss was found murdered in his apartment at around five fifteen a.m., after a concerned neighbour called police to report a foul odour that seemed to be coming from inside his residence. The building manager was unable to be contacted and so officers forced their way inside where they were met with a grizzly scene.
Mister Krauss was found deceased. His wrists and ankles were bound and his throat had been slashed. Five-pointed stars had been crudely carved into the flesh around his eyes. Reports suggest that part of his throat had been removed, though there has been no confirmation on this fact.
These are, of course, hallmarks reminiscent of another recent murder - that of Jenna Seel, whose body was found in almost identical circumstances. Miss Seel had been touring locally with her band when she disappeared after a performance. The band’s manager has been quoted as saying they were about to strike it big. She too was found bound, a single star cut into the skin of her chest. She was just twenty three. Mister Krauss was a country music star on the rise. It’s rumoured that handwritten notes had been left at both scenes by their killers.
More on this story as it develops.”
“You’re not even the slightest bit concerned?”
“Dude, no. Why should I be?”
“Why? Beca, there’s a guy out there murdering up and coming performers!”
“Okay, one, it could easily be a woman. Don’t be sexist.” Beca shoulders her cell phone, holding it in place with the side of her face as she packs her suitcase. “And two I’m literally going to be surrounded by people, it’s going to be awful.” Beca lets out a grunt of displeasure, tossing a handful of underwear on top of her toiletries bag. “Besides, Chloe’s coming. You think she’s gonna let me out of her sight?”
On the other end of the line, Jesse sighs.
“Yeah, guess not.” He pauses to blow out a breath and she can practically see him scratching the back of his head. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to have to go all Liam Nieson on any abductors.”
“Huh?”
“Nevermind. Be safe.”
“I will. Text you when we get there.”
They’ve been on the road for a week when another murder is committed. The victim, an aspiring young actor, is found bound and badly beaten. However, this crime scene showed an increased level of violence. The wounds on this body were numerous, though the five-pointed stars had been carved across his eyes like the others. Rumours of another note floated from station to newspaper to blog post.
“He’s escalating,” David, one of the backup singers, tells them as they eat dinner in a small town diner. It’s exactly the kind of greasy and run-down Mitch - their driver-slash-drummer - had been craving and he practically skips inside, grinning gleefully at the worn seats that have been patched up with silver duct tape that looks incredibly out of place against the once cherry-red material of the chairs.
On the tiny tube-television suspended above the counter, a news anchor is giving an update on who they’re now calling ‘The Starry-Eyed KIller’ but it’s all information they already know.
“What does that mean?” Beca asks, slinging her arm across the backrest of the booth they’re crammed into. Chloe is sitting beside her and Beca’s fingers fiddle with the ends of red hair while Chloe steals fries off her plate.
“Dude hasn't hit his stride yet. Things are only gonna get messier.”
Sadly, David is right. The next victim - a pianist - is missing his hands.
“Do you think we should cut the tour short?” Chloe breathes into the dimly lit motel room. They’re lying close together on the only bed, Chloe absently playing with Beca’s fingers. There’s a streak of sickly orange light seeping in through a rip in the curtains and a deadbolt and chain-lock snapped into place on the door. “Just head home?”
“Do you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s silly to be scared, but people never think things will happen to them until they do, you know?”
“Yeah,” Beca agrees, losing herself in thought for a second. “Okay. Let’s just... we’ll do the next show as planned and then announce we’re ending the tour early. Offer to refund ticket prices for anyone who paid ahead. Then we can hide at home until they catch the sicko that’s doing this.” Beca laces their fingers together and gives Chloe’s hand a squeeze. “Okay?”
Chloe nods and leans down to press a quick kiss to Beca’s lips.
In the morning, Beca’s gone.
Chloe reaches for her only to find that side of the bed empty, but still warm. She can’t have been gone long but panic rises regardless and Chloe is scrambling out of bed seconds after waking. She pulls on a hoodie that she grabs from the foot of the bed, belatedly realising it’s Beca’s, then throws open the door to the room and goes looking.
Beca is nowhere to be found.
Verging on hysterical, Chloe bangs on doors until one of them opens to reveal their bassist, Melanie.
“Beca’s gone.”
Pandemonium ensues, though it’s muted to Chloe’s ears; she can’t hear anything over the rushing sound of dread roaring in them.
The police are searching the parking lot when they find it.
A note, tucked under the left windshield wiper of the van they’ve been travelling in.
There, written sharpie-black, block capital letters are the words:
“I’LL MAKE HER FAMOUS.”