Person who kills family member is finally caught. What do you do? Min 500 words

Vernica was baffled. Surprised. Horrified even. How could the person in front of her be the one who sent her life down this road in the first place? 

"Hey. Everything alright babe?" Vernica flinched at the sound. This voice used to be her comfort in the dead of night when the nightmares were too much. This voice would joke, add a lighter tone to a grim scene, make her once non-existent laugh audible again. How? How was this the voice that was the cause of her nightmares? How had she never recognized before now?

"Oh. Just. Looking at stuff for work." Vernica admitted, which wasn't a full lie. 

Beforehand she had been looking at the specifics needed for her job when the mysterious case file was slid onto the table. Who the person was that gave the file or how they were even able to get it were still a mystery. Curious eyes had opened the Manilla folder, darting back and forth on the dark dark blue ink printed onto the paper. And then the ink started to form letters. Then words.

But the strangest thing before realization hit was why her friend had a photo of them withheld inside. The brilliant orange eyes that always held so much wonder were dead. Void of life. Dulled. There was no merriment held within. None of the compassion that Vernica had come to secretly treasure and claim as her own. This person, no, this man is hers.

Or at least, was. 

After scanning over the rest of the file, the cause of death of her, . .  of all his victims were exactly as she had seen happen. Hood over the head, the knife hidden under the jacket. The mocking shimmer of the night as it was reflected in the moonlight. 

It was a curious thing, always attacking during nights when the moon was at its brightest. And this baffled the police that have been searching for the "Lunar Werewolf" for months at this point. His style was messy, and yet simultaneously clean.  It was made as gorey as it could be, yet no evidence leading to an identity could be found. The only sign that proved that the murders were from the same person would be the fact the bodies were always drained of a majority of their blood and the eyes would be missing. Experts had claimed that he had to have carried around some sort of surgical gear in order to leave little to no damage to the eye-sockets. 

Why. Why had she never bothered to ask where he was going those few stray nights a month. Why hadn't she pushed more to find a logic to how he arranged the closet? A month in of living together Vernica had banned them from putting away the paundry, as she would always have to go back and redo it all. At the utmost worse have to wash it all again. For seriously: Who in their right mind puts the socks in the same area as the shirts?

A serial killer. That's who'd do it.

"Oh. Well, gotcha your "Special Pumpkin Spice." Normally Vernica would have laughed at the exaggerated expression on the man's face, but now. Nah. Not after this find.

"Hey. I can tell something's wrong. Heavy workload, getting laid off, something that isn't work?" he asked, seeming to be completely out of the loop of what was happening. 

But how could he act so well? People who have broken their psyche are much more able to appear how they want to appear rather than what they are feeling. That has to be. No way he didn't see the open file when he walked by in line. He always had that nasty habit of peeking over her shoulder whenever she was reading something.

Like a book.

After a long day of work, Vernica would often come home to smell beautiful aromas emitting from the kitchen. Kicking off her high heels and undoing the confining corset underneath her outfit, she would find a book. It's gotten to a routine now that whenever they were busy cooking something that Vernica would retreat to the couch. 

Before whatever they were cooking boiled over, they would stalk up and peek over her shoulder. 'And as the man of the great packing machine toiled under the 'speeding up', the fellow had to push on harder lest they be cast out outside whilst their job was handed to one of the work-hungry men outside who could do it better and with less pa-' Often times Vernica would bop their nose, or comment that something was burning. 

With a sniff or so if something was lit or a realization of the time, they would dash back into the kitchen. Wether or not the dinner was burned they would serve it up and plate it like a 5-star dish. Even something as simple as box mac & cheese had to have a little bit of shredded parmesan and a snippet of a herb. The two would laugh at the poorly hidden char marks or comment about the soggy noodles, but on went the evening like nothing could ever go wrong between them. 

That is, until today. 

"Oh. Yeah. The boss wanted three more pages on the latest 'Lunar Werewolf' case." Vernica admitted. Yes, she was within the police force, and could very legally arrest the man in front of her. He honestly couldn't seem more bored about the topic, as it was one that was constantly on the two's mind whenever work weeded into a conversation.

"What all is there to collect data on? The forensics have already taken ten photos for every square inch of the place, and surprise surprise- no new data on the werewolf. The victim was still the same as the rest- no eyes and lack of any kind of tools used besides a bladed weapon." From there he starred off into space, the curled bangs blocking sections of his creative eyes. He rubbed his hands together, to which there were still stubborn splotches of paint.

Vernica knew he had a job as a professional painter and sculptor, skilled with clay and brush. Along with that, their talent with the knife was one to be respected. At night when they were carving and prepping a few steaks, they would carefully carve the meat of too much fat. Vernica had watched them, making jokes that they would be the neighbor dog's best friend with how much fat and stray slices of meat they were slicing out.

They would joke back, making a comment or so that that's how they get ya in the fast food industry. Too much fat and not enough meat. As he said this, with precision and laser-concentration, a sliver of thick fat and bone would come out cleanly. At first glance, many weren't able to tell that the mystery bone had been removed, to which the party host was pleased to find as they sliced up the bird. 

How had she never taken notice? Such skill would be great at removing the eyes and hitting the major artery which always lead to the drainage of blood. And the paint. Of course. That's how he was always able to hide the bloodstains on his clothes. And the sculpting. All the dust would help hide the color of the blood. Change the color of it to that of which one of his paints. 

Vernica never questioned those late-into-the-night paintings to which he would was itching to get done. Get a headstart on the next day. 

How the hell did she never notice that those were always on the nights when the moon was bright. 

The house they shared was decent sized, and the room that they worked on all their paintings and sculptors was the one with the largest window. On some evenings when a storm had come by, Vernica and them would pull up a chair and simply watch the rain and the snow. At evening the two would split a glass of a beverage or share a bowl of ice cream as they watched the moon rise into the sky. Vernica never took notice of the time often on those nights.

The embrace of them was enough to keep her awake. And when that failed, they would carefully pick her up and carry her back to their shared bedroom. There were some mornings before work that Vernica wouldn't be able to find them, only to finally check the art room. There they would be, clay tool or paintbrush threatening to fall out of their hand, a small pool of drool on the floor originating from her slumped-over, passed-out lover. 

There was always something new they worked on. True, they were a contract painter, often painting landscapes or sculpting a model for a 'fat-cat' as they often called them behind their clients' backs. Those were alright, but the real works was when they had free-reign over what they did. 

How they did the serene lakes, the field of fireflies, and sunsets always amazed Vernica, to which they took notice of. 

Hehe. For an entire month they wouldn't let her into the room, and if she could there was always half of the room curtained off. Vernica wasn't too terribly worried, as income from their paychecks has been higher than ever. Then the fateful month finally came to a close. The memory was still fresh in her mind, despite being 6 months prior. 

They had pulled the curtain, revealing a large canvas. 

It was a beach at sunrise. The sun rippled across the waves, the fireflies in the tall stalks of grass beginning to die down. Vernica was instantly amazed by it all. This was another step up from what they usually did. This explained all the stains of blue and green they could constantly walk out having, red and orange taking more prevalence on their shirt and that absolutely useless apron. 

How had she never taken notice that during this the amount of the murders had increased? But. but it absolutely couldn't be. After all those months, all those sweet moments of affection and dorkiness, was that all just to get closer to ensure he wasn't going to get caught? 

Vernica was shot out of her thoughts by him. Annoyance and irritance clear within his irises, Vernica recalled the small detail that, that he was sensitive to artificial and bright light. The reason they said they always worked at night without the lights on was that they didn't want to risk waking Vernica up. They knew she needed the sleep, and did their best to move quietly. 

Almost too quietly. 

In the dead of night Vernica would feel them get up from the bed and disappear. Vernica only ever heard the slight squeak of the floorboard by the doorframe, the rest of the wooden planks giving them soundless pass. But as with how they could move around so quietly in the dark, Vernica knew the answer.

With them being sensitive to light, the moonlight pouring into the room able to give them the right amount of light to see by and yet not bright nor artificial enough to cause pain. They always did their best work in the midnight hours. Whenever Vernica would get off a few hours early and went home right after, she would often find them asleep on the couch in the basement. 

It was always the basement where they slept, as Vernica knew a few factors. 

One of which was that they were not allowed in the bed while covered in clay dust or paint stains. Second was that most hours of the day the living room couch was far too bright to allow a peaceful sleep. Third was that they simply didn't like to shower, preferring to run a bath to which after taking a look at the water bill was quickly cut in half. So rather than scrub off something only to get dirty again, they retreated into the basement. 

Vernica knew to almost never turn on the lights down there when they were sleeping, as after a fright and a dash in to the eye doctor left them both worried for his ability to even stand normal light. 

"Hey. Let's go home." Vernica stated, gathering up her files. They gave her a curious look, but was visibly and secretly pleased. They could retreat to the basement or close the blinds in the art room. Helping her carry a few bags, they went back out to their car to drop her off at work. Afterwards, chanced were high that they would go back to the house and work on one of their projects. 

Vernica didn't mind. After all.

The moon would be at it's highest tonight.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With a show of the file, Vernica was able to align a capture, or at the very least a thorough investigation after Vern gave the signal. Handcuffs and remote buzzer within her handbag, Vernica headed up the steps to continue their normal routine. After hearing the plan, chief allowed her to get a good few hours of sleep to confirm the case.

The capture of the Lunar Werewolf would bring so many families closure and many more a better sense of safety. Why he did it, Vernica never knew. Hell, no one knew.

As soon as she stepped into the home the smell of sweet chicken filled the air. He was already in the chicken, busy prepping and cooking the kitchen. The aromas of the sauce as it cooked in the sauce pan were overwhelming, leading Vernica to salivate at the smell. 

Huli Huli chicken. Her favorite. Was this all out of spite or just a chance to make a favorite? Vernica was too conflicted to think straight.

The evening went by as usual, they actually trying their best to ensure that there was minimum char on the edged of the chicken. With a pop in of a movie, Vernica reminded herself of her mission. Feigning to be tired, the routine of being carried to the bedroom carried on as usual. With the creak of the floorboard going out, Vernica waited a minute or two. Carefully moving up and out of the bed, Vernica hid the ready handcuffs and buzzer under her robe. 

Movement could be heard within the art room, the one piece floor allowing the swishing of the paintbrush to be audible to the officer outside. And so Vernica waited, sitting on the couch in an area she knew would be the darkest and the hardest to see. 

Around midnight the door creaked over again. Vernica could hear him move around, looking for something in the kitchen. Vernica heard dishes being moved, yet so quietly that had she been in the bedroom would have never been able to hear. 

As the dishes were put away, Vernica stilled her breath as he walked back around the room. Vernica knew her night vision wasn't the greatest, but she could make out the basic form of him as he moved between the hallway and the basement. Down the stairs he went, all sound going dead for 2 hours. 

With a yawn, around 3:30, he came back up from the basement. Seizing her chance, Vernica took advantage of the steel railing lining the stairs down. Before he could even react, Vernica was able to hook one half of the handcuffs around his wrist and the other on the rail. "Wha- VERN! RU-" Vernica pushed the buzzer.

"W-what? Vernica. W-what are yo-" 

"I- Protocol."

"Vern. You can't be serious." They pleaded trying to make sense of it all. They didn't dare move much, as one mistep could lead to a fall. 

"Dear, I.. I just need to check a few things and close some suspicions then we can put this whole thing behind us."

"You serious? I-is this about that 'Lunar Werewolf?' Cause if so I don't understand why I'm the prime suspect. I can even tell you who is doing th-"

By now the police force had stormed the house, guns raised and lights sweeping the place. Three didn't hesitate to illuminate the person at the top of the stairs. Even from here Vernica could see the bright flash of something dark and wet on his front and covering the entirety of the right arm.

Shocked by the lights, they instintivly took a step back. 

Vernica was expecting more shouting at the bottom than there were the quiet yelp with the tumble. Grabbing her flashlight, Vernica snuck down the stairs. The narrow beam of light illuminated the blood-covered arm hung upright thanks to the short chain of the cuffs. Moving the beam down carefully, Vernica found hi-em laying down on the floor. 

The leg looked horribly bent, one more bend more that what was normal. And the way the arm was held looked unnatural. But the more shocking was the head. A splatter of blood covered the floor, the origins seeming to be several areas but mostly the back of the skull. All the memories had flushed back, Vernica  rna down the steps to them.

The blood splatters on the shirt was the least of Vernica's worries as she checked for their pulse. No breath. No pulse.

Goddamnit. Why couldn't she just simply have stated that she had concerns? She could have just admitted her worry, and if they really weren't, then they would finally have the chance to make her sit down and watch all of the Jurassic Park movies or the Mummy. Goddamnit why? They've been waiting and waiting for a chance to show her those stupid movies. If she asked tonight and there wasn't a case, then they had the killer.

But no. She had to f*cking invite an entire squad into her home and basically kill them just on some whim of paranoia. And n-now. 

And now.

Vernica stood numb as the reality of the situation hit her full force. The police had come rushing down the stairs, turning on the rarely used lights. Vernica didn't bother to look at the scene laid out before her.

There was no bloody mess. There was no jar of eyeballs. There were no giant containers of blood.

Only a few boxes full of clay bricks and acrylics.

And a dusty old couch.

Along with one less breathing person in the room.

The DNA collected from the attack that night matched both them and the three victims. 

All these years, Vernica felt so sure that she would be overjoyed at the capture of her Aunt's killer. 

But now, she wasn't too sure what she felt. 

Anger? Sadness? Joy? Greif?

For now, 7 in the morning, she was numb. She had pulled up a stool and looked out the window.

Watching the sunrise as it entered the room. No more art would be made in here. No more nights of watching the storms or stealing spoon-fulls of ice cream. No more welcoming aromas. No more sparks of creativity and flow. No more skilled strokes of the brush or slice of the tool. 

A month later another murder happened, this one much more chilling.

"You messed with the pack, and now you get to mess with the wolves." Underneath it was a cracked skull and broken paintbrush.

(Why did I enjoy writing this? Anyways @SkallrianWolf , here it is an- shoot! The tags!

Word count: 3210)