Serial Killers Uncut

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Cast of Characters.

Henry Parker.

An ambitious, idealistic young reporter for the New York Gazette who spends his days (and nights) in search of The greatest stories never told. Henry comes from a broken family, and has distanced himself from his abusive father and emotionless mother, using his troubled childhood as motivation to succeed. Due to his innate ability to always be in the right place at the wrong time, Henry tends to get in deeper than he ever thought possible, and more than once has found himself in the very crosshairs of those he has sought to investigate. Still, the passion for his work and never ending quest for the truth means that Henry won't be backing down any time soon.

Amanda Davies.

Henry's girlfriend, who he met under typical romantic circumstance: namely Amanda saved Henry's life while he was on the run for his life. Like Henry, Amanda is from a broken home, having grown up in foster care following the death of her parents. A lawyer for New York's Legal Aid Society, Amanda is beautiful, tough and resilient--the girl next door who's more likely to drink you under the table than sashay down the runway. Amanda supports Henry in every way possible, but she knows that his recklessness has led to some close calls for both of them. And Amanda is fully aware that if Henry doesn't slow his motor down, it's only a matter of time before the odds catch up to him' .

Jack O'Donnell.

A New York legend, Jack O'Donnell old-school newsman who's seen and reported it all over a forty year career. Working alongside Henry at the Gazette, Jack has found himself in a position he never imagined: mentor. While Jack, thrice-divorced and childless, sees some of his best professional qualities in Henry, he also knows that Henry's devotion to Amanda might distract him from achieving true greatness in the newsroom. Recently Jack has suffered great humiliation at the hands of Paulina Cole, who publicly exposed his longtime alcoholism. Now, fresh out of rehab, Jack must work with Henry on the story of a lifetime in the hopes of repairing his tarnished legacy.

Paulina Cole.

Take a dash of Ann Coulter, sprinkle in a little J. Jonah Jameson and top it with a slice of Judith Regan and you have Paulina Cole. Once a colleague of Henry and Jack's at the Gazette, Paulina has since defected to the tabloid-driven rival New York Dispatch where she spends her days carving her own niche by carving up those in her sights. Paulina knows better than anyone that a good story the one with the most juice, and she'll do whatever it takes to get it--even it it means squeezing blood from a stone. Paulina despises Jack, who she considers an old dog in need of being put down, and Henry, a young punk who (unwillingly) rivals her as the town's hottest scribe. So far Paulina has shown no chinks in her thorny armor, but there is a personal side of Paulina we've never seen' and it just might lead to her downfall.

Curt Sheffield.

A young black officer with the NYPD, Curt and Henry have become confidants and friends over the last few years. Like Henry at the Gazette, Curt has unwillingly became the face of his department, but his work ethic speaks for himself. Curt has done everything for Henry, including take a bullet for him, but what's a good friendship without a few scars?.

Wallace Langston.

The Editor-in-Chief of the New York Gazette and Henry and Jack's boss. Like Jack, Wallace has been in the newspaper industry for decades. He is devastated when longtime colleague Jack's alcoholism becomes a public scandal. Wallace sees tremendous potential in Henry, but knows his young reporter can be impetuous and reckless. Still, Henry has uncovered some of the biggest stories the Gazette has ever printed, and Wallace defended Henry on numerous occasions. Still, facing unrivaled competition from Paulina Cole and the sleazy Dispatch, Wallace knows that the future of the Gazette could very well be in Henry Parker's hands.

James Parker.

Henry Parker's father, a cold, abusive man whom Henry has not seen in nearly ten years.

Raising his family in Bend, Oregon, James Parker considered his son's journalistic pursuits a waste of time, and would constantly heap scorn upon Henry and his own wife, likely to make up for his own failings as a man. James Parker's vitriol drove Henry away from home, but when Henry uncovers a dark skeleton in the family closet, James Parker must face the son who is twice the man he ever was' but still does not know the whole, hard truth about his father.

The Fury.

A legendary enigma in the Manhattan underworld who may or may not exist. The Fury's name was first whispered nearly twenty years ago when Jack O'Donnell was reporting on a rash of drug murders in New York City. A low-level dealer named Butch Willingham was brutally executed, but before his death scrawled two words in his own blood: The Fury. It was believed the dealers, all middlemen, were being wiped out under a massive consolidation of New York's criminal underground. Since then, however, the Fury has lain dormant, leading many to speculate that this shadowy figure was a mythical boogeyman. But Henry's estranged brother is found murdered, this dark figure just may be responsible.

Malloy.

An shadowy foot soldier in working for an unknown boss. Malloy has striking platinum blond hair, and is more than capable of handling any dirty work (or wet work) thrown his way.

Malloy follows orders from one person and one person alone, but this seemingly emotionless machine turns out to have a major, and violent, secret of his own.

Chapter 1.

It's gonna be a long night.

Those were the words I spoke to Amanda just as Jack O'Donnell left us, heading back to wherever it was that he'd left months ago. The past few days had left me drained, cold, but seeing Jack was a shot of espresso after a long sleep. I felt strong, invigorated. Strange feelings, considering I was in the middle of trying to find out who killed my brother.

Amanda and I were packing up my apartment, getting ready to move in together at a new rental farther downtown. This old place held a lot of memories, but like Jack, perhaps it was time to start over. Come clean. At some point, even the good memories are overshadowed by the bad ones, and a fresh perspective can help you hang on to the ones you want to keep and forget the ones you don't.

But as I told Amanda, it was going to be a long night, and memories didn't wash away that quickly.

Once the final box was packed, and sealed with enough duct tape to strap it to a cruise missile, we hopped in a cab and followed the driver down to our new place on 87th Street. It was a nice neighborhood, populated by young families and young professionals which meant plenty of parks and playgrounds, and a whole lot of dive bars. Amanda and I were somewhere in the middle of those two worlds: not ready to face the mortgage and two-point-five children yet, and not quite in the mood to wear baseball caps while spilling beer over ourselves because our team scored a touchdown. For us, the mating ritual seemed over. We preferred quiet conversation to boisterous applause. A cold bottle of beer in front of one television beat a watered-down draft in front of twelve.

God, I sounded old.

We watched warily out the window as the moving van seemed to steer directly into every pothole on the street. I cringed every time the wheels jumped, and I waited for the moment when the axle would just snap in half and all of my oh-so-valuable possessions would come flying out the back like stuffing from a slit couch.

When the van finally came to a stop, I jumped out of the cab and met the movers at the back of their van. When the driver, a man with massive biceps and an even bigger gut, wearing a back brace that could have been used in those World's Strongest Man competitions, went to pick up my stuff, I leaned in to help. Then I felt Amanda's hand on my arm.

What are you doing? she asked.

I'm going to help carry stuff, I said. It's my junk, after all. .

Yeah, but you paid them to carry it. It's their job. .

I know, I said. I'm just not used to someone else doing the heavy lifting. .

Would you feel better if I did it? Amanda said, her hand on her hip.

Actually, I replied, smiling, putting my arm around her, I would. .

She stood on tiptoe and gave me a small peck on the cheek. I'm not sure how wide I was smiling before, but now I was positively beaming.

It took just under an hour for the movers to transport all the boxes and secondhand furniture up to our second-story walkup. In New York, real estate prices were often dictated by how high a floor your apartment was on. A general rule of thumb: the higher the floor, the more costly the apartment. I figured in a walkup, the reverse applied. I'd rather pay more to live on a lower floor. Lugging groceries up five flights would be a bitch; two was just fine.

Once the movers were done and satisfied with their tip, Amanda and I walked into our new place. Amanda's few things were already there. None of the boxes was unpacked, none of the furniture was where it was supposed to go. The bed frame was set up, but the mattress was on its side against the foyer wall. We hefted it up, brought it into the bedroom and left it fall onto the plywood with a thunk.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. Looked around. Amanda sat next to me.

Everything okay? she said.

I looked over at her. Smiled.

She was a true beauty in every sense of the word. That auburn hair that fell around her shoulders like a sunset, the small mole on her collarbone that I loved to kiss. When we met, I felt like the luckiest man on earth simply because she'd saved my life. Now, I felt like the luckiest man on earth because she'd saved my soul.

Thinking about Jack? she said. I didn't know he was still alive, let alone in our neighborhood. The least he could have done was brought over a housewarming gift. .

I shook my head. Not thinking about Jack, I responded.

Then what is it? .

Stephen. I'm thinking about Stephen. .

Amanda nodded, stayed silent. I didn't know what to say how would she?.

A few days ago, I found out that I had a brother. A man I'd never met in my life, who until he was thirty years old had never met or tried to get in touch with me. And the day he finally did reach out to me' he was murdered.

I wasn't exactly a good luck charm when it came to family reunions.

I checked my watch. It was nearing midnight. I'd promised Jack to be at the office early the next morning. Which meant that if I was hoping to go in refreshed, I'd have to hit the sack pretty soon. And considering that our bedsheets were sealed inside any one of twenty boxes and that it was likely underneath pounds of junk (the penalty for packing quickly and not labeling your boxes), it'd be 2 a.m. at the earliest.

Not that I could fall asleep.

There was too much at stake. I still didn't know who was behind Stephen's death, and I still wasn't exactly sure what Jack had in store for me in the morning. And hardest of all, I had a beautiful girl that I loved sitting right next to me.

I don't think I can sleep, I said.