Unfinished Job

The boys finally stopped after they escaped the maze-like junk street and reached the main road. They bent over, panting heavily, finally able to catch their breath.

"I can't believe it," one of them gasped.

"That creepy guy… so he really does have a missing eye," another said.

"He looks awful without the eyepatch," the first boy added.

"I'm kinda worried about him, though. He's missing an eye, and now his ear too."

As they talked about their unsettling encounter, they failed to notice two large men walking past. The men halted briefly when they overheard the boys' conversation.

"Come on, he's not the only one with an eyepatch," one man muttered. "Let's not waste time."

---

With his mood spoiled by the boys' encounter, Uche walked back to the workshop. He met with his boss and after confirming that he had no injury, they started working for the day. His work was the same as always: scraping metal, cutting it, melting it down, and reshaping it. It was the type of job he'd found himself doing wherever he went. It was the kind of work no one paid much attention to, and there were always just a few workers around—five at the most, usually older men.

As someone who tried to live a quiet, solitary life, and stay away from many people as possible, Uche preferred this kind of job. After the day's work was done, he collected his pay and left.

Instead of heading straight home, he wandered through the junk-filled streets for a while, exploring. It was something he did often, a way to clear his mind from the "stupid thoughts" that sometimes haunted him. He knew that once he got home, his worries would be waiting for him.

Exploring the outskirts of the city had become a sort of hobby for him. He knew every street—safe ones, dangerous ones, every shortcut to the main road. Today, though, as he strolled through the labyrinth-like streets, another thought entered his mind: what if the organ-trafficking gangs chased him into this area? He smirked at the thought.

As someone who had spent countless hours exploring the outskirts, he knew he could easily lose them.

Lost in his thoughts, Uche suddenly found himself in a part of the outskirts he hadn't visited before. This street, unlike the others, was bustling with life. People walked up and down the junk-strewn road, while vendors sold items from stalls on the sides. Children ran around, playing happily. The peacefulness of the street struck him. He had always wondered why most of the outskirts were so eerily silent, but seeing this now made him wonder if people were secretly developing the area for themselves.

As he continued walking, enjoying the atmosphere, a strange sound reached his ears. Curiosity piqued, he followed the sound into a narrow alley between two buildings. There, in front of him, was a crowd of seven or eight people gathered around a middle-aged man sitting on the ground, strumming a guitar. A sweet melody flowed from his fingers, and the man's voice was smooth and captivating.

Enthralled by the song, Uche approached and listened with the crowd. When the man finally stopped singing, Uche asked.

"Sir, can I ask where you got that sound?"

The man glanced at him and smiled.

"This sound? It's actually going viral in the city. People are really into it."

"Really? I had no idea," Uche said, genuinely surprised.

"Why would you?" the man chuckled. "You live in the outskirts. How would you know what's going on in the city unless someone like me brings the news?"

Uche smiled politely, though he winced internally.

"But the artist behind the song is an idiot. Calls himself 'The Lonely Guitar Man' or something," the man added, his tone turning sour.

'Ouch'. Uche thought.

"Why do you say he's dumb?" Uche asked, trying to hide his amusement.

"Because," the man scoffed, "the Rave label wants to collaborate with him, but he turned them down. Said they could remix the song if they wanted, but he wouldn't work with them. Isn't that ridiculous? A no-name artist turning down the Rave!"

Uche smiled.

"Maybe he's just trying to protect his identity."

The man snorted. "Who cares about that?"

Uche continue smiling, of course, he was The Lonely Guitar Man.

It's somehow calming hearing someone else sing his song.

---

After listening to the man's music again, Uche eventually left the outskirts and headed home. He took a shower, prepared a late meal, and got into bed.

But just as he was about to close his eyes, a sharp pain pierced his eye socket. A burning sensation flared for a few seconds before it was replaced by a distant vision.

---

In a large, luxurious room adorned with various artworks, several pencil illustration hung all over the wall.

At the corner of the room, a young man sat in a sleek metal chair, a round table stood in front of him, and a lamp above illuminated his workspace. The man, with red spiky hair, chiseled features, and sharp eyes, was deeply engrossed in sketching in a journal. His phone, placed on the table, played music in the background.

The young man was completing a drawing of an old man hanging from a mangrove tree, dressed in tattered, bloody clothes. Beside it was a similar sketch, though simpler, lacking color, just a pencil illustration.

After the drawing had been completed, he closed the journal and raised the glass of coffee that stood in front of him.

He took a sip of coffee, smiled, and then opened the journal to the first page. It showed a clear drawing of the letters "P" and "L" crossing each other, like a hammer and spanner.

Suddenly, the young man clutched his left eye in pain as he could feel a faint burning sensation in the depth of his eye. The song that had been playing on his phone had changed—to a track by The Lonely Guitar Man.

A couple seconds later, the burning in his eye subsided and he muttered,

"I need some eye drops."

Then continued flipping through his sketches, going through the artwork he had been sketching for years.

Unbeknownst to him, someone else was watching through his eyes.

---

Uche watched in horror as a hand flipped through the pages of a sketchbook, each page filled with drawings, several different artworks, well sketched and godly made.

His heart raced when he recognized several of the sketches. The symbol of a hammer and spanner—he had seen it before. And then the pencil drawing of a middle-aged woman holding a bouquet of roses. He had seen that before too.

There were several drawings on the book, there sketches of children, school kids, old man and woman, several young people, they were well sketched in the book. But the two that he recognized, made his mouth twitched.

"That... that person is the Corpse Art Killer," Uche whispered. The sketch of the dead woman's statue, the symbol—the killer had left these clues.

And now, Uche could see through the killer's eye. His vision had been transplanted into this madman, forcing him to witness the killer's plans.

"Why me?" Uche groaned, clutching his head. He didn't care about the killings so much, but being forced to see them, to know what the killer would do next, was unbearable.

"I just want my eye back," Uche thought as he curled into his bedsheets. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he fell asleep.

---

The Lagos State Police Headquarters was in a strange situation, the atmosphere was tense, with thick air of seriousness flowing around the office.

Officers bustled around, feeding information to each other in a hurry.

In a small, dimly lit room, two men sat opposite each other in silence. One, younger, had his legs propped up on the table, his fingers tapping impatiently. His name tag read Inspector Ray. The other, older man, with blood dripping from his nose, was Sergeant Kim.

The two men stared at each other in complete silence.

After wiping his nose with a tissue, Kim tossed it into the bin and resumed the silent staring contest with Ray, which had dragged on for several minutes.

Finally, Ray couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his feet to the floor and stood up, glaring at Kim.

"Why do I have to work with this old fool? Of all people, why him?"

Ray shouted, exasperated.

Kim, unfazed, responded sarcastically, "Show some respect, kid. We may have the same rank, but I'm way older than you. Respect your elders."

Ray leaned in forward, his fists clenched, ready to punch Kim, but he stopped himself just in time.

"This is your fault," Kim continued calmly. "If you hadn't messed up the investigation back then, this case would've been closed."

Ray grabbed Kim's collar, but released him just as quickly, realizing how reckless he was being.

"You're right," he said, adjusting his coat. "Maybe if I'd done a better job, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Exactly. Now that we've been stuck together again, let's finish the job and catch him."

After the result of the autopsy had been released by the forensic, they had discovered the cause of death, and not just that but the manner the woman was killed, although, not the statue's part, but the cause of her death, they have seen it before, not just once or twice, but countless times.

It was a major issue back then, a serial killing and Inspector Ray and Sergeant Kim had been in charge of the case at that time, but the culprit was never caught, not even their identity was revealed.

Funnily enough, the killer just kill random people, there's no major pattern in the act, just random people from different place, it could be a man, woman or a kid, an influential person or someone from the outskirt.

The pattern of killing is always random and that makes it impossible for the cops to predict the killer's next move, and failed to catch him.

But what made them know that it was a serial killer is the symbol that he always leaves on the victim's body after killing them, he always draw a strange tattoo on them, a one side hammer crossing a spanner, while a large human skull is always in the middle.

The killer always leaves this symbol on their victim, although, the symbol left on the woman's statue does not have the human skull that the previous victims always had, but after an autopsy, it was confirmed that it's the same person.

The killing had stopped back then, nobody know why the person had stopped killing people and the government thought maybe something happen to the person, and it was revealed to the public that he had been caught by the cops, until the person decided to show up again, now even making a public non verbal announcement, by displaying the corpse in front of a theater, like an exhibition show.

And the two people who had been in charge of the case back then were called back in, to complete their unfinished job.

It was this particular case that brought the hostility between the two.