First Chorus

Prologue - Rick

Hours they’d been gone. The wait for Vienna to
come back was always hard, even when I found
ways to occupy myself. Fletcher accompanying
her, however, added a whole new element of despair to my
already heightened worry.
Or was it jealousy?
Yes, it was definitely jealousy cramping my muscles and
leaving me aching. I prided myself on being so in touch with
my emotions that I could recognize that. It didn’t mean I had
to like it.
Sighing, I finished off the dusting so not even a spec of
unwanted dirt lay anywhere in the house. Originally, I
planned to squeegee the windows. When she brought one
home the other day, excitement burst in my chest at how
fun it would be to use it.
Satisfying.
Taking care of Vienna was a bone-deep satisfaction and
watching the results of my work just added to it. The ability
to remove the dirty, soapy suds from windows and leave
behind a glass pane so spotless you couldn’t even tell it was
there was about to be my new favorite chore.
Before she’d left, she’d ask me to continue a different
kind of work. So, instead of going down my cleaning checklist,
I went to her room and retrieved the laptop, careful to
follow her explicit instructions on how to get it out and set
it up.
Instead of staying in her room, I carried it down to the
living room. Her scent surrounded me in her room. I didn’t
want to disturb it, saving it for later when I needed to
remind myself. Some background noise would also be
welcome right now. If it was too much and I couldn’t multitask,
then I’d go back up to her room, but for now, I’d like
not to be alone with the silence.
Flicking the TV on, I settled into my favorite spot on the
couch, logging in to the dark web. I didn’t bother changing
the channel from what it had been on, since I had no desire
to actually watch it. Whoever was the last in the living room
had been watching the I.D. channel.
I snorted, betting on Fletcher.
Vienna knew everything there was to know about her
world, and I couldn’t see her trying to get ideas or inspiration
from the crime channel. One, she didn’t do that type of
crime. Two, this channel was focused on the past, and she
had much more important things to do than this.
The few times we had watched a show together, she had
picked comedies. Something mindless but entertaining.
Well, there were the times she decided to watch the news,
but that served a different purpose.
For a solid hour, I conducted research on the names on
the list, both looking up new information, and checking for
any changes on existing intel, when something caught my
attention on the TV.
A deep, soothing voice of commentary complemented
the reel of society pictures on the TV. “The Judge is arguably
one of the most notorious serial killers outside of the Zodiac
Killer. The hunt for their true identities remains ongoing.
“What separates these two, however, are the victims they
choose. The Judge, with over fifty alleged kills and several
more assumed, is a vigilante killer. While not all of the
victims were men, they always appear guilty of some type of
crime relating to women and children. While the nature of
the crime may not have been known at the time of their
deaths, these rich playboys,” a series of dated pictures
showed men on yachts, jets, and parties in mansions, “well respected
politicians,” this time the pictures told a different
story of men and women in expensive suits posing during
red carpet events, shaking hands, or in one, kissing a baby
on its fuzzy head. “Or community philanthropists, all hid
dark, sometimes depraved secrets.” The final set of photos
was almost sickening to see, knowing the people in those
pictures had some kind of guilt under their grand exterior.
“Further investigations following their deaths uncovered
some shocking and heinous acts perpetrated by the Judge’s
alleged victims.”
Vienna never shared if there was a name attached to her
father, or even if the police knew of him, but fierce pride
sizzled in my chest. This was the type of work her family
did. Saving people when the law wouldn’t or couldn’t. Like
Noel Warrick. She looked like someone’s grandmother, and
she sold kids. That they would associate someone like the
Judge or Vienna with the Zodiac Killer seemed kind of
insulting. My perspective had changed entirely from the
moment I saved Vienna, and I was happy for the new light
of truth shining on the world.
“Sandra Jane, an investigative journalist, who likens
herself to a Sherlock Holmes of the digital age, has been
compiling the life and crimes of many of these victims. With
her new insight on all the pieces of the puzzle known as the
Judge, she believes she’ll finally be the one to uncover the
highly sought after identity of this vigilante killer. Some
may seek their own form of justice, and some may thank
them for their efforts to keep society safe, but one thing is
for certain… The days where the Judge is unknown are
numbered. Here’s Sandra during her latest interview on
Inside Cold Crimes.”
A clip of a young, slender woman appeared on the large
screen. Whether it was her solemn expression and tenacious
gaze, or the size of the TV hanging on Vienna’s wall,
she seemed larger than life. Striking in an unconventional
way, but exuding an iciness that chilled me.
Even when Vienna was working, she never felt cold
to me.
“Thank you for having me.” She nodded toward the host
off camera.
“We’re glad to have you join us, Sandra. Jumping right
into what viewers are eager to know, we’re told that you have
new information that could lead to finally identifying the
Judge?”
She leaned forward, as if ready to impart a secret of epic
proportions but had no smugness in how she obtained it.
This woman was all business. “I do. From an anonymous
source, I recently gained access to the journals of the late
Casey Morgan, the lead FBI agent whose hunt for the Judge
has been likened in some circles to Ahab’s obsession with
finding Moby Dick. Only his white whale was the Judge.
The data he gathered was never released to the public, and I
believe with the technology available today, this is the key to
everything…”