Closure

No-one knew when or where they gathered, but when they did, it was murder. That was always the topic of conversation... the fetish they paid top dollar to watch... the art they collected.

They met in a sweeping, dimly lit hall that shifted through time and, as a consequence, was always bone-numbingly cold. They sat in deep, scuffed leather chairs and drank warm, throat-burning brandy under clouds of thick cigar smoke that wove around their heads like a stream of snakes. They were well dressed, dandy bastards that loved a good murder.

They would spend hours reading crumpled old police case reports on gruesome, unsolved crimes committed long ago, or walking through the ‘gallery of death’ to admire the crimson sea of bloodshed on canvas that splattered the dark, saturated walls. Others watched video footage of these murders taking place on television screens fixed next to each canvas.

Two collectors – the suave, shifty eyed Mr Carver; founder of The Collective and an astute salesman and art dealer, and his ominous guest, Mr Franks, watched one of these murders unfold. It was brutal.

A teenage girl was being chased down a back street by a gaunt faced man that kept trying to slash her back open with a large butcher’s knife. He swung down the blade and it nipped the girl’s dress, scratching it open, but missing the flesh.

Mr Franks sucked on his teeth with excitement – so close! This was his passion, his ‘art world’.

“Death isn’t the only thing we offer here at The Collective.” Mr Carver always kicked off his sales pitch with that line. “There are many strings to our bow.” Mr Franks waited for Carver to continue, but instead he cast his eyes back over the video screen and said, “It’s the simplicity of the kill that fascinates me about this piece. At one moment, so full of life – the blood that moves the body, running like wild-fire through the bones. Then,” he clicked his fingers...

The gaunt faced man grabbed the teenage girl by the hair and thrust the knife into the back of her neck... sucking the life out of her body before he could blink.

“Darkness! Death!” Mr Carver looked at Mr Franks and smiled, “He killed her because she looked at him the wrong way and he never got caught.” He glanced at the adjoining canvas. “You can’t help but admire that - the ones that get away with murder.”

Mr Franks nodded in agreement. Mr Carver moved in for the kill. “We can help you get away with it, too.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We can find you a victim in the present and then hide you in the past once the deed is done... for a price.” Mr Franks was clearly tempted by the offer, but refused to believe he was. “I’m only interested in the art.”

“For now,” Mr Carver said, as he turned and looked again at the canvas. “This is a good piece, but for the true artist, the real master of murder, look no further than the works of Jack the Ripper.”

“I would kill to see that collection of Death Art!”

“So would everyone in this room. I’m the only man alive that knows the identity of the greatest killer in history... his true motives for taking so many lives.” He looked at Mr Franks and cut him dead before he could ask, “Not a hope in hell.”

“Excuse me, Sir,”

Mr Carver turned to find his Butler; a well groomed and educated old gent torn from The Roaring Twenties, stood at his side holding what looked like a crime scene folder. “The one you wanted.”

Mr Carver glanced at the folder –

THE ‘RED ROOM’ MURDER, 11/11/1926

“Dead on time!” He was thrilled. He’d wanted to add this previously unsolved murder to his collection for a very long time. Now, the truth about what really took place in that room all those years ago was finally in his well manicured fingers. “Excuse me, Mr Franks, but I need to tend to this. Please, enjoy the rest of my exhibition.”

Mr Carver turned to leave, but Mr Franks wasn’t finished. “One more thing -” Carver stalled and threw his guest an impatient look. “These unsolved murders you collect... How do you know who committed them?”

Mr Carver smiled, “We have witnesses.”