That same night, at around 10:00 p.m. over at Portland University, a decent sized college campus in the city of Portland, a psychology professor named Lewis Nelson was alone in his office, grading papers.
With only one small lamp turned on, his office was quite dark. The lamp, however, lit up the papers just enough to where he could see what he was doing. Lewis was a newer teacher, but a bright mind at that. He was in his mid-thirties and taught criminology to students who wanted to step into the minds of serial killers and learn about how the criminal justice system handles people like that.
He sat in silence as he reread the grade he’d given the sophomore Tessa Jameson. She was one of those students who always came to class with a smile and was ready to learn. Obviously, she was one of the smartest in the class.
Lewis read the title of her paper: “Be Careful of What the Mind Can Do.” The paper he’d assigned to the class was supposed to demonstrate how powerful the mind can be. The lesson included a lecture on how the mind, if it wants something enough, can bend reality at its will.
Most of the papers used examples of good things the mind can do. For example, one student used the “mom lifts car off of baby” story. And, while Lewis acknowledged in class that that was correct, he was looking for something a little deeper.
Tessa’s paper, however, talked about how people can train their mind to do powerful things, like learning how to be closer with nature through meditation or get closer to a God by using prayer. But some train their minds for all of the wrong reasons. Tessa’s paper went on to discuss how some serial killers consider themselves the good guys because they might see the world as overpopulated. She mentioned that some get the twisted idea that they are carrying out the Lord’s will. And when a person believes the horrible things they do are for the good of somebody else, it is truly dangerous and almost impossible to stop them.
Lewis smiled as he put an A on Tessa’s paper. He then proceeded to put the rest of the graded papers into his drawer and the ungraded ones into his brown leather briefcase. He sighed as he got up from his chair and took his black sports coat off the coat hanger right next to his desk. He threw it over his shoulders and walked out the door, locking it behind him.
Lewis walked down the hallway whistling the tune of a student’s ringtone that went off earlier in class until he got to a door that was lit up green by the exit sign that sat above it. As he walked out of the psychology building, he grabbed his umbrella and lifted it above his head to shield himself from the rain.
About 10:10 now, and Lewis was walking to his car. Listening to the rain around him, he pulled his keys out from his pocket and clicked the unlock button. A gray Prius in the distance gave a brief response. As he got to his car, Lewis collapsed his umbrella, opened the door, threw his belongings onto the passenger side seat, and pushed the button that started the car.
He reached over and turned the radio on. He sat back and began to drive out of the parking lot. His favorite radio station was basically a talk show in which the host had listeners call in and talk about crazy conspiracies. The host of the show, Ron Stevens, had a deep and soothing voice.
And, while the majority of the stories were obviously fake, there were some that were interesting and sparked Lewis’ imagination and curiosity. He often took ideas from the show and used them in his lectures if they made enough sense.
“Next up, we have Jason,” Ron Stevens began in a low tone, “who claims he was able to achieve astral projection.”
The streetlight in front of Lewis turned yellow, and he began to slow down. He came to a complete stop as he laughed at what he had just heard over the radio. But he continued to listen.
“Jason what do you have for us?” Ron asked.
There was a bit of static, then a small voice came on. Lewis envisioned a skinny, thirty-five-year-old man who lived in his parents’ basement and was just looking for attention.
Jason began to talk. “Yeah, hi, so basically I wanted to start off by saying that I’m a huge fan of the show.” His voice was shaking a bit.
Ron cut the guy off instantly and said, “Thank you, Jason. So, what’s this about astral projection?”
“Oh, oh, yeah,” Jason said. After a brief pause, he continued. “Well, one time I was in my mom’s basement…”
Lewis gave himself a nod, as though he’d drained a three-pointer in a basketball game. The light turned green, and he began driving as Jason continued.
“Well, one second I was there, and the next I was upstairs.”
Nearing an underpass and another stoplight, Lewis noticed one of the streetlights was off, which made that particular corner as black as the night sky. He noticed something to his left but couldn’t make it out immediately.
It was as if there was a dark streak of something on the sidewalk. It looked like a paint stroke. At least, that’s what Lewis told himself it was as the light turned green and he proceeded to turn right, toward home. He looked in his rearview mirror and saw nothing except the flicker of the streetlight. He continued to listen to Jason on the radio, who eventually came to the realization on air that he was probably just high.
When Lewis arrived at his small suburban house outside the city, he opened up his garage door and drove in. It was about 10:30 p.m. now, and he unpacked his belongings from the car and headed inside. As he entered, he hung his coat up on its hanger by the front door, kicked off his shoes, and was greeted by his eleven-year-old German shepherd, Apollo.
“Hi, buddy,” Lewis said while petting his dog between the ears. Apollo let out a large groan, and Lewis replied, “Yeah, same here, bud.”
While chuckling, Lewis headed to his office and threw his bags inside. He turned around and walked to his bedroom. The TV was on, and his wife Karissa was sound asleep, her brown hair spread out across the pillow.
He was quiet as he entered, whispering to Apollo to come in. Apollo trotted through the doorway and headed straight to his bed in the corner and sat down. Lewis went into his bathroom and changed into his nighttime clothes, which included a white tank top and gym shorts.
He sat there for a second and looked at himself in the mirror. Lewis had dark brown hair that was usually styled to look like a wave. He had a scruffy beard that he would trim nearly every day before it got out of hand. He was slim but had some muscle definition as well. But not much.
After he was done inspecting the signs of aging, he brushed his teeth and turned off the light before leaving the bathroom. He quietly climbed into bed, trying not to wake up Karissa. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, then proceeded to grab the remote and turn off the TV before he dozed off into a deep sleep.
*
The next morning, Lewis awoke to Karissa kissing him on the head and telling him to wake up.
“Good morning, Lewy,” she said playfully. “I made coffee.”
As he did every morning, Lewis looked turned over and looked out the window next to his side of the bed. It allowed a sense of calmness, and it gave him the knowledge of the weather for the upcoming day.
He then got out of bed and replied as he received a cup, “Oh, you’re amazing, honey, thank you.” He took a sip. “What would I ever do without you?”
“Probably be homeless,” she said while laughing. Karissa was dressed in a black pantsuit; her brown hair was wavy, and her white skin glistened. She was glowing.
“What’s with the fancy getup today?” Lewis asked.
“Today is the day I talk to Jerry about the Griffin story,” she said.
“Oh, I get it,” he said. He got up and wrapped his arms around her stomach while she checked herself again in the mirror. “You’re going to use your astonishing beauty to get your boss to give you that massive story that will one hundred percent put you in the big leagues.”
She looked at him in the mirror. “Yeah, that’s exactly right,” she said.
They both laughed.
*
Lewis, now dressed in his work clothes and out in the kitchen, was feeding Apollo while watching the news like he did every morning. The old dog took a break from his food when he heard Karissa’s high heels on the hardwood floor get louder and louder. He then shoved his face right back into his food bowl.
Karissa walked into the kitchen adjusting one of her earrings. Lewis looked over at her. “Oh, mama!” he said with a huge grin.
She looked over at him, blushing. “Stop it!” She said. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she put hers over his shoulders. He leaned in for a kiss.
“I’m married to easily the best goddamn reporter this town has ever seen,” he said, completely amazed at her beauty.
“I’m not sure that’s true, because I have only been given stories about dog shows and Christmas pageants, but thank you,” she said with a smile.
“Hey, you walk in there today, straight up walk into that man’s office, and demand that story,” Lewis replied. “You deserve it.”
She looked up into his eyes and gave him a kiss. “You are my home, Lewis Nelson.” They kissed again. They were eventually interrupted by a message on TV that caught both of their attentions.
“We now go live to Portland, Oregon, to bring you some shocking news.”
Both of the Nelsons’ grins morphed into curious expressions as they turned toward their television.
“The body of Portland native Patrick Hopkins was found dead this morning on the corner of Thirteenth and Grand Hill near downtown in what police have now confirmed is a homicide.”
Karissa said in a very shallow voice, “I gotta go to work.” She turned around, gave her husband a final kiss on the cheek, and walked out the front door.
Lewis stood there shocked as the anchors began to describe the scene.
“What you are about to witness is extremely graphic. Viewer discretion is advised.”
A video popped up. It was obviously taken from the phone of a pedestrian who happened to walk by the crime scene before any law enforcement arrived. The video began by looking at the sidewalk for a few seconds. The audio was cut out so that the anchors could describe what everyone was seeing. Then, suddenly, the camera flipped up, abruptly showing a giant red blur.
They cut the video short, but the anchors said the body had been cut to pieces, as if Patrick Hopkins was mauled by a lion. They then went on to say that investigators believed it happened late at night and that the body would be sent in for an autopsy.
Lewis was instantly reminded of the night before. He was at that intersection. He now realized what that dark streak of paint on the sidewalk could’ve been.
“Truly disgusting,” one anchor said. “Police are searching for a suspect who is around seven feet tall and wearing all black clothes, including what looked to be a mask of some sort covering his face.”
Still frozen with shock, Lewis wondered what might’ve happened if he’d turned left instead of right at that intersection. Would he have been another victim of this killer? He turned off the TV and proceeded to grab his briefcase.
He thought to himself, What if I could’ve helped? Maybe I could’ve done something, anything! He threw on his coat and walked out the door without even saying goodbye to Apollo.
*
The entire journey to campus, Lewis continued to ask himself if he could have done something to help the man who was brutally murdered the night before. After some time, he arrived at the stoplight under the overpass where he’d spotted the dark paint streak that he now knew was blood.
Police cars were still blocking off that side of the road. There were a few different news vans from multiple stations lined up on the street as well.
When the light turned green, Lewis kept driving while also gluing his eyes to the scene. Two police officers holding large shotguns stared at him as he drove by, and they continued to stare at him until he was out of their eyesight. Lewis’ spine rattled with chills. He couldn’t help but feel as though something was off about the whole thing.
*
Lewis was a few minutes late to class.
“Thank you all for staying; I’m sorry I’m a bit late,” he said to the class. “Now, last class we were talking about Ted Bundy. Why do you guys think—”
He was cut off by one of his students in the front. “Mr. Nelson, are we seriously not going to talk about what happened last night?”
A few of the other students agreed.
“No. The man was murdered, and we should give it at least a few days before we talk about it like it will teach us something,” Lewis replied, annoyed.
“But Mr. Nelson!” another student said.
“NO!” Lewis yelled while hitting his desk.
The students sat up straight and stopped their whispers and talking immediately. Lewis felt a strange tingle in the back of his spine. He sighed after a brief moment and said, “I am sorry, everybody.”
He looked down at his desk and continued, “It was a long night, and this murder just got to me for some reason. We will talk about it in the near future, but until they have all of the facts as to why someone would kill Mr. Hopkins, we will continue with our regularly scheduled lectures, okay?”
Everyone nodded in agreement, and Lewis continued the lecture about Ted Bundy until the end of class an hour later.
After class ended, Tessa Jameson walked up to Lewis’ desk while her other classmates walked out in a hurry. She stood in front of him while he was packing his things into his briefcase. Without looking at her, he said, “What is it, Tessa? I gotta go.”
“I know,” she explained, “but I was just curious what you thought of my paper.”
Lewis stopped packing his things and looked at her. “How do you think you did?” he asked.
She looked disappointed, as that was obviously not the answer she was looking for.
“Tessa, I really enjoyed it,” he said with a smirk.
Tessa looked at him with excitement.
“Between you and me,” he started, “this is exactly what I was looking for.”
Her smile grew larger.
“Most of the class used this paper to explain how the mind is the most powerful tool—which was the goal. But they used only positive examples. Your idea that serial killers sometimes have deranged ideas about things like religion, and that those ideas can be held onto as tightly as if their child were stuck under a car and that is what allows them to perform these horrific tasks so easily is terrific.”
Tessa smiled from ear to ear. “Thanks, Mr. Nelson!” she said as she trotted out of class.
When she opened the door, Jack Garcia, the dean of the school and also a good friend of the Nelsons, walked in with two men in black suits.
Lewis looked at them, troubled.
Jack approached and said, “Lewis, I need you to come with me.”
“Is everything all right?” Lewis asked, confused.
Jack looked at him and sighed, “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
Lewis followed Jack and the two men in suits to his office. After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Jack, what the hell is this? What’s going on?”
Nobody responded to him. He knew it was serious, though, because Jack was coming to get him. Jack never asked Lewis to his office unless it was about their fantasy football league. And Jack’s wife Lisa was very good friends with Karissa. Pretty much every Sunday during the fall, the families would get together and watch football games.
As they entered the office, a man was sitting at Jack’s chair. He was wearing a black suit was tall and strong. He had blonde hair and matched it with a pretty large beard. He had a gun and a badge attached to his belt.
“What is this?” Lewis asked.
“Hello, Mr. Nelson. My name is Detective Bolton with the FBI, and I need to ask you a few questions. Please, sit,” Bolton said, gesturing to the chair. The situation itself was strange, and it was especially strange with all the men in suits standing around, but Bolton’s voice was nice and welcoming.
Lewis felt a little safer and more at ease after hearing the kindness in Bolton’s voice. He was obviously a charming guy. They both sat down, and the detective gave Jack a kind smile. “Thank you, Mr. Garcia,” he said.
Jack nodded and walked out. Now Lewis was nervous again. He was alone in a room full of FBI agents.
“Now,” Detective Bolton said, putting his attention back onto Lewis. “I don’t have a lot of time, and I know you don’t either, so let’s get through this, okay?”
“Yeah, well, what exactly is this?” Lewis asked nervously.
“Mr. Lewis Nelson. I’m sure you are aware of the events that transpired last night at Thirteenth and Grand Hill.” Lewis nodded his head slowly. “Well, we were able to find a few things that pointed us in your direction. You might actually be able to help us.”
“You think I was involved?” Lewis said loudly.
“Mr. Nelson, that’s not what we were going to ask you,” Bolton said. Then he took a long pause. “We were able to look at the traffic cameras from last night. At approximately 10:15 p.m., these images were taken.”
Bolton pulled out a manila folder and opened it, taking out a few different pictures. Each was a screenshot from different traffic cameras at the street corner. They were all different angles, but one thing was clear: in every picture, Lewis’ car was stopped at the light, and, only a few feet away from him, waiting in the darkness, was the tall man.
And when Lewis looked at the photographs, he was truly terrified. The pictures showed that his head was turned toward the street, where the dark streak was. And, if you looked past the streak, a figure in the dark was looking right at him. The photos looked as if Lewis and the tall figure were staring at each other. Chills went through his body.
“As you can see, Mr. Nelson,” Bolton explained, “you were seen only feet away from the suspect last night, and we were wondering if you have any information about him.”
“I didn’t even see him standing there, honestly,” Lewis replied. “I noticed a dark streak of something. I thought it was oil because it wasn’t mixing with the rain, but all of my attention was on that, so I had no idea that freak was only a few feet from me.” He paused. “He could’ve killed me right then and there. He could’ve followed me home. I could have led him to my wife.”
Bolton’s eyes widened a bit. “It’s okay,” he replied. “You’re not in trouble or anything, Mr. Nelson. And as far as we know, he took off. We can have an officer or two put outside you house, if that will make you feel better.”
The professor itched his wrist. “You guys don’t have any leads?”
“Well, that’s why we’re here asking you. Because any information would help, and it seems that you were the closest to him,” Bolton said, scratching his beard.
“But I mean, there aren’t many people who are that tall, so he can’t hide for long, right?” Lewis asked.
“Well, that’s what we’re hoping. I mean, it certainly narrows down the suspect list,” Bolton replied.
“I’m sorry, guys,” Lewis said, looking between the two detectives. “I wish I could be of more help.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Nelson. We appreciate your time,” said Bolton.
Lewis got up and shook the detective’s hand. “I don’t think it’s necessary to put officers outside my house. I mean, you guys can keep your eyes on us, but I don’t want to scare my wife, and I also believe that every officer you guys have, you should be able to find this guy.”
Bolton nodded his head, and Lewis walked out of the room. He went back to his classroom to get ready for his next lecture. As he sat down, he pulled out his phone. He had two messages from Karissa.
Hey, babe, are you okay? This is crazy.
Jerry gave me the story! I’ll have it up by lunch. How are you?
At that moment, Lewis’ heart was filled with joy. He knew how hard Karissa had worked to be a journalist, and she felt like this “Griffin story” was her key to the top.
Karissa had started out as an assistant for her boss, Jerry. She wanted to be a writer, but every time she came in with suggestions for stories, he turned her down. After two years of bringing in coffee and answering calls, she was offered the job of journalist on small stories. Ever since, she’d been begging for something big, and it seemed she just got it.
The joy in his heart quickly faded as he saw students beginning to walk into his classroom. He put his phone away and greeted them. At that moment, he felt an itch in his throat. A tingle in his brain. A scratching at his skull.
He shook his head and began his lecture.