Summary: Isaac Foster is being framed for a series of murders he didn't commit, at least not this time. An angry Zack wants to track 'em down, dragging Rachel along for the ride. He hates liars!
Warning! This story has bad language and a lot of violence, including murder and death. There will also be some mild sexual tension. If you do not wish to read such content, please exit this page immediately.
Copycat
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
The day was damp and dreary. Zack and Rachel walked through the deserted streets, until the reached a small Mom-and-Pops diner. It was only a short walk from the landscaped park they'd been sleeping in. The graveled parking lot had numerous potholes full of water from the heavy precipitation of the last few days. The storefront's worn, neon sign hummed and flickered at uneven intervals, reflecting in the rain puddles while they crossed the lot.
Rachel's tummy rumbled at the thought of real, hot food- something that wasn't a bag of chips or candy bars. She was sure Zack was probably starved too. They'd just collected a wallet loaded with cash from one of Zack's recent victims so they had a bit of money to play around with now. It had been awhile since they had decent meal, though the quality of the food this place served had yet to be determined. She figured 'beggars can't be choosers,' as the saying goes.
Zack walked into the diner, the obnoxious jingle of bells on the door announcing their arrival. Ray trailed behind him, the smell of grease and stale cigarettes immediately assaulting their noses. The place wasn't particularly busy, although a few other tables were casually occupied and a few stragglers sat at the pub-height bar.
They settled on a secluded corner booth with a convenient view of the flat screen TV mounted onto the wall, one of the few minor updates that the place had probably seen in years.
Zack sat down and immediately slouched near the window, his arm resting on the sill to prop up his head. Opposite to him, Rachel slid into her own side of the torn classic-red cushion of the booth seat, her hands falling into her lap as she glanced around. The paint around the windows was chipping and the wallpaper was peeling along the walls. The light fixtures likely hadn't seen a dusting in decades and even the old fashioned jut-box had an 'out of order' sign on it.
"Good mornin'," the peppy waitress greeted, pulling a notepad from the pocket of her apron and a pen from where it'd been stuck in her bun, "What can I start ya'll off with?"
Zack had been too busy staring broodily out the window with the hood of his jacket casting shadows over his covered face, that he didn't even acknowledge the waitress's presence, much to Rachel's relief. That young woman's sincerely cheery smile was sure to be offensive to the sleeping murderer hiding somewhere within Zack, if he were to see it. Even though he wouldn't kill anyone in the middle of a restaurant with witnesses around, it was still likely put him in a foul mood for the rest of the day which Rachel would be subject to endure.
The waitress was in the process of handing them menus and listing off in detail their Specials. Mildly stressed at the situation, Rachel decided to speak up before the killer sitting across from her had the chance to witness the overly happy look on the unsuspecting waitress's face. She refused the menus, urging them back into the woman's hand. "We won't need these," She already knew Zack's usual order, despite eating out being such a rare occasion for them. "He'll have a cheeseburger; ketchup only with a Pepsi. I'll take a side order of cheese fries with a sweet tea, please."
She jotted it all down on her notepad and flashed another beaming smile when she looked up, "Any appetizers to go with that?" Rachel shook her head to decline, anxiously glancing to Zack to make sure he wasn't looking. "Comin' right up," the server chirped and moseyed away.
Rachel visibly relaxed at her disappearance and averted her gaze to focus on Zack. He soon noticed her staring and turned to eye her suspiciously. "Whacha lookin' at?" he grumbled halfheartedly.
"Nothing," she averted her eyes, feeling a little heat reach her cheeks. She mentally berated herself for being caught and letting her eyes linger on him a little longer than necessary again.
They soon had their beverages delivered and Rachel quickly thanked the woman politely, virtually shooing her away again when she started raving about how great their deserts were. Fortunately, Zack's attention was focused on his soda, not even bothering with a straw. Rachel sighed in relief when she was finally gone and resigned herself to sipping on her tea through the straw, letting her drowsy mind wander.
She hadn't slept well lately because the nights had been so cold, though it never seemed to bother Zack. The park they were sleeping in was pretty much was just a glorified garden with a walking track. Joggers passed through at all hours of the day and night, a few of which found themselves mugged before meeting their demise by Zack, who prowled for new victims and money after the sun went down. Unlike other parks, this one was rarely patrolled by the police looking for youngsters out past curfew. It also had a covered bridge which provided them shelter and served as a makeshift home, for now. They would stay there for a few more days, a week tops... until the police start catching on to the missing persons and linking their disappearances to the park. When getting caught became too much of a risk, they'd have to relocate.
When the waitress returned again some time later, she looked oddly tense. She carried a pitcher in one hand and their food stacked on top of each other in her other hand. She placed their food on the table and then divided their plates it in front of them to the proper owner. Rachel noticed the girl was shaking as she poured more tea into Rachel's glass. "Anything else I can get you?" her voice trembled as she forced a smile that looked very strained and nervous, unlike before.
"No, thank you." Rachel replied and the waitress immediately excused herself this time, as if she couldn't wait to get away. Alarms went off in Rachel's head. Something wasn't right. She could feel eyes on them.
Zack was already elbow deep in grease and oblivious to everything else. Reluctantly following his example, Rachel took a couple careful bites of her food, chewing thoughtfully. She risked a quick glance around the restaurant to confirm her suspicions; People were looking at them and looked uneasy, which definitely couldn't be good. Suddenly the news man flashed upon the TV screen, catching Rachel's eye.
"Geeze, seriously," Zack had just finished ranting and complaining to Rachel about how the waitress refilled her tea but not his soda. They'd also forgot to take off the onion from his burger but he soon realized she wasn't listening or even looking at him.
He clicked his tongue and put down his burger looking agitated. "Are you even listening?" Zack had been droning on in the background and Ray had indeed failed to catch what he had said. There was a news report about recent murders on the television.
She didn't reply, only kept staring off with a concerned look on her face. Rachel's eyes widened a bit, as if a little disturbed by something. When he followed her line of sight, he realized she was watching the television. Even though the volume was muted, there were subtitles across the bottom, but of course that didn't benefit Zack any.
"What the hell are you staring at, Ray?" he snapped in frustration. If something was going on, he didn't like being left in the dark.
"Something doesn't add up," she drawled carefully. She schooled her expression again.
"Spit it out, dammit." He was getting impatient and her beating around the bush didn't help.
She made sure to lower her voice to keep anyone from overhearing, "How many people have you killed lately, Zack?"
He grimaced. "Shit, I don't know. I just kill when I feel like it or we need money," he scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "Why?"
"The news says they received a letter by someone claiming to be Isaac Foster. It says you've killed over 20 people just this month in a killing spree."
"Wait a minute, I've only killed maybe... five people max. We've been trying to keep it low-key," he said defensively. He turned to look at the TV as if he wanted to see the proof. "And I sure as hell never wrote any notes. Now they just wanna blame every murder on me? What kinda bullshit is that?"
She nodded to acknowledge his vocal feelings of injustice but remained silent. Zack couldn't have written any notes, even if he wanted to. He couldn't read or write, but nobody else knew about that bit of information, aside from the two of them.
"Lying piece of shit bastards," Zack seethed, his hands balling into fists.
"There's more," she spoke up again, continuing to read the broadcast with a sober expression, "The news man is saying they have camera footage of you too."
"You've gotta be kidding me," he grumbled lowly, "I'm not that stupid. I never kill anyone out in the open where there's cameras." Still, the TV aired a short clip of the footage and stopped at an angle that showed a shitty view of what appeared to be Zack's face.
"That ain't me," he defended in agitation. Rachel shushed him and he glared at her for it, but she agreed with his statement nonetheless. The person on the camera was fully wrapped in bandages and had wild black hair like Zack did. But upon further inspection, the impostor didn't have Zack's uniquely colored mixed-matched eyes. They also appeared noticeably shorter and had more muscle tone, lacking the same thin, lithe body type Zack had. The poser was also wearing different clothing, missing the signature hoodie Zack always wore. Unless you knew Zack up close and personal like Rachel did, you probably wouldn't know it wasn't him. Plus, it wasn't like many people met Zack face-to-face and lived to tell about it.
"What the hell??" he lashed out incredulously. "This creep is cutting up people while looking like me, who does that guy think he is?"
"Zack, I think you have a copycat killer," Rachel concluded in her usual dull voice.
"No shit," he snapped sarcastically but Rachel ignored his rude outbursts. So much for trying to keep him in a decent mood. She was sure it just went to shit.
She sighed, taking another bite of her food, sadly knowing it would be her last. "We should probably get out of here. I see a couple people eyeing us." Rachel pulled out the stolen wallet from her bag and placed some money on the table to pay for their meal, plus a generous tip.
He grunted, not happy about their meal getting cut short. His chest deflated sulkily, "Fine, let's go."
Rachel's tummy rumbled at the thought of real, hot food- something that wasn't a bag of chips or candy bars. She was sure Zack was probably starved too. They'd just collected a wallet loaded with cash from one of Zack's recent victims so they had a bit of money to play around with now. It had been awhile since they had decent meal, though the quality of the food this place served had yet to be determined. She figured 'beggars can't be choosers,' as the saying goes.
Zack walked into the diner, the obnoxious jingle of bells on the door announcing their arrival. Ray trailed behind him, the smell of grease and stale cigarettes immediately assaulting their noses. The place wasn't particularly busy, although a few other tables were casually occupied and a few stragglers sat at the pub-height bar.
They settled on a secluded corner booth with a convenient view of the flat screen TV mounted onto the wall, one of the few minor updates that the place had probably seen in years.
Zack sat down and immediately slouched near the window, his arm resting on the sill to prop up his head. Opposite to him, Rachel slid into her own side of the torn classic-red cushion of the booth seat, her hands falling into her lap as she glanced around. The paint around the windows was chipping and the wallpaper was peeling along the walls. The light fixtures likely hadn't seen a dusting in decades and even the old fashioned jut-box had an 'out of order' sign on it.
"Good mornin'," the peppy waitress greeted, pulling a notepad from the pocket of her apron and a pen from where it'd been stuck in her bun, "What can I start ya'll off with?"
Zack had been too busy staring broodily out the window with the hood of his jacket casting shadows over his covered face, that he didn't even acknowledge the waitress's presence, much to Rachel's relief. That young woman's sincerely cheery smile was sure to be offensive to the sleeping murderer hiding somewhere within Zack, if he were to see it. Even though he wouldn't kill anyone in the middle of a restaurant with witnesses around, it was still likely put him in a foul mood for the rest of the day which Rachel would be subject to endure.
The waitress was in the process of handing them menus and listing off in detail their Specials. Mildly stressed at the situation, Rachel decided to speak up before the killer sitting across from her had the chance to witness the overly happy look on the unsuspecting waitress's face. She refused the menus, urging them back into the woman's hand. "We won't need these," She already knew Zack's usual order, despite eating out being such a rare occasion for them. "He'll have a cheeseburger; ketchup only with a Pepsi. I'll take a side order of cheese fries with a sweet tea, please."
She jotted it all down on her notepad and flashed another beaming smile when she looked up, "Any appetizers to go with that?" Rachel shook her head to decline, anxiously glancing to Zack to make sure he wasn't looking. "Comin' right up," the server chirped and moseyed away.
Rachel visibly relaxed at her disappearance and averted her gaze to focus on Zack. He soon noticed her staring and turned to eye her suspiciously. "Whacha lookin' at?" he grumbled halfheartedly.
"Nothing," she averted her eyes, feeling a little heat reach her cheeks. She mentally berated herself for being caught and letting her eyes linger on him a little longer than necessary again.
They soon had their beverages delivered and Rachel quickly thanked the woman politely, virtually shooing her away again when she started raving about how great their deserts were. Fortunately, Zack's attention was focused on his soda, not even bothering with a straw. Rachel sighed in relief when she was finally gone and resigned herself to sipping on her tea through the straw, letting her drowsy mind wander.
She hadn't slept well lately because the nights had been so cold, though it never seemed to bother Zack. The park they were sleeping in was pretty much was just a glorified garden with a walking track. Joggers passed through at all hours of the day and night, a few of which found themselves mugged before meeting their demise by Zack, who prowled for new victims and money after the sun went down. Unlike other parks, this one was rarely patrolled by the police looking for youngsters out past curfew. It also had a covered bridge which provided them shelter and served as a makeshift home, for now. They would stay there for a few more days, a week tops... until the police start catching on to the missing persons and linking their disappearances to the park. When getting caught became too much of a risk, they'd have to relocate.
When the waitress returned again some time later, she looked oddly tense. She carried a pitcher in one hand and their food stacked on top of each other in her other hand. She placed their food on the table and then divided their plates it in front of them to the proper owner. Rachel noticed the girl was shaking as she poured more tea into Rachel's glass. "Anything else I can get you?" her voice trembled as she forced a smile that looked very strained and nervous, unlike before.
"No, thank you." Rachel replied and the waitress immediately excused herself this time, as if she couldn't wait to get away. Alarms went off in Rachel's head. Something wasn't right. She could feel eyes on them.
Zack was already elbow deep in grease and oblivious to everything else. Reluctantly following his example, Rachel took a couple careful bites of her food, chewing thoughtfully. She risked a quick glance around the restaurant to confirm her suspicions; People were looking at them and looked uneasy, which definitely couldn't be good. Suddenly the news man flashed upon the TV screen, catching Rachel's eye.
"Geeze, seriously," Zack had just finished ranting and complaining to Rachel about how the waitress refilled her tea but not his soda. They'd also forgot to take off the onion from his burger but he soon realized she wasn't listening or even looking at him.
He clicked his tongue and put down his burger looking agitated. "Are you even listening?" Zack had been droning on in the background and Ray had indeed failed to catch what he had said. There was a news report about recent murders on the television.
She didn't reply, only kept staring off with a concerned look on her face. Rachel's eyes widened a bit, as if a little disturbed by something. When he followed her line of sight, he realized she was watching the television. Even though the volume was muted, there were subtitles across the bottom, but of course that didn't benefit Zack any.
"What the hell are you staring at, Ray?" he snapped in frustration. If something was going on, he didn't like being left in the dark.
"Something doesn't add up," she drawled carefully. She schooled her expression again.
"Spit it out, dammit." He was getting impatient and her beating around the bush didn't help.
She made sure to lower her voice to keep anyone from overhearing, "How many people have you killed lately, Zack?"
He grimaced. "Shit, I don't know. I just kill when I feel like it or we need money," he scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "Why?"
"The news says they received a letter by someone claiming to be Isaac Foster. It says you've killed over 20 people just this month in a killing spree."
"Wait a minute, I've only killed maybe... five people max. We've been trying to keep it low-key," he said defensively. He turned to look at the TV as if he wanted to see the proof. "And I sure as hell never wrote any notes. Now they just wanna blame every murder on me? What kinda bullshit is that?"
She nodded to acknowledge his vocal feelings of injustice but remained silent. Zack couldn't have written any notes, even if he wanted to. He couldn't read or write, but nobody else knew about that bit of information, aside from the two of them.
"Lying piece of shit bastards," Zack seethed, his hands balling into fists.
"There's more," she spoke up again, continuing to read the broadcast with a sober expression, "The news man is saying they have camera footage of you too."
"You've gotta be kidding me," he grumbled lowly, "I'm not that stupid. I never kill anyone out in the open where there's cameras." Still, the TV aired a short clip of the footage and stopped at an angle that showed a shitty view of what appeared to be Zack's face.
"That ain't me," he defended in agitation. Rachel shushed him and he glared at her for it, but she agreed with his statement nonetheless. The person on the camera was fully wrapped in bandages and had wild black hair like Zack did. But upon further inspection, the impostor didn't have Zack's uniquely colored mixed-matched eyes. They also appeared noticeably shorter and had more muscle tone, lacking the same thin, lithe body type Zack had. The poser was also wearing different clothing, missing the signature hoodie Zack always wore. Unless you knew Zack up close and personal like Rachel did, you probably wouldn't know it wasn't him. Plus, it wasn't like many people met Zack face-to-face and lived to tell about it.
"What the hell??" he lashed out incredulously. "This creep is cutting up people while looking like me, who does that guy think he is?"
"Zack, I think you have a copycat killer," Rachel concluded in her usual dull voice.
"No shit," he snapped sarcastically but Rachel ignored his rude outbursts. So much for trying to keep him in a decent mood. She was sure it just went to shit.
She sighed, taking another bite of her food, sadly knowing it would be her last. "We should probably get out of here. I see a couple people eyeing us." Rachel pulled out the stolen wallet from her bag and placed some money on the table to pay for their meal, plus a generous tip.
He grunted, not happy about their meal getting cut short. His chest deflated sulkily, "Fine, let's go."