The Bride Killa

The morning fog clung to the earth like a heavy shroud, casting everything in an eerie, gray light. Ridgeview's outskirts, typically peaceful, felt suffocating. The town's quiet was always deceiving, and today, it felt especially so. The mist rolled in from the hills, a thin veil that covered the small flower meadow. It was here, in the soft, wild grass, that the jogger found her.

At first, it didn't seem real. The jogger, a man in his late forties, slowed to a halt, his breath visible in the cold air. He squinted into the fog, his eyes narrowing. There, lying in the dew-covered grass, was a woman. She was sprawled unnaturally on her back, as though she had fallen asleep, but the sight of her pale, unmoving face made his stomach lurch.

Her wedding gown was pristine, the delicate lace catching the morning light. It billowed around her like the petals of a ghostly flower, yet the blood-stained hem told a different story. A single red rose rested gently on her chest, its dark red petals contrasting sharply against the stark white of her dress. It seemed out of place, like an offering.

The jogger's throat tightened. He fumbled for his phone and dialed 911, his fingers trembling.

Minutes later, the area was sealed off. Officer Kyle Harris stood at the edge of the crime scene, his face set in grim determination. He looked like he had been here a hundred times, but the sight of this particular victim—the wedding dress, the rose—stuck with him.

"Marcus, get your ass over here," Kyle called to Detective Marcus Hayes, who was crouched by the body, carefully observing every detail. The detective was tall, dark hair cropped short, with a no-nonsense demeanor. His sharp eyes flicked up from the corpse to the surrounding area.

"Yeah, I see it," Marcus replied, his voice low, contemplative. "It's too clean. Too... theatrical."

"Why a wedding dress? Why the rose?" Kyle muttered, clearly disturbed. "What kind of sick fuck does this?"

"We're going to find out," Marcus said coldly. He stood up and looked around, scanning the meadow for anything that might give them a lead. The mist was thick, hiding any signs of struggle or footprints. It was as if the killer had disappeared into the fog, leaving nothing behind but the body and a haunting symbol.

Moments later, the sound of an approaching car broke through the quiet. The forensic team had arrived. Dr. Lila Chen, forensic specialist, stepped out of her vehicle. She was tall, with dark, slicked-back hair, wearing her standard black overcoat. She looked like someone who was used to seeing death, but the scene in front of her—this pristine, macabre tableau—made her pause.

"Jesus," she muttered under her breath as she walked towards the body. Her gloved hands adjusted the collar of her coat, and she gave Marcus a brief nod.

Marcus nodded back, his voice sharp. "Another one. Same MO. We've got ourselves a wedding killer, Lila. Any guesses on the time of death?"

Dr. Chen crouched beside the body, examining the position of the arms, the way the woman's fingers were slightly curled, the angle of her head. "Based on the rigor and lividity, I'd say she's been dead for... maybe 12 hours? No signs of trauma that I can see, but I'll know more once I get her back to the lab."

Kyle glanced at the rose again, his stomach turning. "Who the hell does this?"

"Someone who wants to make a statement," Marcus replied. He gestured to the surroundings, the peaceful, tranquil meadow, untouched by anything except the death at its heart. "This isn't random. Whoever did this knew what they were doing."

Nearby, Chief Walter Garrison stood with his arms crossed, surveying the scene with a scowl etched deeply into his face. His breath came out in thick puffs of vapor, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He hadn't wanted to be here today. Not on this case, not on any case, if he were honest. But there he was, another body, another victim in the town he'd sworn to protect.

He glanced over to Officer Kyle Harris, then back at Marcus Hayes. "Alright, what's the deal?" He shook his head, grumbling under his breath. "Another bride in a wedding dress. Another fucking rose. This is starting to feel like a bad cliché."

Marcus didn't look up. "Cliché or not, it's our reality now. We need to figure out why he's doing this. Why the dress? Why the rose? He's making a clear statement, Chief."

Walter sighed deeply. "Yeah, I'm sure it's got a message we're supposed to figure out. But you know what I'm not sure about?" He paused, turning to Marcus. "Why the hell is she dead in the first place? We've got no leads. No witnesses. No fingerprints. Nothing." He ran a hand through his graying hair. "And now we've got a new detective coming in tomorrow. Jane Michaels. Great. Just what we need. Someone else to screw things up."

"How do you know she's going to screw up?" Marcus asked, arching an eyebrow.

Walter scoffed. "She's got a record, doesn't she? That whole mess in Detroit. Apparently, she failed a big case there. And now, they're sending her here, like it's some kind of punishment." He chuckled bitterly. "Great way to start the day."

The air felt thicker, heavier, as the team continued their work. Megan Price, the crime scene photographer, moved around the body, capturing every angle, every detail. Her camera clicked, the sound filling the otherwise silent meadow. The body, the gown, the rose—it all felt so unnatural, as though the entire scene had been staged for the sole purpose of shock.

She leaned in close, snapping a few more photos. Her hands were steady, her mind already processing the next steps. But even Megan—who had seen more crime scenes than she cared to count—couldn't shake the feeling that there was something... off about this one. The victim's serene expression, the elegance of the gown, the way the rose lay so carefully placed on her chest.

It was almost as if the killer had designed this scene with precision, with care.

When she stood back up and glanced at the others, her voice was almost a whisper. "This doesn't feel like a crime of passion. Whoever did this... they wanted us to find her. They wanted us to see her like this."

Dr. Chen, now standing, nodded. "I'd say this wasn't impulsive. This was planned. The killer wanted her to be found in this exact state. The positioning of the body, the placement of the rose... it's all too deliberate."

A chill passed through the group as they continued their work. It was a calm that barely masked the tension. The killer was still out there, watching them, knowing exactly how they would react, what they would say.

A wedding dress. A rose. A death.

The pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together, but there was something more. Something darker. Marcus could feel it, deep in his gut, like a knot that wouldn't loosen.

"Stay sharp," he muttered to Kyle and Megan. "We're not dealing with a typical killer here. Whoever did this is calculating. They're playing with us."

Chief Garrison glanced over his shoulder, still scowling, as he walked away to make a call. "Keep me updated," he barked. "I'm not going to stand around here all day."

As the mist continued to roll in, the sense of something dark—something far more dangerous—hung in the air. The fog wasn't just a veil for the eyes; it was a mask. And somewhere in it, lurking in the shadows, was the person who had left the first of many wedding gifts for Ridgeview.

And they would stop at nothing to make sure the town would never forget.