Murder in the Mist by Loretta C. Rogers

black.
    He liked sunsets. He had vague memories of standing with his mother on a porch every evening before bedtime. They would lean against the railing and watch the sun sink. No words were ever spoken between him and his mother. It was the only time he felt close to her. Sometimes she would lightly ruffle the top of his hair. It was the only time he ever saw the tenseness in her shoulders relax. When the sun had disappeared and turned out the lights of the world, she would sigh, deep and forlorn, as if she carried the weight of the world, but first, for brief moments, he got to see the worry lines in her face disappear. She was beautiful.
    His last remembrance of her had been the ear-piercing screaming. His mother’s screams. He remembered hiding behind the old floral sofa, crouched in a ball, hands over his ears to shut out the never-ending shrieks. Her name was Florence, but she had called herself Rose. It was her favorite flower.
    He’d been four years old when his mother went away. His grandfather said she was never coming back.
    “Why isn’t she coming back, Grandpa?”
    “She couldn’t quiet the screams inside her head, and I couldn’t quiet the screams from her mouth. You don’t like screaming. That’s why you hide behind the couch.”
    Ben hadn’t fully understood what his grandfather had meant about quieting his mother’s untimely and uncontrollable shrieks.
    “Where did she go?”
    “She’s sleeping with the sharks. Don’t ever scream, Benjamin. We don’t like screaming.”
    As punishment when Benjamin committed the least infraction, his grandfather would yell and accuse him of being just like his mother, slapping Benjamin’s hands when he tried to cover his ears.
    Tonight, like every night, he watched the sun tuck itself away and silenced the world from the sounds that often made his brain hurt. Gulls with their incessant cries reminded him of his mother’s ear-piercing wails. Chattering in the park, down at the docks, in the bars. Chattering, chattering until the noises roiled inside his head, until he wanted to…to what? He knew, and the thought frightened him.
    Medicine. He must not forget to take his medication. The thing inside him was growing. It’d been ten years since he’d killed anyone, but he knew when the urge had started—when she came to town.
    He was shivering with the need of it. Even the cool breeze against his skin aroused him. This energy had him pacing the length of the porch and back. It wasn’t time. He needed to plan. To think.
    Like an unshackled animal, he bounded down the steps. Walking soundless through the woods, he envisioned himself a hunter, stalking his prey. Not just any prey, like a deer. No, something more dangerous. He was the great white hunter ready to take down a charging rhino. And then he smiled. There was nothing more dangerous than—man. He was far more intelligent, more cunning, than any predatory jungle animal.
    He remembered every detail of her face. He remembered her scream—and her death. He’d held her, feeling the life drain from her body. It was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. The compulsion built inside him. Like a fire that needed cooling.
    He stood at the edge of the national park campground. A shadow among shadows, he watched a young woman sitting by the campfire. She used a long stick to poke the embers. He imagined her smiling as she looked up to watch the glittering ash float into nothingness.
    He, too, watched the glowing cinders, twisting in a spiraling dance with winking red eyes. Evil eyes. He drew in a somber breath and touched a hand to his heart.
    His grandfather had told him about the twin that had died at birth. Grandfather said the twin died because it was evil.
    “Where does the twin live, Grandpa?” Benjamin had asked.
    Grandfather had touched an index finger against Benjamin’s heart. “His spirit lives in here.”
    Sometimes, Benjamin imagined the twin was inside him. He tried hard to control the