SEVEN

SE7EN

Part II

Chaos! A deranged psychopath is on the loose and appears to be copying the movie seven. However the killer is not murdering everyday members of society, Hollywood celebrities are the target.

Less than a week ago Don King was found dead in the basement of his boxing gym in Venice beach, California. He had been stabbed no less than a hundred times all over his body. Written on the ceiling with his blood were the words;

‘SLOTH’

‘seven deadly sinners will die’

Three days later Donald trump was thrown out the window of the penthouse suite in his Los Angeles ‘Trump plaza’ hotel. He fell forty stories to his death. Suicide was quickly ruled out as he was found bound and gagged with his toupee inserted in a place where the sun doesn’t shine. In the notes department of his wallet was a piece of paper with the word ‘greed’ written on it.

A matter of hours following that incident Ben Affleck’s mutilated body was stumbled across by trampers. He was found on the veranda of his batch in the rocky terrain of the vast Californian mountain range. He was hanging upside down, his eyes had been removed and his genitalia has been cut off and surgically attached to his forehead. Super glued to is left hand was a cell-phone, in his right a large, empty syringe with traces of morphine in it. Branded into the small region of flesh where his penis had once been was the word, ‘PRIDE’.

In the early hours of this morning, Oprah Winfreys body has been discovered in the cellar of her Beverly Hills mansion. Her death is very unusual and foul play is suspected. Police have no clues and no apparent motives for the murders at this stage. Homicide detective Lt. William Somerset, the officer who investigated the original killings has come out of retirement and been assigned to the case in a desperate attempted to catch the killer before any more murders take place………

His hands were shaking and his legs could barely take him down the spiralling stair case that led into the cellar. Peering around the corner he froze at the familiar sight that steered back at him, a sight that has woken him up screaming every night for the last twelve years. Sitting in front of him with her limbs chained to a chair was the lifeless body of Oprah Winfrey. He began to examine the crime scene.

There were empty cans of baked beans all around her and she was a shade of purple. Every hole except her right nostril has been blocked up with what appeared to be putty. Her mouth had been stitched shut around a clear plastic tube that had a funnel attached to the end of it. She had been forced to eat.

“Gluttony”, he said out loud.

“What makes you say that lieutenant”, Joe, a fellow detective responded.

“Because I’ve seen it before dip-ship”, he snapped, while continuing to scan the room for clues.

It was then he noticed that every wine bottle had been replaced with cans of baked beans apart from one champagne magnum at the top of the rack. He reached up and grabbed it reading the label under his breath, “Gluttony. Welcome back Somerset, join me on my way to Paris”.

“What is it Somerset, looks like you’ve seen a ghost”, Joe laughed to himself.

“Nothing” he said, clutching the magnum to his chest.

“I’m getting to old for this shit, I’m going home to drink this. Don’t bother calling me, I’ll call you”, he mumbled as he made a hasty exit.

His mind was cloudy as he drove across town. He could barely take his eyes off the champagne bottle that was riding shotgun. The clue made no sense to him. He knew that it was not the killers’ intensions to elude him for much longer, if this killer was anything like the original in time he would eventually show himself. What was going to follow he wondered pulling up outside his tiny little suburban house.

Walking up the stairs to his front door he could feel eyes looking at him. Ahead in the darkness he could see a round object swaying in the breeze. The censor light came on as he reached the top step revealing a frightening sight that sent him tumbling back down the stairs. Slowly picking himself up off the ground he reluctantly moved towards the object. He couldn’t believe what was hanging from his balcony above. Looking directly at him was the decapitated head of Paris Hilton, across her forehead the word ‘lust’ had been engraved.

“Did you enjoy the trip detective Somerset”, a calm voice said from behind him.

Turning around sharply he laid his eyes on his former partner, detective David Mills. The clue made perfect sense to him now; the re-emergence of Mills did not.

Barely able to speak he asks, “What are you doing here Mills”.

“You haven’t figured it out yet Somerset? The big shot detective, who solved every case that he ever worked on can’t figure it out. But you didn’t solve every case did you? DID YOU? Speechless for the first time in your pathetic life are you? If you had of solved the case twelve years ago my wife would still be alive”, Mills said vigorously.

“I’m sorry Mills, I did everything I co”

“Shut the fuck up”, Mills screamed, interrupting him.

“You’re the reason she’s dead, you were always envious of me and my beautiful wife. You let her die”.

“You’ve gone crazy Mills, she was like a daughter to me. Don’t do anything you’ll regret”, he said despairingly.

Suddenly Mills reached for his gun and shot him between the eyes.

“I had to do it, envy is a sin. Sleep easy William”.

Mills then presses the gun against his temple and pulls the trigger.

The end.