Free Jericho's Razor by Casey Doran

caller ID showed the number for Jaime Dawson from the news station. I remembered she had received a text from her boss telling her that something big was breaking.
    â€œJericho, I want to give you a heads-up. Are you watching your TV?” Her voice was a whisper.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, turn it on. Now!”
    I turned on the television and was greeted by a commercial for air freshener. The product claimed to be able to eradicate any odor, no matter how foul, or your money back. Bullshit , I thought. Nothing could get rid of the stench I smelled last night. Or the one that still lingered downstairs. ‘Eradicate’ that smell, and I would gladly shell out $9.95. To hell with your socks and your pet odor.
    Jaime called back. “Is your TV on?”
    â€œIt’s on. I can barely hear you. Are calling from a tunnel?”
    â€œClose. I’m in the ladies’ room. My boss would murder me if he knew I was calling you, but you’ve been straight up with me in the past. And you have a right to know.”
    â€œKnow what? What’s going on?”
    â€œWe’re about to break a huge story. We …” I heard her speak to someone. It sounded like she said she’d be out in a minute.
    â€œI have to go. Just watch. I’ll call you later for a comment.”
    She hung up.
    The air freshener commercial gave way to one featuring a drug that claimed to treat depression. The disclaimer warned about possible side effects in the rapid speech of an auctioneer. Many of the potential side effects were worse than the symptoms you would take the drug for, including internal bleeding, paranoia, and thoughts of suicide. I never understood how they determined if it was the drug that made the user consider suicide or the actual depression. Maybe that was why drug companies made so much money.
    The news came back and Jaime was front and center. Her blond hair was perfectly placed. A sharp black business suit finished the look of a woman who was both fashionable and professional.
    â€œWe at Action Channel Eight have received breaking information regarding the horrific act carried out in the Howitzer building. This information, formatted in a video, was allegedly made by the perpetrator of this hideous crime. After careful deliberation, we at Action Channel Eight have decided to air this video, in the interest of public safety and the people’s right to be informed. We will be sharing this, as well as any other information we receive, with the authorities. We warn you at this time that some of the scenes are graphic. Make sure that any children and or people with delicate dispositions leave the room.”
    The screen went to black. A cascade of red flowed from the top of the screen, simulating a current of flowing blood. It was cheesy, cult horror movie graphics at best, but the effect was disturbing.
    â€œI am the River City Slasher.”
    The voice was digitized, unrecognizable. It was the robotic, unfeeling tone of a monster. Moments later, a vision joined the voice. It was a shadow, a cloaked figure that wore what looked like a mask of a skull.
    â€œNo one is safe. I could be anyone. I could be anywhere. I can strike at any time.”
    The scene showed images of Sean Booker, bound to a chair in my building, moments before meeting his end at the end of a chainsaw. It was the same image as my video message.
    â€œI can get to anyone. No one is safe from me. No one is safe from the River City Slasher. I will strike again. Soon.”
    Jaime returned with a menacing photo of a shadowy figure in the upper corner. Below the picture were the words ‘ RIVER CITY SLASHER .’ She finished her story but I did not hear anything she said. This had gone way beyond copycatting things I wrote about. This was real. And it was gaining steam.
    My phone rang. It was Gus Tanner.
    â€œI saw it,” I said as way of answering.
    â€œI can’t believe they aired that.”
    â€œIt’s