His name was Adam. He was in the driver’s seat of his SUV when he died. There was a bouquet of flowers on the passenger seat for his wife and a gift for his son. He was driving home from work when it happened. He’d stopped off at the florists and the supermarket in order to apologize. Adam had had a fight with his spouse. It was vicious and it was about their son. He’d been drunk; he had no idea what he was saying. Adam spent the night in a motel. The flowers and gift were what he hoped would get him back home with his family.
Of course what he didn’t know, what he couldn’t have known I suppose, was that his wife was cheating on him. She had been cheating since very early on in their marriage. It was one of those marriages that was necessary because of the child on the way. At least he died thinking that she had been faithful. People put a lot of stock into what could or should have been. I just know how it was; I know how it always was.
Anyway, I’m getting off track. Adam’s SUV was one of those huge, powerful vehicles that didn’t need to be afraid of any other cars on the road. All that extra metal and plating didn’t help the monstrosity when the semi-truck hit it. The passenger side of his SUV collapsed on itself and the car spun several times. The vehicle somehow managed not to flip and that probably ended up being the death of Adam.
The SUV was in a vulnerable position with the driver side door facing oncoming traffic. Adam saw the second car before it hit him. He tried to get out of the way but the damage from the first collision had pinned his leg. All the man could do was watch as the second vehicle slammed into his machine.
The coroner pronounced that the man had died instantaneously. This was a lie. The coroner told everyone that because it was easier on the family if they believed he didn’t suffer. Adam was in a tremendous amount of pain for several minutes before he succumbed. He was spluttering, trying to yell for help but shattered glass had severed his vocal cords. There was blood everywhere. Even if the first responders had arrived as soon as the crash occurred Adam would have been a dead man. He died only just before the EMT’s arrived.

I gasped for air as I came back to reality. I was sweating excessively and I fumbled through the glove compartment for my inhaler. When I’d settled down I stared out the front windshield of my sedan at the mangled mess of Adam’s SUV being dragged away.
There was a knock on my window and I jumped. “Sorry about that,” the police officer smiled to me and I tried to smile back. The after effects of my panic attack were only just starting to wear down, “Are you alright, you don’t look well. Do you need a lift home?”
“No, I’m good to drive. I just had an asthma attack and needed to pull over,” it wasn’t a complete lie. The officer looked at me skeptically, glanced at my inhaler, and then waved me on, “Thanks.”
I constantly thought about my breathing for the rest of the drive. I tried to look out the windows as little as possible and mostly focused on the dotted line in the center of the road. My cell phone rang and I jumped.
“Yeah?” I asked as I answered it.
“We need your help,” it was the chief-of-police, again. I was always getting calls for my assistance with my unique abilities. If it wasn’t the police it was the FBI, the CIA, the UN, or even the Justice League. That last one’s a joke, I am aware that superheroes are not real. The people that hire me seem to think I’m some sort of superhero but I know better, “Serial killer, kills in some really gruesome ways. How quickly can I get you out here?”
I glanced at my watch. It was already well past 7PM. It would be an hour or more before I could get to the crime scene. I just wanted to go home and relax and forget about the car accident. I knew if I went to the crime scene there would be no relaxing.
“I’ll be over there as soon as I can,” I hung up. I wasn’t in the mood for another case. They were always easy. I could tell the police exactly who they were looking for in a matter of minutes. I just didn’t like doing it, it hurt too much.
In case you haven’t guessed it yet I can look at people or objects and I can see their stories. Normally it’s not as drastic as the car accident on the road, I only lose control when the story I am reading is that of a dead man. I hallucinate and see the story like it’s a movie. Obviously coming back to the real world can be a bit of a shock for me so I try to stay away from dead people as much as possible.
The doctors told my parents and me that what I had was a gift. Doctors always say things like that when they have no idea. My visions are not gifts or miracles, they are curses. Imagine meeting someone for the first time and knowing everything about them: their virtues and their vices, their loves, their secrets, their entire lives. I meet someone once and I know them better than any other person.
The power is instantaneous, for clarification, it isn’t like I phase out for hours at a time. It’s almost like I already knew everything about these people I just needed to see them to trigger my memory. It makes me feel dirty, like I’ve just read their diary.
The police love it of course. I’m like the perfect detective. I get the right guy every time and without expending many resources. The judges even allow my testimony as enough to merit a warrant. The cops would be hopeless without me.
I tried being a cop once. The department was ecstatic until I actually got into the field. It’s hard to shoot someone, even a murderer, when you’ve seen their story. The department decided I would be best in a consulting role.
The serial killer they were after had been terrorizing Philadelphia for weeks now. He killed people based on what they most feared. It was unknown how he knew what their phobias were but he was never wrong. Death by spiders, death from falling a great distance, death from fire, whoever he was he was resourceful and dedicated. He enjoyed the fear; he fed on it like it sustained him.
When I arrived at the crime scene a lieutenant walked to my car to show me inside. He opened the door for me and I got out. His name was Ryan. He was young and newly married. His first child was on the way.
“I’ve heard of what you can do,” the police officer said as he looked me over. I didn’t look like an investigator. I guess I didn’t really look like anything. I looked like no one and everyone. Anyone who saw me once wouldn’t remember me a second time. I was nondescript and that’s how I liked it, “If it’s true I just want you to prepare yourself. It’s horrible in there for all of us. I can’t imagine what it will be like for you.”
I nodded as we passed the threshold into the country home. It was quaint and homely. The family had had it built when their family was too big for the old apartment they’d lived in. I looked at the pictures on the walls. Smiling faces looked back at me, welcoming me into their home.
The lieutenant led me up some stairs and stopped outside of a door. I could hear police noises coming from inside. I didn’t want to go in but I knew I had to. “Go ahead,” Ryan pushed the door open.
I stepped inside and immediately turned my back to the scene, “Oh my God.”
One look was all I needed. I knew exactly what happened and I didn’t want to. The killer was female, I hadn’t even considered it. I was watching the scene through the eyes of the mother, she had been the real target. Her fear was to watch her children die.
The gruesome details can be mostly spared. The killer had caused severe trauma to the children’s lungs and then tortured them. The cause of death was either blood loss or drowning in their own fluids; it was hard to tell which came first. The mother was forced to watch as the blood pooled up around her feet.
When the murderer was finished she looked at the mother but somehow I knew that she was looking at me. “Hello,” she smiled and I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was, in a terrible sort of way, “I was hoping you’d show up.”
The killer slowly walked to the mother, who was hysterical, and grabbed a handful of her hair. The killer forced the mother to look straight into her face, that way I could see her clearly. She was trying to talk to me and I felt sick.
“The police surprised me. They figured out that all of the killings were done by one person. I didn’t think they could do it,” the killer seemed to be trying to look through the mother and to me, “Of course they couldn’t catch me. Only you can do that but the longer you take the more people will die. You and I are the same. The only difference is how we use the gift we were given. You waste it feeling sorry for everyone and I utilize it.”
That explained how she knew the fears of all her victims, she could see their stories just like I could. The mother was whimpering now but she wasn’t pleading for her life. I couldn’t imagine what her life would be like if she survived this but I knew she wouldn’t.
“You’re a smart boy,” the killer waved the knife in front of the mother’s eyes and smiled, “I’ve heard them call you Atlas, do you like being called that? Well if we’re going to be using Greek deities you may call me Phobos. I look forward to seeing you very soon.”
I swallowed hard involuntarily. Now I was sure that she was talking to me. I wanted to run and leave it all behind me but I couldn’t, especially now. I had to catch her because no one else would ever be able to. She wouldn’t stop until I stopped her.
Phobos beckoned me toward her and whispered in the ear of the mother, “Catch me if you can.” Then she drove her knife up through the other woman’s jugular and I was back to real life.

I fell against the wall and reached for anything to support me. Lieutenant Ryan held me up and I was breathing hard again. I hadn’t brought my inhaler with me so I fought through my struggled breaths. “Are you alright?” Ryan asked. He had been skeptical of my abilities when I’d first arrived but not any longer.

“You’re looking for a woman. Young, very attractive, she has dark hair, she’s pale,” I started listing off the description but the police weren’t paying attention. They were too worried about my well-being, “You have to catch this killer. I’m fine but someone else won’t be if we don’t stop her.”

“Right,” the police officer nodded and then took down my description of the killer, “Look, maybe you should go home. We have other things we would like you to look at but you don’t seem to be in any condition. We’ll call you if we need anything else.”

“Yeah,” I struggled to my feet and started heading for the door.

“Hey, you got a name?” Lieutenant Ryan called to me as I stood in the door.

“You can call me Atlas,” I answered turning my back on him again.

“Like the ancient Greek titan? Is that your name?”

“It’s what people call me.”
“Why?”
“Because I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.”