text: Monkwalk The Other Me To Mrs Patterson 
   
   
     
   Prologue 
  Tom Jackson born January 26th 1982 to Molly and John Jackson grew up a normal young boy happy and charming as a child but acting strange at times. Soon he was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 9 after violently attacking a class mate and later not remembering it. By his 11th birthday, both Molly and John Jackson had come to realise the extent of his condition, and by his 12th ,they decided they could no longer care for their son. He was put into a special care home who were qualified to look after him and manage his medical requirements. For various reasons Tom was never fostered or adopted by a family, perhaps because of his unique medical condition.  
  When he reached the age of 18 he enrolled into collage and later university becoming a journalist for The Times newspaper.  Tom tried many different medications to help control the schizophrenia, but at 21 he fully recovered and stopped taking the medication. At 22 he married Tara Morgan and they lived their lives as a happily married couple. On the 8th of March 2011, Tom tragically lost his wife, she committed suicide in the early hours of the morning while he was at work.  Tom worked on the case of his wife’s suicide alongside 4 other suicides before, and 1 after. Tom was well liked by all and was very involved in his work; some might say too involved. Once he started working on a case he was obsessed, he didn’t eat, sleep, or rest until he finished the piece. During this time he became antisocial and uncharacteristically irrational this lead to… 
   
   
  Chapter 1 
  Interrupting my peaceful thoughts of home and family came the annoying sound of my boss.  As it reached my ears the squeaky voice spoke: 
  ‘Walk with me Tom, I know you have been working on the story of Crimpton Manor, but a bigger story has come up and as my top journalist, I would like you to take on the story.’   Julia said hastily.  
  ‘Okay, what is the…’               
  ‘There has been a chain of suicides happening in the east London area during the last two and a half months, the police have past each case of as a unfortunate suicide, however the family members cannot find a appropriate reason as to why this would happen;  they were all describe as happy, bubbly characters who loved and embraced life. I want you to dig round a bit, kick up some dirt, you know the sort of thing your good at.’ And with that she had hurried of to bother someone else with her high pitch annoyingly squeaky voice.  
  I turned around irritated, would I ever get to finish my Crimpton Manor piece, I had been working on it for 2 months now but something always seemed to come up to stop me from writing it.  
  ‘Oh, yeah’ I shivered at her voice, ‘all the paper work and the police documents are on my desk.’ She called back. 
  I walked over to the lift, where was Julia’s office? Ah right flour 5, room 26. When I reached floor 5, I walked slowly to Julia’s office, I was of the sort of man who liked to rush through life. The smell of sickly sweet flowers wafted over me as I entered the pretty pink room, I felt as though I had just walked into a florist checking the time I picked up the folder and returned to my own desk in the mood to write. As I flicked through the paperwork something didn’t feel write about it, almost familiar.  Alice Hybri, Oliva Johnson, Susie Jacks and Melanie Jones each died in similarly horrific ways but for what looked like totally different reasons, I recognised them but maybe because of a report I did three years ago on the suicide of Angelia Timothy. Shaking my heads and taking a sip of my favourite Starbucks coffee: cinnamon soya latte, to wake me up, I was ready to work.  
   
   
  Chapter 2 
  Hi, honey I’m home, busy day at work today I was writing about all these suicides that have happened in the past two an a half  months, Julia pushed it onto me, looks like I’ll never get to finish my report on Crimpton Manor, It’s what I’m good at:  apparently.’ As I walked into the kitchen I realised that my hands were covered in a red substance, it must have been printing ink, well I was busy today. I ran my hands under the warm tap, I expected it to be hard to wash away and that I might have to scrub away at it, but it seemed to rinse away easily. Surprised, I dried my hands on the soft towel next to the sink. A strange silence crept across the room. It made me feel uneasy. I could feel darkness creeping inside my lungs, inhabiting every part of my body, almost choking me. Soundly I had a burning sensation. This was all wrong. Where was Tara? 
  ‘Tara! Tara!’ I screamed, I ran though the house attacking every corner like a tornado ripping through a town. I stopped. All sense of hoped had been drained out of my body, until I drooped to the floor, limp and lifeless. Before my eyes:  my beloved Tara sprawled across in a reckless manor. Her white pale face was twisted in agony and stained with gleaming tear tracks. The pool of blood that had leaked from her wrists was swimming around her. The red had stained her smooth white dress, destroying her purity. Even with a tortured face and disfigured body she still looked beautiful; the woman I married was still there… somewhere.                                                    
   I ran for the phone, sweating appearing on my hands, I dialled for ambulance. Someone had to come. Something had happened to my wife. I needed help. The wait for the ambulance was drawn out; I waited for what felt like years. She was whisked from me in a flash; the blood was cleared away, as if it had never happened.  
  The last sight of my wife was less than a happy one.      
  This hard long day wore me out, and as I sat in the comfort of my bed, my eyes drooped and I fell into a deep sleep.  
  Running quickly, running forever, blood pouring, veins pumping, worlds spinning, worlds colliding. Slashing, bleeding, drowning, dying, dying, dying dead.  
   
   
  Chapter 3 
  I was a wreck. 
  By the time I got to the funeral I was a wreck. I tried to hold back the tears which threatened to spill over and roll down my cheeks, but it was no use. I knew that Tara would’ve wanted me to be strong for her, but I couldn’t stop myself. I tipped over the edge and almost collapsed in my misery when I saw the smooth wood coffin, covered with flowers and imagined her lying inside it.  
  Why should it be her?  
  My mind drifted back to our wedding day. She was so happy and so was I. I just wanted they day back. I would gladly live in that day forever, when nothing in the world could go badly because I would be with her.   And it dawned on me that she would never end her life this way.  
  Deep down, I had known that this was all wrong. 
  Murder. This was the first the first thought that came to me. I knew I was right, I didn’t know why or how, but I was correct. Then it seemed that my grief eased up a bit as I came to this conclusion and realized that I could do something to help my beautiful Tara. Maybe no one would believe me, but I would do whatever I could to force them to. They would have no choice but to listen to me. 
  All around me people were weeping, all dressed in black, with puffy red eyes, they looked pitiable. I almost wanted to laugh, even though I knew I was supposed to be crying too. I had energy inside of me, knowing that I could do something, instead of just watching, with sorrowful eyes, doing nothing. 
  The priest spoke about how it was so sad that a woman had taken herself away from us at such a young age. I just repeated to myself, over and over, that he’s wrong, it’s not her fault, and every time I thought it I felt a little stronger. I managed to motivate myself to find the killer.  
  The anger that pulsed through me at the thought of the murderer was indescribable. I just wanted justice – revenge on anyone who could cause so much anguish. 
  It was on the journey home that I realized that I hadn’t listened to any of the ceremony. The guilt that washed over me nearly forced me to lose my resolve, though somehow I managed to cling on to it.  I got home; my day a complete blur and I succumbed to the exhaustion that tried to overwhelm me. 
  My vision is foggy, but all my other senses are sharper. I hear a voice – somewhere – ‘go on, do it’. I walk silently towards the building, it won’t take much. I feel the rope… hear the scream… watch as life drains out of her face. And then I’m gone. 
  I was covered in sweat and gasping when I dragged myself out of the nightmare. ‘You should calm down, Tom’ I said to myself, ‘these murder ideas are getting to you, it probably nothing.’ The certainty I felt earlier was gone, and I was left with a hole where it used to be. I tried and summon back my courage, thinking of a logical reason they could be murders. I think back to all the recent ‘suicides’, which seem a little suspicious. This thought lulled me back to sleep, knowing that I would investigate the next day. 
   
   
  Chapter 4 
  The scene of Alice Hybri’s death was eerily silent. It was once a busy park, filled with the laughter of children and the smiles of adoring parents. Now, unattended and abandoned the grass had grown up to my knees, the old swing set was creaking and the wind whistled over the decaying duck pond. 
  There was nothing to see there, so I decided to visit Alice’s parents. I asked them if they had noticed anything unusual before or after her death. They told me that none of them had noticed anything particularly strange, although afterwards they said that they had found a charm bracelet that they had never seen before. This interested me, so I asked if they could guess where it had come from. They thought that she could’ve had a secret boyfriend, who had given it to her. This thought made her mother burst into tears, as she thought he could be responsible for her death. 
  Not wishing to tell them that I thought it could be murder, I contented myself with examining the bracelet. It seemed completely normal. A few small silver charms adorned it, none of them of any interest. The only thing that truly interested me was the letter A that hung delicately off the bracelet. I didn’t know why, but I thought I recognised it. I wracked my brain, trying to think of where I could’ve, but there was nothing I could recall. 
  The family were wrecked by the time I returned the bracelet to them. I think I triggered some memories of their daughter, which they had been trying ignore for sometime. I left hastily, not wanting any of my sorrow for Tara to resurface. 
  My head spun as I tried to work out why someone would murder her. Her profession was a teacher, no connections to anything important.  
  So, what singled her out as a victim? 
  The only clue I had was that charm bracelet; which made me wonder – what if I was just being paranoid? What real evidence did I have? Coincidences happen all the time, right? Six women killing themselves in a few months isn’t so strange.  
  Except it is. 
  None of the women had a history of mental illness, or depression. None of them had any reason to kill themselves. One person is strange enough, but five? And in such a short timescale, why was no one suspicious? 
  I realised that I wasn’t coming to any kind of conclusion so I gave up. I stopped in a hotel for the night, as my I remember my boss telling me to report on the lake nearby it I vaguely noticed the still water, as I slumped in to my bed and fell asleep. 
  ‘Go on…do it.’ echoed through my brain. 
   
   
  Chapter 5 
   
  I feel so alive now.  
  “I am alive” My mind was racing a million time faster that I have ever been before. I jumped out of bed threw on some old clothes and snuck out in to the open air. Over across the Lake I saw my target, Hannah was in sight and in reach. I’m doing her a favour, she doesn’t deserve to live her life was never worth it. 
  Slowly, I crept across the grassy over grown paths. I felt the occasional twitch, I never have complet control but I know how to get it, I deserve control, “I NEED CONTROL!” Shut up, we mustn’t be heard. Now I must make it quick and more importantly silent, of course, I am the silent killer. I twitch again. 
  With in a metre of her now and she doesn’t know that I am here! 
  Gun in hand, and moving in. I raise it and pause. It has got to look like an accident, I was never here.  
  I kicked here legs out from under her, Hannah, my last victim. She rolls along the ground in a bid to escape but I was faster. I have her and push her in to the lake. It was a mirror but I have shattered it. 
  As I sit by the lake I wondered how she will die. Smiling, I wonder whether she will drown or die of the cold. I hope it will be slow, slow and painful! Now I wait, I’m not worried about the police. I can wait to see her go. “Help, Help” she screams. “Shut up” I whispered to her. 
  I wait, and wait and wait as the cold gets to her. She stops struggling and sinks below the surface of the water. Now I make my run. As I go my vision and my mind becomes blurred and I collapse. 
   
   
  Chapter 6 
  I wake in the hotel room my boss had got for me so I could write about this new hotel and its quality. I was in a cold sweat and. “Wow, what a horrible dream.” Out the window I see a lake than has been cornered of by the police, I feel slightly sick and very tired while clambering out of bed. Making my way down with the idea of breakfast and getting a news paper. On the way down I saw a woman running up the stairs in tears, I was horrified and couldn’t think what on earth had happened. I continued down towards the reception to ask for a paper. The first thing I saw was she put it on to the oak desk was the headline. Another suicide. All at once the crying woman running up the stairs made sense. I felt broken.  
  The paper was left the paper on the desk and I walked back up to my room, I didn’t even realise I was walking, and with out breakfast I started on the mystery of the suicides again. When I sat down at my desk I noticed something about the pictures but I couldn’t work out what it was, I stared for a moment then it clicked, all of the women who had died were wearing a charm, the same charm when they died. “I wonder…”  I set off on the next clue, I was feeling so close but so far, I was so sure that this was it, sure that I was staring it in the face. I decided to go to the police.  
  I walked down the stairs with no sense of urgency, I was going to take my time, I would go on the bus, no I would get the taxi, there I would be able to think this mystery through with out all the noise. When I reached the ground floor, I made my way out of the big glass doors, the smell of east London was never pleasant and made me feel slightly light headed, I went in to a daze but someone walked in to me and snapped me out of it. On my way to the taxi rank it occurred to me that I might get a reward for linking these horrible cases. When I finally reached the police station I double checked that I had the photos of the dead women with the charms, I had them. I walked in. 
  As I walked up to the desk I had so many doubts about doing this. 
  “Hello Officer”  
  “Hello Sir, what can I do for you?” 
  “I have an idea about these terrible suicides.” 
  “Ok, I have heard it all before, but go on.” 
  “All of the victims were murdered by the same man; I know this because all of them were found with a charm around their neck, the same charms.” 
  “Don’t be ridicules sir; charms are very common and very popular. Lots of people wear charms” 
  “But I’m certain…” 
  “Don’t waste my time; I have other things to do!” 
  “But” 
  “No, get out!” 
  I left in a boiling, red hot anger, I wasn’t thinking clearly, I stumbled out in to the street and was lost. 
   
   
  Chapter 7 
   
  Bracelets in jewellery shops mean nothing to me. Confused? Maybe. What’s it to you?  
  	Here before? Yes, familiar after all. That desk, that trite materialism, the same obsequious ‘Yes, Sir’, ‘Of course, Sir’ as if we don’t know they just want our money. But what is money anyway except a symbol for power and is that power anything compared to the power to give death to allow life to change eternity. 
  	Coffee. 
  	But where?   
  Caffeine baby coffee calm calm… sleep. 	Big mug more money, money and death. Want coffee: kill. Simple. No; not simple: I know that from my work. And that latest case, there’s something so familiar about that. Stop it! Frenzied brain teasing me. Shut up. Oh God, please just shut up.  
  Veiled behind a castle of steam….my wall of ecstasy tumbles, crumbles to the ground. Stagnant, I observe what a slaved and failed over worthless.  A web of lies spun from my mind a masterpiece of 	creativity only to be destroyed. By me. Ultimately self destructive… tick tock tick tock. Heartbeats in time. 
  Synchronised with the seconds. Counting down, nearly there getting closer… BANG. And I’m alone. With the whirring sound…. Hear in my mind all of these words. And it breaks me.  
  Search for clues evidence of my insanity. Do you really care? Your fake smile it makes me laugh. Funny.  Your trying to kid yourself I’m normal, I’m laughing so much that it hurts. No, really the pain is unbearable. A dull ache. Just kill it already. The voices. I want them to suffer. And now you’re telling me it’ll be ok. And I’m sorry, sorry sorry. I don’t mean it but I do. I’ll miss you. For all these years, you stayed faithful I’m safe when you whisper in my ear. I know your waTching over me and governing my thoughts. Frenzied brain teasing me. I haTe you! I …. I’ve got to let you go… than  you for believing in me…I’m sorry. No! Don’t apologise…. I hate you. Me. 
   You’re Weak.  
  ‘I’m just going to ask you a few questions Tom.’ Stop with the interegation. ‘Tell me about how you feel….how’s life? The spot lights on me. My time to shine. They whisper to me; a raging battle of good and evil. But who decides what’s good and what’s bad. Black and white. Fade to shades of grey.  
  And then think coffee. Sweet, bitter coffee. It’s ok. It’ll all be ok. Forgotten with the swirling steam. 
   
   
  Chapter 8 
  Tiffany’s: the place where I bought my wife her engagement ring. A place for upper class rich citizens. So why has the murderer come here? The charms, they are all from Tiffany’s, I saw them here on my way to work three months ago. How could a murderer afford this place?  
  As I walked into the building, I could smell that fresh scent of constant cleaning, making sure the jewellery stays perfect. There were those large, angry men, watching my every move. Their eyes on me as if their lives depended on it. Cases all around, displaying the precious jewels that may soon be bought. Beautiful jewellery was enclosing me, gleaming at me, blinding me, but I wasn’t there for them. 
  As I strode up to the desk, the worker smiled a genuine smile. “Hello there, nice to have you back!” I was confused: back? How ‘back’? Why ‘back’?  I was last in here six years ago, for my wife; she is gone now… Putting all that aside, I remembered my mission. “Someone has been buying lettered charms from here; who?” my voice firm and prepared, ready to continue my investigation.  
  “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t keep records of who buys what here, for security reasons” still with that smiling face the answer came.  
  Heart racing, I tried to keep calm, I would find some answers here, I would find who murdered my wife. “Do you have any CCTV cameras then? This is a very important matter, do you hear me?” giving him that look, the look that said I wasn’t going away without answers. The young man looked nervous as he nodded and took me into the back room. This was it, I would have a suspect, I would be getting somewhere. 
  I braced myself as the videos started to play, what if I was shocked by the result, what if it didn’t work, what if…  
  There, there was the man, the man buying the charms. Sweat trickled down my forehead as I squinted, I had to see his face. His hair was messed up, unwashed and scruffy. Wide eyes, filled with craze, staring at the worker. His clothes were torn and old, looking as unwashed as his body. The face looked familiar, but where? The poor man outside Starbucks? The mental patient next door? Or… the screen went blank, but I saw remains of his face. How was he there? Was he in this room? My heart pumped, I couldn’t die, I needed to catch him. Why was he here? The room was closing in, heat was going up. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear. I was going to die, die without him being punished.  
  Suddenly, something clicked. The face was too familiar, a face I saw every day; mine. NO! It couldn’t be, not me, never.  
  A short cough brought me out of it, made myself disappear. Mind thumping, I ran out the shop without another word. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. 
   
   
  Chapter 9 
  Bang! The door shut as I raced into my apartment. My head was twisting, the room bending around, spiralling out of control. I was never going to find him; my wife would never rest in her grave. I failed, just like everything else in my life. That’s why my parents ditched me, they knew I would fail, they knew I would be a good for nothing loser. Look at me; I can’t get revenge on the killer of my one love. I will never find him, I will never be happy. MY LIFE IS RUINED! Tears, rolling down my face, I screamed out, letting it all rip loose. Who cares anymore? NO ONE! Books went flying, shelves crashed down. Destroying everything, memories, future, present; it all had to go. Nothing was good anymore, so I curled up in a corner, locking everything out. Except that constant knocking. Knock, knock, knock. Never stopping, but growing louder, and voices joining.  
  “Help, help, help us Tom. HELP!” I jumped, it sounded like my wife, my beloved wife! Running to the door, my hopes soared, maybe all was not lost, and this was all dream, a nightmare. Ripping the door open, I grinned. There she was, standing tall and beautiful, as if it never happened. But my smile was not returned, and mine faded as I saw the other murder victims appear behind her. Faces drooping, ripped apart and bloody, no life left in those wide eyes. Looking back at my wife, her face had changed too. Depressed and in pain, never ending tears rolling, a breeze flowing through her hair.  
  I looked around, we were at a lake, and I remembered it from a dream. The smell of fresh water and pine trees rose up my nose. I took a step and the scene changed, I was standing in the middle of a train track. The faint whistle of the train came from the distance, lights at the side dimly lit the tracks. The scent of running factories stung my nose, blocking it so I couldn’t breathe. A bright light blinded me as the train came, I couldn’t move, couldn’t run, couldn’t scream. But when the train hit, I felt no pain, just saw her face. 
  A thud came, I was on my floor, back at home, my wife here too. “Help me Tom, find him, destroy him. For me, please honey, I can’t rest knowing he’s still out there” she pleaded with me for hours, but I couldn’t think. I was going mad, all this pressure, destroying my mind.  
  They faded, my wife was going. A scream came, from my own mouth, deafening me again. She was gone, why? Why did she leave me? She looked scared, was he in here?  
  IT WAS ME! 
  No, no, it wasn’t me. Of course not, because I’M NEXT!  
  I’m next on his list; it’s my turn to die. He’s after me, in my house, at my work. He won’t go away. I saw him yesterday, last week, last month, and last year. He’s always been there, following my every move. I can’t get away, my life will end. 
  The room spun, I felt sick. Throwing up in my toilet, my eyes went blurry. I couldn’t see, my mind was bursting. I couldn’t think, what was going on? Where was I? I had to do something, but what? I knew something, it was bursting my brain, but it was there, not going, like a pest. I tried to stand up, but my legs were so shaky, my body was numb. The heat of the room was building, higher and higher. The ceiling was falling, lower and lower. My life was closing in, I couldn’t understand. Sweat trickling down my face from every pore, soaking my eyes and clothes, like I’d been out in the rain.  
  The whole room became a walking, talking circus, I was going mad. I was going deaf from all the noise bursting my ear drums. 
  Suddenly… it all stopped. A sudden calm washed over me and everything left me. I knew nothing. No worries, no joys, no life. It was perfect, a calm peace. Then nothing. My eyes blacked out and my brain went dead. It was the best moment of my life; I was falling into a perfect sense of nothing… 
   
   
  Chapter 11 
  He will know. I will make him see everything. He hunts me, but I’m here right in front of him. Watching. Waiting. He will know what I have done, what I can do. I stood looking in the mirror smiling at myself, proud. 6 women are dead, rotting in hell where they belong. They had it coming to them, if I hadn’t done it someone else would have. I did them a favour, I made it quick, painless. Anyone else would have made it slow and torturous. I almost wish I had. The charms were clues. My signature.  
  I looked at myself in the mirror, the change in my face was unbelievable, it looked like I hadn’t slept in a month. I contemplated going to starbucks to get a coffee; maybe the sweet smell of cinnamon would help me think. The familiar surrounding always seemed to make everything clearer, give me a better perspective. Something was holding me here, looking in the mirror staring at my own reflection that seemed so unrecognisable to me. I thought about Tara, my beautiful, amazing wife. I still find it hard to believe that she is gone, I see her every where I look, in the sky, in the water, in every women that I saw. Suddenly the faces of all the suicide victims flew through my mind. There was something I wasn’t seeing. But what? 
  The dark, devious shadows were slowly creeping into the room. They surrounded me. I smiled. I watched as they desperately reached out to me; begging me to do it again. To kill another undeserving women. Selfish like Susie, ignorant like Alice, agitating like Melanie or a cheat like Tara. Cheating on her husband, someone very close to me. Very close. She got what she deserved. She cheated. She was with someone else. I wouldn’t allow it. She is better off dead. 
  The room was considerably darker. Every cruel, sinister thought I had ever had crept through my mind. I felt a smooth slither of pleasure rush through my veins. I stopped for a moment.  This wasn’t right. This wasn’t me.  The shadows slithered through the room, suffocating me. The sensation was new but familiar. I liked it. I closed my eyes and tried to hold on to the last of my sanity. 
  I watched as he struggled, slipping into the darkness. I saw the pleasure in his eyes, he tried to hide it but I could see it. I was going to win. He was weak, emotional. I was strong. Stronger than him. I could crush him if I wanted to but I’d rather watch him destroy himself. I laughed and sat back to watch the show. 
   
   
  Chapter 12 
  I snapped my eyes open suddenly. What happened? Had I fallen asleep again? I looked at my self in the mirror but it was covered in something red. What was it? My hand raised automatically to feel the red substance. It was wet and slightly warm. I recognised the smell . It was the same thing I smelt that day I found my dear wife. It was blood. Only then did I realise that there was a warm liquid trickling down my arm. It was my blood, but how I hadn’t cut myself. My eyes wondered back to the mirror, there wasn’t just blood there were pictures of all the women. The smell was overwhelming, I had to look down. In the sink there was all of the charms I found along side a bill. I looked closer it was something I had discarded a week or so ago. I looked at the name Thomas Morgan, Morgan was Tara maiden name. It was a bill for charms. The same charms that were found with the women. Tom Jackson. Thomas Morgan. Then I realised. I was Thomas. I was the killer. 
   
   
  Epilogue 
  Tom Jackson born January 26th 1982 to Molly and John Jackson grew up a normal young boy happy and charming as a child but acting strange at times. Soon he was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 9 after violently attacking a class mate and later not remembering it. By his 11th birthday, both Molly and John Jackson had come to realise the extent of his condition, and by his 12th ,they decided they could no longer care for their son. He was put into a special care home who were qualified to look after him and manage his medical requirements. For various reasons Tom was never fostered or adopted by a family, perhaps because of his unique medical condition.  
  When he reached the age of 18 he enrolled into collage and later university becoming a journalist for The Times newspaper.  Tom tried many different medications to help control the schizophrenia, but at 21 he fully recovered and stopped taking the medication. At 22 he married Tara Morgan and they lived their lives as a happily married couple. On the 8th of March 2011, Tom tragically lost his wife, she committed suicide in the early hours of the morning while he was at work.  Tom worked on the case of his wife’s suicide alongside 4 other suicides before, and 1 after. Tom was well liked by all and was very involved in his work; some might say too involved. Once he started working on a case he was obsessed, he didn’t eat, sleep, or rest until he finished the piece. During this time he became antisocial and uncharacteristically irrational this lead to… 
  …The discovery that he was suffering from severe schizophrenia, but by the time this was discovered, it was too late. On April 8th Tom Jackson was found dead lying beside his wife’s grave exactly 1 month after her supposed suicide.  
  A note book was found in his hand, this note book revealed everything he had learnt about the cases that he had been working on for the last 4 months. He had believed that the suicides were linked; some people thought he was searching for a non existent killer, but the notes revealed that there indeed was a murderer, but he was much closer than anyone thought.  
  It was Thomas Jackson; you may say it was his alternate personality that he named Thomas Morgan, using his wife’s maiden name. He had murdered 6 women then gave them charm bracelets with their initials which spell out his name 
  Tara Jackson – T 
  Hannah Fielding - H 
  Olivia Johnson - O 
  Melanie Jones - M 
  Alice Hybri - A 
  Susie Jack – S 
  He had murdered all of these women without realising it, while he hunted himself, searching for revenge. Once he realised he was the murderer, he killed himself by his wife’s grave, clutching the note book telling us the tragic story of the 7 victims of one illness. 
   
   
   
   Publication Date: March 4th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-monkswalk