"267"

"Tell me."
"What?"
"Don't play dumb with me, damn it! I know you killed these people! Admit it!"
"Oh my. You seem to be delusional. Don't you see it? In this picture, this woman was clearly killed by a bullet. In this picture, this boy was killed by a rope. In this picture, the dildo, while amusing, is most likely not the--"
"ENOUGH!"
This piece of human trash was disgusting. Two-hundred sixty-seven. That is how many people this...thing had killed. And that was only an estimate. There wasn't proof. There weren't signs. Many of the deaths appeared to be suicides. But Travis knew this was the killer.
Travis and 267 stared at each other across the table. The killer shifted in its seat and made a popping sound with its lips.
"...not the source of his death. It was probably slit wrists, poor thing. I don't even know how---"
"I said ENOUGH, damn it!" Travis erupted.
Oh shit. This wasn't good. After five hours of this, Travis had gotten nowhere. And now he was getting angry. But he only had the criminal for a few more hours. Surely he would get something. Travis had only failed a couple of times in his career, and he was not about to fail now.
"You're making some of the deaths look like suicides. How did you do this one?" Travis pointed to the picture of a dead elderly woman. Her body was found drowned in a tub, but with no signs of struggle.
"I didn't do anything. It was the water. I think we've been over this before, haven't we?" 267 popped its lips again.
Travis hated this beast. At first he thought it was a man due to the way it held itself when it walked, then perhaps a masculine woman because of the high-pitched voice and lipstick and mascara. Now he didn't know what to think. This thing lacked breasts or any masculine or feminine features other than the make-up and masculine posture. It was disturbing to even be around, much less talk to.
267 popped its lips.
Every serial killer he had worked with had a pattern. But not 267. This one killed for seemingly no reason. The only thing Travis had to go on was the fact that most deaths appeared to be suicides. However, somehow, somewhere, a number was written someplace near the crime scene. It was never the same writing, never the same ink or material, but Travis knew it was this thing killing people. The number had started with a one scrawled in blood two months ago above a dead teenager's bed.
The last number was written in toothpaste above an elderly woman's bathtub in immaculate handwriting. It read 267.
"268."
"What?"
267 stared blankly, then smiled widely. It was incredibly unnerving.
"Two. Sixty. Eight."
"You killed another? How? How is that possible? I have had you in here for hours, you're not about to tell me that--"
"What on earth are you talking about? I was only telling you my favorite number. It has a ring to it, don't you agree?" 267 stared directly into Travis' eyes and smiled. And kept smiling.
"There is no time for games. I don't care about your favorite number. I care about lives being taken. By you."
"Twoooo-sixty! Two-sixty eight! Sing it with me! Twoooo hundredddd--"
"Shut up!"
267 smiled.
"...sixty eight."
Travis stared at 267 blankly. 267 popped its lips.
"Do you enjoy this, 267?" Travis asked.
"267? I just said 268. That is my favorite number. You're terrible at math."
"I asked you a question. Now answer it."
"It?"
"The question."
"Why?"
"I am asking the questions here!" Travis yelled.
"Are you?"
"Yes!"
"Those last two things were statements." 267 continued to stare at Travis.
It had been at least five minutes since he...she...it blinked.
Travis thought about tapping out to let his partner interrogate this beast. Maybe Garret could get some information out of it. Travis' wife, Elizabeth,  was probably waiting for him outside the questioning room as well. It would be good to see her after looking at...whatever was in front of him for five hours.
It smiled again, this time more widely. The lipstick it wore made its crooked teeth gleam.
"Two. Seventy."
"What are you babbling about now?" Travis asked testily, not happy to be woken from his daydreams of getting out of this hellish room.
Travis heard two muffled screams outside the door. And two thumps.
"Twoooo-seventy! Sing it with me! Twoooo--"
"You bastard!" Travis jumped out of his chair and sprinted out the door.
His partner was out there. His wife was out there. He had to make sure they were okay. This killer could wait. Travis still had a couple hours left, and 267 was restrained in its chair.
Travis ran and searched frantically, finding nothing, nothing, nothing, until...
Two numbers written on the floor side by side.
269. 270.
They were written in different materials and a different style. One was written in a simple ink, but the second number...scrawled in blood. Travis didn't know how, but 267 had killed again. There was no mistake now. Garret was dead. Elizabeth was dead.  Dead. Boiling with rage, Travis sprinted back to the room where the murdering beast lied in wait. Travis would have blood. There was no justice for such a creature.
He got to the door.
Elizabeth stood on the chair that 267 had been chained to. She wore a crazed smile and had a horrible, bloody gash on her head. She wore lipstick and mascara.
And she held a gun.
Garret's gun.
"Two. Seventy. One."

Bang.