Authors: Sophie Jaff
He would remember how the last figure turned and stared. Then the man would grow cold. His teeth would clench and his eyes would shut tight, but still he would see it clear, what no man was meant to see.
The silver eyes, the alien gaze.
“It was like the Devil was on his side”
THE NOTORIOUS SERIAL KILLER RESPONSIBLE
for the deaths of twelve women has now been identified as David Balan, a 35-year-old lawyer at Jacob and Rivera.
According to authorities, police discovered Balan's body early Sunday morning in Waterville, Vt., after they received a letter written by Balan. The document stated where his body was to be found.
Balan had suffered a broken neck along with significant chest wounds, and it's believed he fell backward from a two-story wooden balcony after being fatally stabbed by Katherine Emerson during a struggle.
An anonymous tipster informed police that Balan had left for Vermont, intending to kill Katherine Emerson, the girlfriend of Sael de Villias. One of Balan's closest friends, de Villias is CEO of RuBu Enterprises.
Balan came to be known as the Sickle Man because he used a sickle blade to mutilate his victims' bodies in a series of murders that
baffled New York City police. He held the city under a siege of terror for over four months. His victimsâwomen between the ages of 20 and 37âwere found in their own locked apartments, undressed and bound on their beds.
Though many of the victims had security cameras in their buildings, and at least seven of them had doormen, Balan was never caught on camera. The doormen and security guards never identified him. Nor could any eyewitnesses place him with the victims.
“He was like a ghost,” said Nick Gusti, a chief detective for the New York City Police Department, during a press conference Sunday afternoon. “He seemed to come and go as he pleased.”
Balan was meticulous and left little DNA evidence or fingerprints, despite undressing his victims and sometimes spending a significant amount of time in their apartments. Experts can't account for this phenomenon, which is unprecedented.
“It was uncanny,” said Sandra Haddon, a forensic analyst at the facility. “I've been working at this lab for 14 years and I've never seen anything like it.”
During a search of Balan's apartment, police found a journal documenting some of the killings. Items belonging to the victims were also found.
“He had these things hidden all over the apartment. It was a truly disturbing scene,” said William Heinreich, an NYPD spokesman.
Eliza Clare, an FBI criminologist and psychiatrist, believes that Balan was obsessed with Emerson from early on, but that his true target
was de Villias. “Killing Andrea Bowers and then planning to kill Katherine Emerson was his way of achieving intimacy,” Clare said. The ritualistic markings indicate that every kill was highly planned, building up to a final kill.
Several of Balan's friends and family members refuse to believe that he was the Sickle Man. His mother, Sierra Balan, believes that her son was framed.
“David would never commit such atrocities. He's innocent,” she said in an interview. “I'll never accept it.”
“I'm in total shock,” added Jeanette Castelli, a colleague and friend, who said she had known Balan since they were freshman at Haywood along with de Villias. “I never knew him to treat a woman disrespectfully, let alone be capable of such brutality.”
De Villias and Emerson repeatedly declined to comment.
Balan, described by those who knew him as personable, attractive, and a “nice guy,” has been likened to Ted Bundy, the infamous serial killer who confessed to 28 murders, and who may have caused the deaths of many more.
“The comparison to Bundy makes sense,” said Clare. “Both men were attractive, white, upper middle class, and well educated. They used their charm, looks, and education to lure and prey upon single women.”
Most of the victims' family members expressed relief that Balan was found dead. “While his death won't bring my sister back, at least we know it's over,” said Susie Ranford, who founded the organization DWHA (Don't
Walk Home Alone) as a safe way to escort single women back to their apartments in honor of her sister, 29-year-old Emily “Emmy” Ranford, the fourth victim of the Sickle Man.
But many remain outraged and grief-stricken.
“I wish I could have killed him myself,” said Miguel Rodriguez, father of Balan's second victim, 23-year-old Samantha Rodriguez.
“We'll never know why he did it. He's ruined countless lives,” said Anthony Goldmark, fiancé of the fifth victim, 27-year-old Melissa Lin.
Gusti also expressed frustration at Balan's death. “We wanted to question him and discover his methods to prevent this from ever happening again,” he said. “There are many unanswered questions.”
Balan's body was claimed by his parents, Martin and Sierra Balan. A private funeral will be held in Evergreens, Conn., and his body will be buried in an undisclosed location.
“Our prayers and thoughts are with the victims' family and friends,” New York City mayor Donald McMeel said in a statement. “The city grieves with them over their tragic loss. They are gone but will never be forgotten.”
Every night it's the same dream.
In his dream everything is white. The canvas tent is white and the tablecloths are white. There are huge arrangements of summer flowers: lavender, lupines, rosemary, also summer roses. A breeze comes through the entrances to the tent. In this dream everyone is happy, everyone is laughing. Guests sit at small round tables. There are little candles on the tables, lit in preparation for the evening. He and Katherine are sitting at the main table facing the guests. In front of them is a cake. The cake is tall with multiple tiers and stiff white frosting. In his dream he knows that it's a carrot cake, which is his favorite. In his dream he knows that he must give a speech, and that he and Katherine must cut the cake. He hears the light clinking of a fork upon a glass, another and another.
“Speech, speech!” somebody calls and everyone starts chanting together. He rises and Katherine rises too.
He says, “I just want to say that I love all of you. Each and every one of you. Thank you for being a part of my life, for your love, support, friendship, and wisdom.” In his dream he turns to Katherine and says, “Wherever you are, that place is home.”
In his dream they kiss. A sweet soft kiss where everyone claps and laughs and says, “
Awww.
”
That is the good part of the dream.
Then he picks up the knife. It's a normal cake knife, silver, curved, and flat. As he takes it, it turns in his hands as if it were alive. It moves like a small animal; it shifts. He looks down and sees that it's changed. It's older and larger. The blade is sharp on both sides. The hilt is curved. It's rusty with age, almost reddish.
This is the part where he begins to be frightened.
The clapping and cheering grow louder.
Someone calls, “Cut the cake!” Everyone takes up the chant: “Cut the cake! Cut the cake!”
He does not want to cut the cake with this knife. This knife is wrong. Katherine puts her hand over his. Katherine does not notice that the knife has changed, that it is no longer a cake knife, that it is something else. He tries to tell her that it is not the same knife, that there is something wrong. He doesn't want this rusty, strange knife near their wedding cake.
She shakes her head and smiles at him. Her hand pushes down on his hand that holds the knife. It's not a cake knife. It's a dagger.
She smiles tenderly but she is very strong. He is being forced to cut the cake with the dagger. He tries to move away and he looks up at his guests to ask for help and then he seesâ
The woman.
The woman stands at the entrance. Long dark hair falls heavy and spreads across her shoulders. Her skin is pale and waxy. She wears a long-sleeved green dress. The dress seems worn and patched and white with mold in parts, but no,
It can't be mold
, he thinks. He peers, trying to see more, but she stands well apart from the crowd. She does not chant or clap or cheer or laugh.
She looks at him, as he remembers she always looked at him. Her eyes are hollowed shadows. She smiles.
“Cut the cake! Cut the cake!”
He looks down again and sees that the knife is hovering over the large white cake.
He tries to cry out,
No!
Because that knife shouldn't touch their cake, their future, their happiness.
But in the dream he cannot stop. In the dream they plunge the knife into the cake.
Dark liquid oozes out on each side of the knife. Dark red liquid pools on the plate.
He looks up and the guests are gone. There's no one except David and Katherine, now sitting at the back of the tent.
They both look at him and start to clap and cheer. He smiles at them but then he sees her, the woman with the long dark hair, moving toward them from the side. She's holding out a plate. On the plate is a piece of the bloody cake. Katherine and David cannot see but behind her back she holds a dagger with a large and ornate handle. She shuffles slowly toward them, her hair obscuring her face.
No!
He tries to scream, but no sound comes out. He tries to run but the air has thickened and turned to taffy. The woman is at their table and both David and Katherine are looking up and she bends down to speak with them and she is offering a slice and David holds out his plate and saysâ
Stop
, he tries to howl.
Stop!
David holds out his plate and says, “Please.”
And the woman takes the knife from behind her back and holds it high above her head and as the knife swings down Katherine
doesn't look at the woman or at David but twists her head to look at Sael. She grins and her grin is a bloody smear of red.
And then he wakes up, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He lies awake. Lies staring up at the ceiling as the white noise machine says
shhh
. He can see the ceiling because of the crack of light that comes from the bathroom. He can't sleep in total darkness anymore. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe he'll switch on the TV. Maybe in a moment he'll get up, take a piss. Maybe he'll go to the kitchen, open the fridge, close the fridge again. Maybe he'll think about having a beer. Maybe he'll pour himself another glass of water. Maybe he'll surf the web, maybe he'll do some work. He might do any of these things. He lies awake, stares at the ceiling.
“What does it mean?” he asked a therapist, back when he thought therapy might help him.
What do you think it means?
But Sael doesn't want to talk about what it means; he just wants the dream to stop. Therapy doesn't seem to be helping. In the bathroom cupboard there's a small bottle filled with pills. There are prescriptions for Ambien and for Xanax and for Clonazepam. He might go and take one. Once he has the dream sometimes he can sleep afterward, with a little help. Maybe he'll take one. He doesn't.
He lies awake.
God knows how many of the sleeping tablets she had given him.
You could have killed meâyou know that, right? Or maybe that was the plan.
He was out of it but he still hears that scream that ripped him up, and still dazed and blinking he sawâ
It was self-defense; he was about to kill us.
âher stabbing David full in the chest as he stood before her with open arms. David, eyes rolled up to the skies, falling back through the rails, already a broken thing.
Sael, please believe me.
But how can he believe anything she says ever again?
So David told you that I wasâ
Yes.
And you believed him?
Yes.
Why, Katherine?
Why?
I don't know, I don't know! I guess the time you cut off my underwear, or you came to my windowâ
And that makes me a serial killerâ
I was scared!
And he told me that lie about Sara.
I told you about her already. I was honest with youâ
I was scared
shitless
. I didn't knowâ
The irony will kill him. He who betrayed David has now been betrayed. David, the one who brought them together, will be the one who will ultimately and forever keep them apart.
So you thought I wasâ
It's not like thatâ
You thought I was a serial killer.
. . .
You thought I had killed Sara and all those other women.
Sael, Iâ
You thought I was going to kill you.
. . .
Answer me, goddamn you!
Yes.
It's everywhere. Their faces, the story, but not the real story, any version they can get, any rumor they can find. A viral disease, a rash of opinion, speculation; splashed out, debated, discussed, argued, agreed, theorized, and marveled at. He hardly goes out in public these days. When he has to, he wears sunglasses and a hat. It doesn't help.
The Sickle Man, responsible for the deaths of twelve known victims, a monster that terrified a city, was pronounced dead onâ
People look at him differently. It's not just the police, the incredulous, disbelieving detectives who are suspicious of his motives.
You never had a suspicion, never talked about it? Come on. You were sleeping through the attack? For how long?
Even close friends no longer seem close, as if he should have known something. Did he know something? Why didn't he know something? Why? Perhaps he was in on it.
You were always so close.
Perhaps he knew deep down that there's a cover-upâthere always is. Why didn't he know or say or do something about the man he knew as his best friend, about David, who was squeamish when it came to putting jars over spiders, roaches, refusing to use traps for the mice that overran the dorms?
But they're so cute! We can tame them, train them to bring us beer, sing in an a cappella group.
The experts call them trophies, the things they found in David's apartment. Not just the journals and the notes and all the rest, not the underwear, but things like the book, the figurine, the hair clip, and the lipstick. It's the mundane and trivial.
There's an earring and a shoe, a toothbrush, a photo, some fish food.
David calling him, or concerned over beers: “Sael, man, I'm worried about you, talk to me. What's going on?”
There were many, many objects, each a tribute to the girl he had slaughtered.
Sael, Sael! Give us a comment! What do you have to say? Sael! Would you be prepared to do an interview? A story? Sael, we'd love to know what really happened, we want to know, we need to hear your side of it.
“Not David,” he said to the police, to the detectives, to anyone who would listen. “Not David, he couldn't have been.” There's been a mistake, a terrible mistake, but the letter and what tiny shreds of evidence remained were all saying yes, yes, yes, he was.
Hi, do you know where Cooper Hall is? I'm totally lost.
No problem, I'm going that way myself.
Thanks.
I'm Sael.
I'm David, nice to meet you.
Our hearts go out to those who were involved in this tragedy and to their families and friends.
Want to grab a drink after class?
Sure.
Katherine Emerson, age thirty-four, is the sole survivor of the Sickle Man's brutal attacks.
This brave and courageous young woman fought to defend not only herself but also her boyfrâ
He had run, groggy and stumbling, down the steps to where David lay. He had screamed at her when she tried to come close. Bloody and dirty like some cliché from a horror movie. Screamed and screamed and sobbed and the words he eventually said were lost in the sirens' howl heard from far away in the country night. They had had to give him a tranquilizer. His voice was hoarse from screaming.
You crazy bitch, you psycho, you killed him, you killed him, you killed him!
It's been one month, two weeks, and four days since he last saw her.
I love you, Sael, please don't do this.
Maybe he'll get up, put on some running clothes, go for a run.
Sael, I'm begging you. Please, please let's get through this together.
He can run along the river. Not many people around. They won't bother him.
Sael, I need you.
He'll run and he'll run and he'll run until the thoughts are squeezed from his mind and only the path lies before him; he'll run until all he will hear is the pounding of his heart and all he will feel is the heave in his chest for air, in and out, in and out, driving him on and on and on.
Sael, you said you loved me. I thought you loved me. I thought you wanted to marry me.
He'll run until he can no longer think of anything or anyone, until there is nothing but him running.
The thing is, Katherine, I thought I did too.
In a moment he'll get up, but for now he lies awake.