The Zodiac was very particular about how he committed his crimes, and it's apparent in the fact that he left nearly no evidence, and still hasn't been caught to this day. They may never catch him.

Michael Levitt was about halfway through his fourth novel, with this one investigating the crimes of the Zodiac killer, one of his favorites. Levitt's infatuation with the unsolved blossomed into a series of books, which understandably popular among the crime community. His first three featured the grisly murders of Jack The Ripper, the mysterious death of JonBenét Ramsey, and the curious case of D.B. Cooper. The Zodiac killer might be the most famous of them all, and even a decent book could net him the fame he's always wanted.

Michael sat at his computer, typing vigorously as the words formed in his head almost perfectly. This was his favorite case among all of the unsolved mysteries, so everything came quite naturally.

Upon his arrival at Lake Berryessa, it's probable that he only put on his disguise until after he got close enough to Bryan Hartnell and Cecelia Shepard. Before her subsequent death, Cecilia mentioned that she saw the man move behind a tree, then approach them with a gun in hand. Zodiac's disguise consisted of a black executioner-style hood with aviator sunglasses on top of the eye holes. He also wore a utility belt with a holster for a gun, a sheath for a knife, and a place for rope, which was later used to tie up the couple. For good measure, he embroidered the haunting Zodiac crosshair symbol across his chest, most likely to further terrify victims.

This was good work. If people hadn't heard of the Zodiac before, they'll certainly here of him after this book would be published.

Levitt studied the sketch that older Zodiac expert Robert Graysmith had drawn, wondering if he was truly still out there all these years later. If only he could catch him. He'd be remembered for eternity, revered for his clever detective skills.

Just then, a sudden clatter of footsteps halted his daydream. The steps moved across the floor above him to a rhythmic, quick beat that nearly matched the author's heart rate,

I live alone…

Levitt froze in his chair as he heard a door open, and the sound of sturdy work boots trudge across the hardwood floor, and begin to walk down the stairs.

Michael slowed turned his head towards the opening where the stairs ended, and saw the familiar Navy Wingwalker boots take a step down.

Shit.

A tall man, donning a black executioner hood and the infamous Zodiac crosshairs appeared into view. Michael couldn't believe his eyes. Was that the Zodiac? Was it jut his imagination?

No sooner did he see that symbol did Michael rise up out of his chair and make a run for the door. He gathered up all his stamina and ran as fast as he could, making it three blocks away from his house, never looking back.

Nervously and frantically mortified, Levitt called 911.

"911 what is your emergency?"

"There's- there's someone who was inside my house. I- I- I live alone. He was coming down the stairs and I just ran out of my house…"

The police searched the house to find nothing. Michael didn't even think about telling them that the person who appeared inside his house was the Zodiac killer, or maybe an imposter. He hadn't told anyone he was writing this book except for his agent. His company likes to keep things pretty under wraps.

"Do you have a description of what the intruder looked like?"

"Well uh-"

Then something ticked. He remembered the description of the Zodiac killer word for word.

"Um, he was about 5'8, white, had a crew cut, and wore wide frame glasses, like Rey Bans."

Michael hoped the cop wasn't a Zodiac expert. The officer scribbled away on his note pad and then flipped it back.

"Thank you for your time, sir. We'll get back to you as soon as we know something. In the meantime, I suggest you make sure all your doors are locked and that all your windows are sealed. There's a decent possibility he could come back if he knows there's a vulnerability in your home."

There's a chance he could come back. Great.

Michael didn't even want to finish his book now. Who cares about this fame, if his writing had this sort of supernatural power, he had to stop. His writing, his very own writing, is responsible for unleashing one of the most terrifying, grisly killers the world had ever seen.

Then he realized something.

If I can lead him here, catch him, and unmask him, I'll know his true identity… My book would be famous…

Michael knew what he had to do. He would write that Zodiac would enter his house and stalk him, but never go through with killing, giving him the opportunity to finally unmask the Zodiac.

Finally, after years and years of investigation and dead ends, he, Michael Levitt would be the one to uncover the true mystery of the Zodiac Killer.

Michael pulled out the chair underneath his writing desk and slowly sat down. The cursor in the word document blinked unceasingly, as it always did.

Disappear.

Appear.

Disappear.

Appear.

"Well, here I go."

One of the most puzzling acts of the Zodiac would be the stalking of Michael Levitt. The crime author was sitting at his desk, his fingers dancing around the keys of his MacBook Pro, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

knock knock knock

The sound echoed through the eardrums of the author like a small voice inside a vast cavern.

Wanting to remain undisturbed, Levitt continued writing, but the Zodiac wasn't planning on being patient. The killer picked the lock and entered the house to see Levitt sitting in front of him, about twenty feet from the door. He inched closer and closer.

Michael could hear the footsteps of the killer moving closer towards him, ready to strike. Now was the time.

Then, rather curiously, the Zodiac set his gun, knife and rope on the ground and surrendered to the writer, kneeling in submission.

Michael looked behind him and saw the horrifying disguise of the Zodiac. He could tell the man was looking him dead in the face, even through the frames of his sunglasses. He walked over and stood over the defenseless man, kicking the gun and knife away, just in case he got any ideas.

Levitt grasped the killer's black hood and pulled it to the sky. What awaited him was even more shocking than the killer's acts themselves.

Under the hood was a head with nothing. No nose, no mouth, no eyes, no face.

It was supposed to be him who unmasked the Zodiac. Him who discovered the true identity, and yet, in that moment he became like everyone else.