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Identity Crisis Children could be heard through the grilled windows, black from times of neglect, of the warehouse. Summer had just begun, with the children now on holiday and more work to do. Laughter and shouting came from the wasteland outside, yet it was like the wind was alive, for no one could be seen. The sun was now high above the cracked corrugated walls of the warehouse, but inside it was cool and dark, with a slight smell of damp and only a few rays of light shining across the sharpened knives and the disfigured manikins, used for films. Sitting all alone, with just sculptures for company, serial killer Paul washed his hands of the deep, red stain that was slowly running down his arm and dying his shirt sleeve. This was Paul's third killing within 3 months. Nights hadn't agreed with Paul after seeing his father murdered, when he was...

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