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The water will run red. Just like your sins. The truth won’t be painted over anymore.
What the fuck?
It’s painted in large letters on the back wall, and the guy behind the counter is calling it in.
“What happened?” I ask, moving toward him.
“I don’t know. It just suddenly appeared. Like, it wasn’t there, and then it was. Everyone saw it!” he shouts.
The fuck?
The words are dry, and I go to take a sample, pulling out an evidence bag to scrape some flakes in. I fucking need Hadley here already.
Whispers of spirits hiss around us from the few who are brave enough to stick around.
“It’s dry but just appeared? Know any type of paint that does that?”
“I’m sure there’s something out there, or something someone smart enough could make,” I tell him, watching the people panic over some words. “It’s him.”
“What? He came to paint magically appearing words?” Craig asks incredulously.
“We profiled this town as religious, but with a cult mentality. Look around. They’re all terrified over something this small. In DC, this would have people snapping pictures and rolling their eyes—and that’s if they even noticed it to begin with. But here? It’s already terrifying them.”
He appraises the situation, processing the same thing I am, even though he’s not a profiler.
“He’s fucking with their heads.”
“His endgame isn’t just murder. He wants to terrorize the town,” I say, only elaborating on his theory.
He follows me out, and I head down the street, looking around for anyone who stands out. But I see no one. Until this paint is analyzed, we won’t know how he pulled that off.
We pause, talking to people, watching fear wash over their faces when we tell them about the serial killer the sheriff never warned them about. Most everyone hurries by us, not wanting to hear something like that exists.
One man clutches his heart. “It’s true then,” he whispers. “There’s a dark spirit among us?”
Craig’s eyebrows go up.
“No. There’s a flesh and blood person who wants revenge for something that happened ten years ago to Victoria and Marcus Evans.”
The color drains from his face.
“You speak of the devil’s children,” he hisses, then turns and darts away, hobbling down the sidewalk like we just invited in evil.
“I don’t know about you, but this is the most fucked up case ever,” Craig says with exasperation.
His phone beeps, and he looks down. “I sent Leonard a picture of that message, and he sends me this…” He frowns, holding his phone up for me to see.
LEONARD: People are finding that message in the houses with open doors. It’s popping up all over town now. We’ve seen it literally appear from thin air as if it’s being written.
“So he’s a master of science as well as an organized killer. Lovely. He’ll have the whole town believing in ghosts before the end of the day,” Craig states dryly.
“But why a ghost?” I ask.
Screams erupt from all around before we can think about it for too long, and we look as people rush out of the park, hands in the air as they shriek.
Again we’re running straight ahead, right into the thick of people fleeing as they scream for someone to save them.
The fountain in the middle of the park is running red water. So are the sprinklers that pop up from the ground. I whirl around as more screams erupt, seeing a woman drop a garden hose that is gushing red.
