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“Werner and Orson, you still on-duty? Over,” came Sherry’s voice over the CB.

They glanced at the clock. It was 11:50 and their shift was technically over in ten minutes, but with the roads like this it was likely to take anyone else twice as long to respond. Susan shrugged at Kim.

“Yes, over,” Kim said.

“Call just came in for a possible 10-54. Should be right near you. 14 Forsyth Road. Over.”

“We’re on it, over,” Kim said.

Susan flipped on the sirens as they passed a black-and-white on Bristol. She figured the officer would be right behind them, given the proximity.

As they turned onto Forsyth, Kim’s heart sank.

“This looks familiar…” Susan said.

“We were here last Christmas,” Kim said. “OD.”

“Crap… Maybe it got the better of her, this time…” Susan said sadly.

They unloaded a stretcher from the back and went in through the garage to save themselves climbing up the snow-covered stairs. The door to the basement was open.

“Hello?” Susan called. “Paramedics!”

“In here!” someone yelled from around the corner. Kim was leading, Susan trailing behind, as they maneuvered the stretcher between a set of French doors.

A man with a thick beard who looked vaguely familiar was standing in the hallway, ashen, his hands shaking. He looked up at her.

“Kim?” he said. He sounded confused, his voice hoarse, eyes glazed.

She fought to place him. Mechanic… “Jerry?” she asked. This guy worked with Cary, sometimes. He was a nice old man, and she’d liked him from the start, one of the few of Cary’s people who didn’t seem skittish around her.

“Did you say Kim?” came a voice from behind a doorway.

Kim froze at the sound, her skin prickling, and then Cary stepped into the hall covered head to toe in blood.

“Cary…” she squeaked. The stretcher clattered to the floor as Susan dropped the back end in shock.

“He’s in here,” Cary said, his voice strangely calm, gesturing to the bedroom as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Cary, what did you do…”

“See for yourself,” he said, stepping out of the way.

There was another man who looked like a Pastor standing in the room, watching her anxiously. There was a young boy holding a phone, a blood stain on his shirt. On the bed was a terrified looking girl and a boy, as good looking as Cary – she noted, oddly – attempting to shield the girl from view, his coat covering her lower body.

And on the floor was a beaten, mangled corpse.

“I need to get out of here,” the Pastor said, looking panicked.

“I can’t let you leave the scene, sir,” came Susan’s voice. It was shaking. “Police will be on-site momentarily and will want to speak with you. With all of you.”

“Oh, SCREW THIS!” he roared, launching himself towards the basement window and heaving himself up and out before anyone could even react.

“Jerry,” Cary was saying, “you need to get Dustin out of here. Now. Shane, take Laney and go. Follow Jerry to his place.”

“I’m sorry,” Susan said, “but nobody else can leave!”

Cary turned around and shoved Susan into the wall. “I'd be happy to pick up that shovel and beat your ass too. Your fucking choice!”

Susan whimpered, raising her hands and trying to slide away from him.

Strangely, Kim found herself thinking about how Cary was supposed to be coming to breakfast, tomorrow. She’d pictured him sitting around the kitchen table with her family, drinking eggnog, and wearing the stupid t-shirt she’d bought him.

There’s something wrong with him.

She could feel it in him sometimes, bubbling beneath the surface, leaking out of him like sweat despite his best efforts, bruising her skin and her bones. But like a dark rain, the blood had washed away his beauty. For the first time, she let herself see his real face.