They found the body in the WalMart. It was lying in the isle between the nut section and boys clothes. Berkus was pretty sure that he had never seen anything like this before. And he had seen a lot of things in his life.
The man lay at an unnatural angle; Berkus knew immediately that the mans neck had been broken. But that wasn’t what bothered him. There was a haze of smoke that hung around him and Berkus, familiar with chemicals as he was, could smell the distinctive smell of brimstone.
Berkus hated the smell of brimstone. In his experience, it always foretold bad things. And he had to admit that the situation in Kilkades Dare had become more and more odd over time. He wondered if anyone else noticed anything.
He doubted it. People tended not to notice anything but themselves, even if something important was starting them in the face. But people were often that way.
What disturbed him now was not the smell of brimstone. He was used to that smell, used to the scent that seemed to cling to him even after he left a crime scene. It hung inside the fabric of his clothes, waiting to fill his nostrils with its scent.
No, what disturbed Berkus was the cloud that surrounded him and the marks on the body. Beside him, Owen Wolfe stood looking down at the body, a dark look on his face. Justin Wright was to Owen’s left and his face looked grim.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” Berkus said.
“Neither have I.” Owen said. “And I’ve got a PHD in ritualistic killings.”
“Have you seen anything like this before?”
Owen shook his head. “No. No I haven’t.”
Being paramedics for Kilkades Dare Hospital, they had seen lots of death. But death had never looked like this before.
“What do you think made the marks on his face?” Justin asked.
The three men studied the markings and Berkus shuddered. What had once been a face was now a mass of flesh marked by angry red lines. When he moved, the lines shone and Berkus wondered if he would ever see so much blood again.
A knife had been used on his face. The point had been run along every wrinkle, every line on the mans face until it bled. It looked as if someone had tried to cut off the mans age with a knife.
When the body moved, squelching in the pool of blood that surrounded him, all three men stopped and stared. Berkus wondered if his stomach would stop dropping. “Who checked his pulse?”
“I did.” Justin said. “He was dead fifteen minutes ago.”
“You’ve taken your pictures for the files?” Berkus asked.
“Yes, first thing.”
“Good, because I don’t think we’re going to get another chance.”
“Why do you say that?” Justin asked.
“Look.” Berkus said simply.
The body which had been moving and jerking was now regaining movement. As they watched, as Berkus put all of this away in his mental file for later, they watched as the blood on the mans face disappeared.
But no, that wasn’t quite right either. The blood didn’t disappear. It seeped back into the mans skin through the wrinkles that had been opened up with the knife. When the blood was gone, so was the wrinkle.
When the man stood, Berkus watched as the mans shoulders began to broaden, as his greying hair began to darken and thicken. If Berkus didn’t know any better (and he thought he did, dear God he thought he did) he would swear that the man was somehow reversing his own age.
But things like that didn’t happen, he though. He scoffed. This coming from the man who had experienced more of the paranormal than most people saw in their lifetime. He sighed. He had a bad feeling about this.
This was going to end badly, he thought.
When the man was standing completely, blood still dripping from his clothes onto the white tiled floor with increasing rhythm, Berkus wondered if he believed in God. The man looked at him and, for a moment, Berkus saw that the man had red eyes.
“I’m so hungry.” The man said. “So very hungry.”
When he lunged for him, It was all Berkus could do to protect himself.
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