Desiccated spider carcass with legs sticking through the storm grate.

Eyebrow tweezers lodged in the eyeball of a cadaver. A mangled poem written in bloody cursive. The words circle the body— stretching thin where the blood began to run out.

A run of nightmares to balance Ray Valentine between sleep deprived and white knuckled. The case for the Springwater Slasher had yet to pull any major leads and each new victim felt like a direct taunt from the killer.

Ray let the beads of moisture collect on his beer as he stared down Gladstone. An unusually wide street for southeast, it didn’t fit with the surrounding area, unless you skipped over Reed College and counted East Moreland. Which he didn’t.

Whoever ran this sick operation couldn’t stay hidden forever. It’s impossible for people to keep a secret. Even if they’re the only ones to know it. Sooner or later, the killer would want recognition. And Ray would be happy to give it to them— along with a pair of cuffs and the longest sentence he could beg out of a judge. He stopped by the bluff overlooking Oaks Bottom. A mess of birds took to the skies as muddy water below laid parallel to the theme park. It’s a wonder he wasn’t dragged out here more for cases. An amusement park next to wetlands begged for trouble.