Brandilyn Collins

As I drew, the house felt eerie in its silence. . . . A strange sense stole over me, as though Bland and I were two actors on stage, our movements spotlighted, black emptiness between us. But that darkness grew smaller as the space between us shrank. I did not know if this sense was due to my immersion in Bland's face and mind and world, or to my fear of his threatening presence. Or both . . . The nerves between my shoulder blades began to tingle....

All words fell away. I pushed myself off the path, noticing for the first time the signs of earlier passage-the matted earth, broken twigs. And I knew. My mouth turned cottony. I licked my lips, took three halting steps. My maddening, visual brain churned out pictures of colorless faces on a cold slab-Debbie Lille, victim number one; Wanda Deminger, number three…He'd been here. Dragged this one right where I now stumbled. I'd entered a crime scene,...