I could see the victims in my mind, their corpses lined up like paper dolls. The boy in the cabin. The girl in Winchester. The unidentifiable mass of skin and blood and bones in Missouri.
How many victims had we’d missed? How many more would there be if we didn’t find a way to stop this thing? In life, Samuel Wilson had been the worst kind of monster. He hadn’t just attacked teenagers. He’d killed children.
And now he was bullet proof. He had been dead and now he was back to the land of living with the ability of manifesting without being seen and he could kill and harm. He was a psychopath in life and a psychopath in death. The idea was horrific and abhorrent to me but there was simply nothing that I could do.
“This is just the beginning.” I tried to stay calm. I tried to be rational.
