Chapter 2

The apartment was like so many others in the city, old, elegant and a little worn around the edges. That softness made what they were looking so much worse. The body was spread-eagled on the bed, the sheets and blankets soaking up most of the blood. Angela found his face to be the worst part- his eyes held such horror that she felt her gut clench if she caught sight of them. Part of her mind couldn't help but wonder about his last minutes. The room still held an echo of the travesty that had taken place within it. She could feel goose bumps rising on her skin.

Beneath the damage, he looked to be in good physical shape, the muscles on his arms and torso looking trim and toned. She thought that he had dark hair, but the blood gave it a red tint. His eyes were green and in life he would have been handsome. There was a wedding band on his finger and she felt a rush of sorrow for the family that he had been so forcibly stolen from. She guessed his age at around 35, but wasn't sure how accurate it was.

Turning her mind to work helped, she found. Ignoring the techs who were still working the scene, she examined the room, noting the writing on the wall. She'd ask John what it meant later. The large picture window was cracked across a bottom corner. She went and crouched near to it, hoping to find something useful. A strange smear of green goo caught her attention, and she automatically reached out to touch it, not noticing that the wall around it was slightly scorched.

"Don't!" John's voice was urgent, but not loud. He was standing behind her, studying the liquid he knew to be blood.

She drew her hand back, instead pulling out a wooden tongue depressor. She scraped a little of the blood off the wall. The wood began to give off white smoke. Within seconds, the end had burned right through. She looked at him with a weak half smile of thanks. He offered her an hand and pulled her easily to her feet.

"The attacker got hurt?" She asks quietly.

"Looks that way to me." He agrees, then adds, "I was wrong." She'd never know how hard it was for him to say that. "This isn't a human killing people."

"A half-breed?" She asked apprehensively, already drawing her own conclusions.

A small, but ironic smile coloured his face, "No, worse. This is a pure demon."

"But why kill people?" She sounded like a two year old talking about the closet monster, scared and a little petulant.

He shrugged, "Sport?" He offered, knowing that he was being flip. She knew it too, and for a moment, her eyes seemed to glow with anger. He almost took a step back, catching himself at the last minute. "I'm sorry. I don't know. It depends on the demon. I'll look it up at the apartment."

"Detective?" One of the white suited techs called. She held up a blood stained wallet. On Angela's nod, she flipped through it, coming up with a driving licence.

"The victim was called James Cregan." The tech said, not knowing that she was sparking a panic in both of them. He hid his better than she did, but both looked a little shaken.

Two sets of shocked eyes met each other. They spoke together "We need to find the name of the homeless guy."

She said to the tech "You okay to finish up here?" The nod she received was hesitant, but genuine. "I want pictures of everything, make sure you get some good shots of that writing. If you need me, I'm on my cell." Quickly, she scribbled the number down on a sheet torn from her notebook, handing it over to the tech.

John was already waiting by the open door. He held his hand out for the car keys.

"You can drive?" she asked, surprised. Having never seen him drive, she had assumed that he couldn't. She hands him the keys without hesitation, and pulls out her cell phone. She can make some calls on the way. The first person she called was the beat cop who had found the body. A few minutes tense conversation gave her scant information.

No, he hadn't found a name, but he had noted that the man had a strange tattoo on his neck. It looked like a dragon, she was told. She thanked him and ended the call, wondering if it was worth calling the lab. She decided that it was worth a try. As always, the phone was answered on the first ring. The lab employed college students to man the phones twenty- four, seven.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Angela Dodson. I need to speak to Rosie." She asked.

"I'll go get her." The boy said, clunking the phone down on the desk. Rosie was the resident pathologist in charge of the lab, and she knew everything that took place in her domain.

"This is Rosie." No matter the hour, she always sounded remarkably cheerful and upbeat. Angela found it incredibly depressing.

Angela launched into an explanation of what she needed, without much hope.

"You're in luck- he had relatives that made contact." Angela could hear her flipping through a file. "His name was Jacob Catterfeld." Angela had heard the saying 'blood ran cold and now knew it to be true.

Her voice was shaky as she thanked Rosie and hung up the phone. John could sense that something is wrong and glanced at her. He was shocked by what he saw. She was shaking a little, eyes dark in a pale face. He felt a shiver of fear work it's way through him as he asked "What's wrong?"

For a moment, she couldn't speak. Forcing the words past numb lips, she said "The homeless man was called Jacob Catterfeld." Those same initials, belonging to three dead men could not be a coincidence. It was a warning or a mocking sign. Something was hunting John, but it was giving him notice.

"We need to know what the next set of words say." His voice was tight and rigidly controlled. Indicating, he pulled into a side road and turned the car around. She already knew his destination. They were going back to the crime scene.

The trip back seemed to take twice as long. She couldn't sit still in her seat, while he was as tense as a board. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. She slid a hand over his, silently urging him to relax. He couldn't, instead choosing to use the fear to fuel his thoughts. The seed idea that he'd had earlier on was twisting in his mind, teasing him with it's presence, but not revealing itself.

The mistletoe and the other two words were all he had to go on, but something about the mistletoe was… had to be important for it to be left as a clue. Mistletoe… he turned the name over in his mind, rooting out facts about the weed. Before Christianity had commandeered it, the plant had been used to mark the Winter solstice for hundreds of years. The solstice was the beginning of Winter. 'Has begun'… the second clue suddenly fit into place.

"The Winter has begun…" He didn't realist that he was talking aloud. It was the start of an obscure line from an even more obscure book. He'd read it once in all years deporting half-breeds and had dismissed it then as nonsense. It came back to him easily, and in perfect detail. In a voice lacking strength, he repeated the phrase in full "The Winter has begun. By the End, you will know of me. And fear me. And I shall delight."

They had arrived back at the crime scene, and he left her, speechless in the car while he ran up the stairs to the apartment. The techs had left and the door was sealed with crime scene tape. He ripped it off the door and forced it open. As he expected, the body had been removed, but the clean-up crew hadn't been yet.

The words were still clearly legible on the pale blue walls. He read them, already knowing what they would say. The facts confirmed his idea, and with chilling clarity, he understood that he was the intended target.