The downpour that began the night before was now – at nearly dawn – a hovering, thin mist. The grass was soggy, the air just above freezing. It reminded Lottie of home.
“You look awful,” Det. Marx said as she approached the bridge. Such a charmer. He offered her a Styrofoam cup of Earl Grey that promised to be awful. Lottie long ago accepted that she’d never find a decent cup in this century. All the same, she took it – the hot liquid inside warming her fingers – and glimpsed at the corpse.
He lay on his back, spread eagle and bare-chested. Carved into the gray skin and glistening dully with morning dew, Lottie saw it clearly even from a distance.
It was his mark.
“So… he’s crossed over again,” Lottie said.
Her partner nodded.
Let it begin.