This week we continue in the grand tradition of the weekly vote over at Indies Unlimited (go here and vote, I can wait for you). That isn’t the only grand tradition I am celebrating this week. But the other one is something you will have to figure out for yourself.
Oh the games we play when we first jump down the rabbit hole, and the places they take us. Really all I am doing now that I have mentioned Indies Unlimited for the week is putting in a bunch of filler words. Do any of you actually read the drivel I say before I lead you to the story anyway?
State Trooper Tom Dewitt pulled up on what he thought was a vehicle that had gotten stuck in the snow and abandoned by its occupants. The vehicle was no longer running and he couldn’t see anyone inside.
He didn’t want to stop, fearful that his own car might become stuck as well. He drove slowly by, and craned his neck to look into the other car.
The two occupants were slumped toward each other, and from the blood splattered on the headrests, Tom knew the serial killer they called the Snowman had returned. What Tom did not know was that the Snowman was still there…
Tom flicked on the warning lights of his patrol car and parked on the street. “Dispatch, looks like we have a homicide in a vehicle stuck in the ditch on four mile road,” he said into his radio. “We will need a crew out here to check it out and pull the vehicle.” He left the car running as he stepped out into the brisk winter air.
The cold air and a chance to stretch his legs helped break up the long night. With only a half hour left of his shift he didn’t want to get too caught up with this situation. He trudged through the snow to look through the driver side window.
Like victims in the past these two died forehead to forehead with a hole driven between both skulls. Gruesome way to die, he thought. But like the other victims the no murder weapon was left at the scene.
Tom noticed something odd about these two. From what he could tell they were freshly killed. At least within the past couple hours.
The driver’s seat was wet with more than fresh blood. A pool of water had not absorbed into the leather seat.
He thought nothing of the cold breeze that blew up the bottom of his coat. The cold chill air woke him as he thought of his warm bed waiting at home. The last thing he felt was the cold bite as the icicle cut through the back of his head.