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about it?”
    “All the victims had marks on their left shoulders.”
     

Chapter 7
     
    In less than an hour the gravel driveway in front of Debbie’s two-story cottage crackled under Jason’s car’s wheels. Debbie cut the engine and rubbed her arms, which were dimpled by goosebumps though the day was hot. Jason still clutched the paper, but he was no longer reading. Now his eyes were glued to a picture of a person lying facedown, covered with blood.
    “Let’s get inside,” Debbie said. “Matt should be here any minute.”
    Their doors slammed shut, and Jason followed Debbie towards the house. Jason had always liked her place. Everything felt welcoming. The ancient oaks surrounding the house provided shelter from the intolerable heat and helped Jason—at least for a little while—forget about the urban chaos that existed not far away, about New Yorkers who were always rushing, and about evil red creatures who wanted his blood.
    He followed Debbie inside, then hung his dusty jacket in the closet and followed her down a small corridor on the right that led to the kitchen. Jason had been to the house so many times he knew it as well as he knew his own apartment.
    “Coffee?” she asked, switching on the machine.
    “Yeah, I think I could do with a cup.” He pulled a stool toward the counter and set both the newspaper and letter in front of him. “Well?” he asked, looking up at her. “Do you believe me now?”
    Debbie fussed in the cupboards, pulling out cups and spoons, cream and sugar, but eventually she nodded grudgingly.
    “What changed your mind?”
    Debbie opened the fridge and leaned in, her eyes searching for something. “When I saw the newspaper I thought about you. I still had doubts, of course. I mean, it’s not a natural, logical jump, is it? But when I called and your cell phone was switched off, I went to your place. That’s when I saw the letter, and I knew you were in danger.”
    “Why?” Jason furrowed his brows.
    Debbie took some cheese from the fridge, then shut it with a thump of her hip.
    “Take a look at page seven,” she said, setting the plate in front of him. She slid the newspaper closer and thumbed through it. Then she stopped and poked the page with her finger. “Here.”
    Jason leaned in for a closer look, already feeling beads of sweat studding his forehead. The photos showed close-ups of the marks left on the victims, and Jason shuddered. The marks were exactly the same as the TW seal on the letter he’d received the day before.
    “They are the same,” he said quietly, tracing a numb fingertip over the photos. “Only the letters are different each time.”
    “Yeah, and I tried matching them with the victims’ names, but it doesn’t work.”
    They both stared at the grisly photos a little longer, then he looked up and met Debbie’s eyes. “Thank you for saving my life.”
    Her voice was gentle. “We’re friends. How could I not ?”
    The sound of a car approaching interrupted their conversation, and Debbie craned her neck to look outside.
    “We’re in the kitchen!” she called through the window, then smiled at Jason. “Matt’s here.”
    A few moments later he appeared at the kitchen door, greeting them both with his lazy smile.
    “Why didn’t you call?” Debbie snapped. “Did you find him?”
    “Easy, girl.” Matt raised his tattooed hands in the air. “I tried, but his cell doesn’t respond, and no one in the restaurant knows where he is.”
    “What’s going on?” Jason asked, looking up from where he sat.
    Matt tilted his head slightly and gave Jason an accusatory frown. “Hey, why didn’t I see you at work today?”
    Jason lifted one eyebrow, a rueful smile on his face. “Thanks to Debbie, I’m taking a break.”
    Matt turned to Debbie, then grinned at Jason. “What? You lucky devil! I wish I had a break.”
    Debbie shook her head. “Keep on wishing. Hey, why don’t you guys head into the living room? I’ll bring coffee.”
    The living