Darkness

BESTIALITY IS A SIN.

It was written on the wall in large, reddish-purple letters. Written in blood, Foster thought. Her blood.

“It’s paint,” said one of the cops, looking up from a palm-sized testing palette. “Just like the others.”

Foster felt the air move out of him in a surge of relief.

“The message is different this time, though,” one of the other cops said. He had pulled the cushions out of the couch and was examining their surfaces with a magnifying glass. “And he’s broken the pattern. This is the first human victim.”

“No, it isn’t,” Foster said, his voice shaking. Victim. Don’t use that word.

The cop with the testing palette looked at him quizzically. “I thought you said she was your wife.”

“She is,” Foster said.

The cop’s face began to form around some emotion, but stopped before Foster could tell what it was. Revulsion, shock, plain curiosity—Foster had seen them all.

His face carefully set, the cop looked back at the letters on the wall. “That would explain the message, then,” he said, voice as blank as his face.

Foster was too numb to interpret the remark. The couch cushion cop straightened.

“I’ve got a blood sample,” he said.

“His or hers?” This from Sergeant Davis, who had introduced himself earlier as the officer in charge.

“Must be hers,” he said. “It’s purple.”

Foster swore and walked out of the room.