The Holy
Marson exited her old truck and dragged a thick suitcase through the dirt. There were many things in life she was prepared for, and catching the Face Slasher was number one on the list. She committed to memory every detail of the case: the first happening, the first victim. She even knew what the deceased wore and their blood type. “Runt, give me a hand, will you?” she called, breaking the stiffness in the air. “Do you really need all of this? For fuck’s sake, Marson…” Her neck snapped towards him, and her gaze sharpened in a way that had him waving a white flag with both hands in the air. “I left a wonderful opportunity to investigate another suicide around Hembridge Lake for this… And I know what I’m doing,” she boasted, snatching Policeman Runt’s coffee for a sip. She immediately spat it out. “Trust me when I say shut up and do as I say.” Policeman Runt pursed his lips awkwardly and nodded. There were only two people in this world who could talk to him like that, and they both happe...