"Good evening, and welcome to Five Live News. I'm Walt Daines."
"And I'm Sarah Bello. Many people are choosing to celebrate their Thanksgiving holiday with deep-fried turkey, but the deep-fryers can be dangerous. More on that in a minute, but first an update on the Clayton County killer who has thus far claimed three lives, including Five Live News reporter Ted Rask. Here's Carrie Walsh with a report."
All three of us sat up straight, eyes glued to the TV.
"The town of Clayton is afraid," said a young reporter standing by the Wash-n-Dry; she'd probably been stuck with this job because she was too junior to pass it on to anybody else. It was much brighter on TV than it was outside at the , moment and I guessed that she'd probably filmed this segment around two in the afternoon. "Police patrol the streets at all hours of the day, and even now, in full daylight, I am accompanied by an armed escort of police officers." The camera pulled back to show that she was flanked by an officer on each side. "What is everyone so afraid of?" she said. "Three un- . solved murders, in the space of just three months. The police have very few leads, but investigative reporter Ted Rask uncov ered evidence so sensitive, the murderer killed him for it." Her voice was even, but her eyes were bloodshot and her knuckles gripping the microphone were white as bone. She was terrified, "Today, assisted by Agent Forman of the FBI, we bring that evidence to you, to help catch a killer."
The scene cut away to some kind of records facility, and the FBI agent explained in voice-over the story of Emmett Openshaw, an Arizona man who disappeared from his home forty-two years ago. They showed a picture: he was an adult, but not a very old one—forty, maybe? I'm no good at guessing ages. He looked vaguely familiar, in the way that old photos tend to—that niggling impression in the back of your head that if the person had a modern haircut and modern clothes, it would be someone you saw every day. The police found blood and signs of violence, but no body. Most importantly, and the reason the story was related to Clayton County, they also found a puddle of black sludge in the middle of the man's kitchen floor. The police had a few theories of their own, which the reporter nervously explained, but none of them matched what I had seen—how could they?
I stared at the TV screen and imagined Mr. Crowley in Arizona. He knocked on a door, this man opened it, and Crowley gave him some story about a broken car or a lost map. He asked to come in, the man let him, and when his back was turned,
Crowley ripped the man's throat out and stole his... what?
The police never found the body, so they never knew that the killer had stolen a piece of it.
But why would he hide his bodies back then, and not hide his first three now? It didn't make sense. Thinking back to the FBI classifications, it was as if he used to be an organized killer, and had become a disorganized one. And now his attack on the drifter had moved back to the organized side of the spectrum again. Why?
The news footage switched to show the FBI agent, sitting in a bland office for an interview that must have been filmed earlier. "DNA testing has continued in the Clayton case," said Agent Forman, "and the sludge found next to the three Clayton victims is consistent—the FBI can't identify whose DNA it is, but we do know that it is definitely all from the same person."
The same person? That didn't make any sense either. If the sludge comes from the discarded organs, and each organ comes from a different body, wouldn't the DNA be different each time? That kind of science was a little beyond the tenth-grade level, unfortunately, so I couldn't figure it out myself, and since I was basing my theories on information the FBI agent didn't have, he didn't offer any further explanation either.
"Emmett T. Openshaw died so long ago, unfortunately, that no DNA testing was possible," said Agent Forman, "and none of the sludge found in his home was saved as evidence.
Quite frankly, we don't know why or even if this information is significant—only that the killer wanted to keep it quiet. If this information means anything to you, or if you have any leads at all, please talk to the police. Your identity will be kept confidential. Thank you."
The screen switched back to the live reporter, who nodded curtly and looked at the camera. "This is Carrie Walsh with Five Live News. Back to you, Sarah."
Any leads at all? Even preposterous ones?
It was obvious that the demon was more than the sum of his parts. He could turn his hands—one of which belonged to a farmer just two months ago—into demon claws. He needed body parts from humans, that much seemed certain, but when he absorbed them they became a part of him. They took on his properties and strengths and, apparently, his DNA signature.