About ten minutes later, they pulled into the circular driveway of the crime scene. The drive was full of cars, emergency vehicles, and fellow police officers. Ryland shut off the car and they unbuckled their seatbelts. Natalie opened her door and got out. She watched as three seasoned cops exited the house and leaned over the wrap-around porch and vomited over the railing.

"It’s really bad." Ryland repeated as he joined her.

"Yeah."

They walked up to the house and stepped onto the wrap-around porch, where the three officers were recovering. Natalie recognized them. She and Ryland hung out with them after work at the bar where all the cops went after work.

"Bowlinger, Holmes, Hensley—are you okay?" asked Ryland as they paused before going inside.

"Yeah. Eventually." Replied John Holmes.

Johnathan Holmes was the oldest of the group of Natalie, Ryland, Bowlinger, Hensley, and another officer named Ben Murdock, at thirty-six. He had moved to Crystal Falls from L.A. By the time he arrived, his young face was already set in hard lines. Natalie was surprised when he was one of the people who had gotten sick. She knew he had seen some pretty grotesque murders, so for him to get sick, was a bad sign.

"I’m just chipper." Answered Thomas Bowlinger, sounding the exact opposite.

Bowlinger was thirty-four and had been a cop for since he was twenty-one. After two years, he had been upgraded into homicide and they wanted him to take a class at Quantico on profiling, so he did. After his fiancée was murdered, he had dropped the class, but he had been the best in his class and retained all that he had learned.

"Oh, god." Was all Eric Hensley could say.

Hensley was only twenty-nine and had been though more horror and bad crime scenes than any of his male co-workers. He was accustom to seeing grotesque images. He had been a forensic examiner for five years before he joined up with the police squad. Ryland stepped towards the door and opened it. As the pair stepped through threshold, Holmes called after them.

"Latex gloves are in the kitchen…if you can stay in long enough to use them."

Natalie led the way into the kitchen. More recovering police officers stood in the room. The pair walked towards the kitchen table where a box of gloves sat. The woman took out a pair and put them on with practiced ease, while Ryland struggled a bit. Across the room, Natalie noticed her crime scene kit on a counter. She crossed the room and saw there was a sticky note attached to it.

She laughed. Ben Murdock, fellow homicide detective and last member of their little group, was Ryland’s best friend from high school. Together, the trio was responsible for most of the pranks pulled around the office on slow days. But no matter who did it or who pulled it, Michael Donte, their boss always found a way to blame it on Natalie. She didn’t understand why he didn’t like her. The woman then sighed and brought the case down from the counter, carrying it out of the room with her. Ryland stayed behind, talking with another officer that would actually tell him about the details.

As Natalie headed to the stairs, Murdock passed her. His blond hair was spiked like it usually was when he wasn’t on duty, but his dark eyes, usually bright like laughter and amusement, were large and haunted.

"It’s upstairs." Was all he could say to her when she said his name.

Natalie’s eyes traveled up the t-staircase slowly. The little voice in her head told her to run, run far away. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up with a jolt of overwhelming dread. With a hard swallow, she brought herself to walk up the stair and follow the sound of voices to the right of the long hallway. Entering the room, she surveyed the crime scene, her eyes moving left to right.

Blood covered the grey carpet on both sides of the king size bed. It took Natalie a few minutes to realize the bloody mass on the bed was a body (or what was left of it anyways.) Another body lay on the floor, looking just as grotesque and disfigured as the one on the bed. Three people stood in the right corner of the room, having a serious discussing.

The woman identified them as the boss, Captain Michael Donte, crime scene photographer, Brian Ramsly, and her partner in the morgue, Monica Abbott. Natalie, not wanting to interrupt them, moved towards the bed, her feet making squishing noises as she walked. As she gazed at the remains of the first victim, the images of her parents filled her brain and she closed her eyes. After counting to ten and exhaling, she moved onto second victim. Before the woman could get a closer look, the trio turned to her.

"There’s been a message left behind." Monica said, her blue eyes unreadable, "And it’s addressed to you."

The woman handed Natalie and eight by ten piece of paper. The raven-haired woman swallowed hard and looked down at the object. It was a picture. The photograph was of her looking out her bedroom window; wearing the pajamas she had worn the night before. In bold red maker, in all caps was written:

THE MONSTERS AREN’T JUST IN YOUR DREAMS ANYMORE.

As she read the message, she felt light headed as a memory that had been buried in her mind came back to her as she read the words…

When Natalie was able to focus again, she was kneeling beside the body, blood soaking into her jeans. Monica was staring at her, her eyes filled with concern. Brian was just looking at her, a worried expression on his face. Donte was frowning at her, his eyes narrowing.

"You’re kneeling in the evidence." He said, sounding matter-of-factly.

"Fuck you, Donte." She said with feeling, "Fuck. You."

"What’s going on, Alie?" asked Monica, running her hand through her red hair in a nervous gesture.

"It’s the same homicidal maniac that murdered my parents…" she said in a small voice, looking down at the picture in her hand, "he’s back."