Flashes of the blood. Children. Two children. A boy and a girl. Twins. Their mother and father. The boy and father are bound to watch as he’s raping the daughter and mother. Before he attacks them with a corkscrew.
Her centralia leads round a corner, where even dimmer streetlights cast ghostlier pallor over deserted rainwashed streets. The pull is stronger. The crime imminent. Her determination to stop the crime is unwavering. The family’s blood washes through her mind again, as the criminal’s face spins into clarity. He’s a man. She’s faced worse, but knows sometimes the worst monsters are men.