Molly gasped, her legs thrashing against his heavy canvas coat as her face turned a dark, suffocating purple under the grey light of the canopy.
She tapped him frantically on the forearm with her small fists, her fingers clawing at the rough fabric of his sleeve, begging for a release, but his grip remained as unyielding.
He didn't let go. He stood there in the mist, his breath coming in short, rhythmic snarls through his teeth, his leathery face completely expressionless as he watched her movements grow slower, her fingers losing their grip on his arm, until her head finally rolled back and her entire frame went completely limp in his fist.
Only when he felt the last twitch of her physical reflex die down did Bill lower her back to the earth.
He didn't check her pulse apparently he didn't care about the need for it.
He reached down, grabbed her by the hood of her gray sweatshirt, and began to drag her heavy, unconscious body through the thick brush, his boots leaving a dark, muddy trail through the ferns.
He dragged her toward the absolute edge of the woods, right where the trees ended and the concrete foundation of the university began.
There stood a massive, lightning-scarred oak tree—the exact same tree where, a month ago, the local coroner had found the first set of remains pinned to the bark with ancient iron spikes.
With a single, heavy heave of his broad shoulders, Bill tossed Molly's body against the rough wood, letting her slide down into the wet grass at the base of the trunk like a discarded bundle of linen.
He turned and left, his large frame vanishing into the grey morning fog as hurriedly as he had arrived.
The silence returned to the woods, thick and unventilated, save for the low, "tick-tick-tick" of the smartphone screen lying thirty paces away in the dirt.
Just when Bill had vanished, the ferns shifted and a silhouette stepped through the cedar branches—a figure that had been standing motionless in the deep shadow of the ridge, watching the entire incident unfold with a cold, analytical stillness.
The silhouette didn't look at the sky or the yellow tape. He walked over to the spot where the struggle had occurred, his leather gloved hands reaching down to pick up the glowing phone that Bill had paid absolutely less attention to during his retreat.
He looked at the screen, his mismatched eyes sparkling with a bright, terrifying curiosity as he scrolled through the recent logs. Then with slow movement of his thumb, he dialed a number that had been saved under a private verification file.
The line didn't ring; it buzzed once before a feminine voice answered on the other end.
"Lira," the silhouette whispered, his voice a plain, entirely strange from the voice she knew.
"Well you have a pick up. Meet at the department immediately."
He didn't wait for her response before dropping the phone back into the dirt and walked away, his dark cashmere coat swinging in a slow arc as he disappeared toward the ridge.
Ten minutes later, Lira reached the side door of the department block, her breathing steady with hitches as she checked the perimeter. Her coat was buttoned tight against the damp air, her hands slightly trembling as she reached for the brass handle.
To her surprise, the heavy oak door was already unlatched, swinging open with a slow, grinding creak that sounded like a gallows door.
"Damon?" she whispered into the darkness of the interior corridor. "Are you in here? I got your message."
She received no answer. The air inside the building was freezing contrary to how it usually was. She stepped into the main storage room, her boots clicking softly against the concrete floorboards only to see the cold body of Molly.
Lira stopped, her hand flying to her mouth as a small, horrified gasp escaped her lips.
Molly's gray sweatshirt was torn at the collar, her skin a pale color under the bright light. The skin across her neck and upper back bore the heavy, dark purple discoloration of severe, blunt trauma—the distinct marks of a massive hand that had crushed the tissue until the sinew gave way.
Lira took a slow step forward, her eyes wide as she looked down at the student's limp features.
She had thought it was Damon who had called her through Molly's phone, but this... this layout didn't match what Damon would do.
Something this crude was most likely the job of a novice but more than that, she wondered who it was that called her almost as if he was familiar with her.
"Oh, you pitiful thing," Lira murmured softly, her fingers reaching out to touch the cold fringe of Molly's hair.
A dark, cynical smile crept back across her lips as she leaned over the table. "You humans just love the thrill of exploring the woods, don't you? Don't worry. You'll wake up soon... but you'll be a completely different person."
Lira turned and walked out of the room, closing the heavy oak door behind her and locking it from the outside with a sharp, final *click* of the deadbolt, leaving the room in total darkness.