The sound of boots and a sudden drop in noise level forced Detective Taylor Pratt to look up from the body. He felt a chill.

The robed man stepped into the room, calmly looking over the corpse, and turned to the Chief of Police, standing to his side. Pratt narrowed his eyes. Old bastard must’ve hired the freak.

“Shall I?”

The Chief nodded vigorously, excitedly, Pratt observed.

“Oh yes, whenever you’re ready.”

The man walked slowly over, shooing those around away. After taking a few steps back, Pratt watched the man through a cold glare.

The man held out his hand above the woman’s face on the ground. The temperature seemed to drop.

“Tell me, child. Who is the one to blame?”

At first, nothing. Seconds went by.

Then, the body choked, wheezed, writhed. The eyes opened, far wider than natural. The mouth began to form words.

“Landlord. No money. Angry.”

The Chief smiled.

Pratt grimaced and looked away. As he walked out the door, he heard a body hit the ground and the sound of boots once more.