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Welcome to Part 12 of Blood Angel Rising, presented to you 8 sentences at a time through Weekend Writing Warriors. Check out the first eleven installments here.
When last we saw Monica, she and the cop had just escaped the clutches of a supernatural creature, and they’d just finished firing their weapons into the door in an attempt to kill it…
The cop looked ill, but he retained enough composure to reload his Beretta, and he didn’t take his eyes off the door.
The crowded kitchen was pale and old, with cracked tiles over the wide sink and rusted knives and measuring cups strewn all over the dusty counters. A thick stream of blood ran from the open window and spilled onto the linoleum floor. The crimson rain was coming down harder, and Monica heard the sick drops spatter outside. She looked out and saw the lone and leafless tree in the backyard; its lonely tire swing dripped with gore as it blew back and forth in the dank wind.
“Where’s Vincent Moretti?” the cop asked as he pointed his gun at her. It took Monica a moment to realize where she’d heard his voice before.
“Shit…you’re Rike, aren’t you?”
Check in next week for Part 13. Thanks for dropping by, and have a great weekend!