An old Toyota Camry coasted down the slick road. The five AM fog had yet to lift and hung around, misting the air and dimming the streetlights. Drops of rain splashed on the wet pavement, the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers resounded through the car. White knuckles gripped the steering wheel as the car turned into a suburban neighborhood. The cookie-cutter houses passed by until the car pulled up to a house on the corner of the street. The car door opened as a middle-aged man got out of it. He took a sip of his coffee and paused. Shrugging his coat to cover more of his body, he set out. Ducking under the yellow line of tape set up around the yard, he entered the house.

“Detective Graves, good morning.” A brunette with square rimmed glasses, standing at five foot seven in a police uniform addressed the man. She pulled her hair back behind her ear and gave the file she was holding to the detective.

“Mornin Casey.” Opening the file, Graves perused the contents.

“Another one of these ritual deaths. Husband and wife… a damn shame. It seems to be the same as the others, blood in weird patterns on the ground, vics bleeding to death. Has forensics picked up on anything yet?”

“Yes. There seems to be some weird residue in the victims’ brains. It was only confirmed today. We also found this under one of the sofas.” She held up a plastic evidence bag. Holding it up in the fluorescent lighting in the room, a small red pill glistened.

Grave’s eyebrows furrowed. Looking down, he massaged his forehead. Contemplating for a few seconds, he squinted. Turning his eyes back onto the police lieutenant in front of him, he glowered at her.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

A small, awkward smile graced her face. She looked away from the detective, not meeting his eyes. “There were individuals found dead on the streets. Cause of death was an aneurysm in the brain that ruptured. Some of them had the same pill on their bodies.”

Detective Franklin Graves kept his face carefully blank. Nothing was said. Nothing was needed to be said.

“Franklin…”

“Lieutenant Winter. I understand. You think my personal history will obstruct this investigation? I will tell you right now, that will not happen.”

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With a sigh, she nodded. She walked into the living room of the house. The detective followed her, his eyes sweeping across the room, resting on two lumps covered by tarps. His eyes continued to take in the rest of the area. The bodies were found parallel to each other, both inside this massive red circle made of chalk and blood. Massive swirls and symbols dotted the floor.

“We still can’t determine whose blood is being used for the markings on the floor. The amount that’s available is enough to kill a person yet in each of the killings, it points that the blood is all from the same individual. Blood type is AB positive and only the husband matches.”

“We have theorized the killer is using their own blood, right?” Graves knelt and took a closer look at the dried stains on the hardwood floor. He noticed the smooth way each of the markings were created… practiced and artistic.

“It was considered, but ultimately ruled out. There is no evidence of a forced entry or exit. There were no witnesses that saw anyone exit or enter the house any time throughout the day and the security cameras from the house across the street don’t show anything either.”

Grave’s eyes hardened. “Interview those who knew the victims. See if you can’t get a list of acquaintances and those who visit the house frequently. Ask them if the couple has been going to new places and try to identify where the pills come from.” After a few more seconds, the detective wilted.

He gestured for the lieutenant to follow him. Walking back from the way they came, he stopped at the patio in front of the house. Leaning on the white lacquered railing, he pulled out a cigarette. Putting it in his mouth and lighting it, he took a long, deep drag. Drops of rain fell in front of him. After a long exhale, Graves turned towards the lieutenant.

“Casey. I’m getting old. I’m turning forty-five this year and each year seems to be getting longer. Six years ago, my daughter was killed. Killed by a man who was overdosed on drugs. Drugs that came as a little red pill. He died on the way to the hospital.”

Graves took another deep drag of the cigarette. He tilted his head up, watching the smoke dissipate into wisps.

“You don’t expect me to stay away from this are you? We never found where the drug came from and now, it’s back.”

“I don’t expect you to stay away from this Franklin, but I want you to be careful. I’m just worried for you. Her death hit you hard and you were never completely the same. I fear you’d sacrifice your entire life to follow this case.”

Graves let out a dry, hacking laugh. “What personal life Casey? I’m divorced and I haven’t been on a date in years. I won’t be missing much.”

The duo sat in silence for a few minutes. Graves’ eyes shifted to his pockets. Taking out his phone, he brought the phone up to his ear.

“Detective Graves speaking.”

As the call went on, his eyes grew darker. Finally, a small light appeared within. Hanging up the phone, he let out a small smile. The lieutenant gave him a puzzled look.

“What was that?”

The detective’s smile widened further.

“A lead.”