I arrived on the scene; tape was already up, sectioning the library in half.
‘It’s a bad one, Jim.’
Rick moved to the side, unblocking the view for me.
The victim – male, late forties – was spread-eagled in the middle of the aisle, naked. Words and symbols covered his entire skin. Tape held his eyes wide open, staring up.
I followed his gaze.
‘Rick, call central. We have a serial killer on our hands.’
‘But we just have the one vic.’
‘The first vic. Haven’t you read the cover?’
I pointed to the ceiling.
‘Vol.1.’ was still drying, painted in blood.
For Friday Fictioneers.