Rosary girls

76

Byrne turned the corner onto the pitch-black street. Fighting the wind, he had to walk around the huge tree limbs lying across the sidewalk and the road. He could see flickering lights in some windows, capering shadows dancing on the blinds. In the distance he saw a sparking electrical wire across a car.

There were no patrol cars from the Eighth. He tried his cell again. Nothing. No signal at all.

He had only been to Jessica's house once. He had to look closely to see if he remembered which house it was. He did not.

This was, of course, one of the worst parts of living in Philadelphia. Even Northeast Philadelphia. At times, everything looked alike.

He stood in front of a twin that looked familiar. With the streetlights out, it was difficult to tell. He closed his eyes and tried to recall. The images of the Rosary Killer obscured everything else, like the hammers falling on an old manual typewriter, soft lead on bright white paper, smeary black ink. But he was too close to see the words.