A SHORT STORY BY TESS GERRITSEN
In an instant, Jane had her weapon out and pointed. "Boston PD! Identify yourself!" she commanded.
A black-clad figure sprang out of the bushes and fled.
"Halt!" Jane yelled, but the figure hurtled away. Jane took off after it, her shoes cracking through ice-encrusted mud. Her quarry was a spidery shadow, swooping in and out of sight, like something not quite solid. Not quite human.
Behind her, she heard Frost yell: "Rizzoli?"
She didn't stop to answer him but kept up the pursuit. The figure ahead was moving fast -- too fast. Her legs pumped harder, muscles burning. The air was so cold it seemed to sear her throat. She saw the figure clamber over a fence and drop out of sight.
She scrambled over it too, felt wood splinters bite into her hand. She dropped hard on the other side, and pain shot up her shins. She was standing in an enclosed yard. Where is he, where?
Frantically she scanned the shadows, looking for some telltale flicker of movement.
Did something just slink into that shed?
Clutching her weapon in both hands, she approached the shed doorway. Inside was only blackness, so thick it seemed solid. Slowly she inched forward and stood on the threshold, trying to peer inside. Seeing nothing.
A sound in the darkness raised the hairs on the back of her neck. The sound of quick, desperate breaths. They didn't come from the shed, but behind
She swung around and spotted her quarry, crouched and cowering in the shadows. It was garbed all in black. As she shone her flashlight in the eyes, the arms came up, shielding the face from the glare.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Show yourself! Stand up!"
Slowly the figure rose to its feet and lowered its spindly arms. The face that stared back at her was an unearthly white; the hair gleamed jet black. The same color as the hairs they'd found on the coffin pillow.