Free Midnight Solitaire by Greg F. Gifune

reaches the bathroom. The door is open. The tiles are slick with blood, and what was once a young man is hanging upside down from a section of exposed pipe above the shower. His ankles have been bound with rope. He’s been skinned from head to toe, a raw, red, bloody wet mess. His ears are in the sink. Above the sink, written in blood, is a prayer in a language Doc cannot read and doesn’t understand but has seen The Dealer use before. He leans over the sink for a closer look. Something has been placed between the ears and partially burned. A playing card. The Ace of Hearts.
    More rituals. More spells. More evil. More madness. More death.
    He’s ramping it up, Doc thinks.
    He leaves the room, closing the door behind him, glad to be out in the cold and snow again. At least out here the air is fresh and he can breathe. He leans against the building a moment and closes his eyes. Over time, like a hardened combat veteran, he has learned to handle the carnage and atrocities of such scenes. The Dealer leaves nothing but blood and death in his wake, and Doc has been swimming in it for longer than he cares to remember. He never vomits anymore, rarely cries—unless it’s a child—and generally manages to keep his wits about him. Just the same, each time he walks through a killing scene, it takes a little bit more from him, damages him just a little bit deeper.
    “Are you all right?” Greer asks.
    He nods.
    “What’s in there?”
    “You don’t want to know.”
    “No, I don’t. But I need to.”
    He looks at her. She’s white as a ghost and looks like she’s freezing, but he believes her. She’s tougher than he initially thought. “If you go through that door,” he warns, “you’ll never get what’s in there out of your head.”
    She swallows. Hard. “Then tell me.”
    “Young couple. Slaughtered. He’s on a feeding frenzy like I’ve never seen before, but there’s meaning behind it. There’s meaning behind everything he does.” Doc pushes away from the wall and starts toward Unit 14. “Come on.”
    Greer follows. “What do you mean by feeding frenzy?”
    “Just keep your eyes open.”
    They arrive at Unit 14. The door is already ajar. Doc pokes at it with the barrel of the shotgun, pushes it partially open. Again, no light, he always leaves them in darkness. Doc draws a deep breath, paws some snow from his face then steps inside. He finds a switch in the same spot just to the right of the door.
    Bathed in light, the room comes to life, but it is not what he expected.
    No blood. No body. No mayhem. Just an empty motel room.
    He takes it in, quickly, efficiently.
    An unopened suitcase in the corner. A set of car keys on the bureau along with a wallet and a cellphone—no—just a cellphone case. The phone is in pieces on the carpet. The bed is made but the comforter is rumpled and bares a vague human outline. Loafers on the floor next to the bed. Balled up black nylon socks inside. A suit jacket over the back of the desk chair on the far wall. A small appointment book on the desk. A raincoat hanging in the open closet.
    Doc moves to the bathroom. The door is closed, but seeping from the bottom of the door is what appears to be diluted blood.
    He opens the door, finds a switch and lights up the room.
    The remains of a man float face-up in the bathtub. Still fully clothed, he has been gutted from pubic bone to sternum and the water has turned an odd pinkish shade in some areas and a deep black in others. One of the man’s arms dangles over the side of the tub. His hand has been chopped clean off, the wrist a mangled bloody stump.
    No other signs or evidence of ritual or magic.
    He didn’t care much about this one, Doc thinks. He just got in the way.
    He rejoins Greer outside. She stares intently at something across the lot.
    “What is it?” Doc asks.
    She shakes her head so subtly he barely notices. “I’m not sure, it’s just…what the hell is that?”
    He follows her gaze. Something moves in the