Bending down, she brushed the red sand off her -now red- shoes as she stood in the shade of the palm tree. How she knew these things she had no idea, but her mind was so sure that she had walked all seven kilometers to the outskirts of town when she couldn't find a cab. The heat was unbearable, her nose was stuffed with dust and her feet were tired from walking. She could just turn back and forget this whole thing. But somehow she couldn't. Because only she knew the connection. And today she was going to confirm. She walked straight up to the house and opened the door, not in the least surprised when it opened up easily. She walked to the kitchen and down the steps leading from the open trapdoor to the cellar. There. She found the body of the old man with the pen knife in his jugular and the tattoo of half the moon and half the sun on his forehead. She had found the ritual killer's third victim. And, even worse, she knew what this meant. It was time to face the reality. She was the ritual killer.