Now, as the blood-lust accelerates and their resolve wanes, they become desperate. They must find the killer who is always watching and always one step ahead.
"I found them," November Webb said loudly with a slight edge, and too much enthusiasm.
She jerked her head to the left and with it went the car. It swerved; she corrected, and pointed for her sister to look. She felt her stiff shoulders slump in relief as she was now able to relax enough to stop fidgeting with her hair-clip, which itched and poked the back of her throbbing skull. Both sister's simultaneously peered up at the moonlight, which shined brightly at this hour, reminding them they were quickly running out of time.
November was able to refocus all of her contempt and resolve toward the burly man, their target of the evening. He walked stiffly, his left leg hurt, and his neck pulsated. His muscles were tweaked painfully as he hunched down in order to hold on to the small child's hand with an overly tight grip. The single streetlamp hit the back of his incongruously disheveled cloths hanging from his body and added to his large size. It made him appear more like a grotesque monster and less like a man. This was fitting; November thought as she gazed upon him, he was the very definition of what a monster meant to her.