State Trooper Tom Dewitt pulled up on what he thought was a vehicle that had gotten stuck in the snow and abandoned by its occupants. The vehicle was no longer running and he couldn't see anyone inside.
He didn't want to stop, fearful that his own car might become stuck as well. He drove slowly by, and craned his neck to look into the other car.
The two occupants were slumped toward each other, and from the blood splattered on the headrests, Tom knew the serial killer they called the Snowman had returned. What Tom did not know was that the Snowman was still there...
Tom enjoyed working with his partner Tommy. They seemed to share something, some deeper understanding he'd never had with other partners. Tommy, normally called Tom, went by Tommy on the job so it wouldn't be so hard for the other officers to differentiate between them.
But even having Tommy in the car with him didn't make what Tom was seeing any easier. Two bodies bathed in blood and frozen stiff, yet clasping each other as if seeking solace in their final moments, a sight gruesome enough to turn the most seasoned officer's stomach. The Snowman, that bastard, had claimed two more.
"You okay?" Tommy said.
"Just makes me queasy. They're the first ones I've had to report."
"You want me to—"
"No. I got it. Thanks."
Suppressing the urge to puke, Tom called it in. With the knee deep snow, they'd need a truck to haul the car to the station.
"What kind of person could do this, Tommy?"
"Dude, maybe it's an illness. Like maybe the guy's a schizophrenic or someth—"
"That's no excuse. There's a world of difference between being a psycho and being a monster."
"I'm just saying. He could be sick, inside. Yet... Yet, look totally normal, like us, on the outside—"
"Give it a rest, alright."
Tom turned the radio up, and the two waited in silence.
Forty-five intolerable minutes later, Jameson tapped on the window.
"Tom, you okay?"
"Man, it must have been creepy sitting here all by yourself."