The images slowed down, became motionless. Jean’s left profile was
toward the camera. I leaned forward, staring at something I had glimpsed
on the girl’s neck. It was scarcely visible save as a tiny, discolored
mark on Jean’s throat, above the jugular—but unmistakably the same
wound I had seen on the throat of Jack Hardy the night before!
I heard the amplifier click off. Suddenly the screen showed blindingly
white, and then went black.