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"It's a goddamn sicko, that's what it is." |
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This was the part of it I had never gotten used to. I forced myself to move in closer and made a more careful assessment. Each of the incisions in the boy's chest had been made with uncanny precision. The chest cavity had been pried open and the heart removed, with each artery severed at just the precise location. It appeared as though the youth had just laid back and allowed whatever it was to take his source of life. He had a stupid, almost euphoric look on his face, like he had been viewing the whole proceeding and only when the blood quit pumping to his numbed brain had realized what was happening. It had been, in the final analysis, one very bad trip indeed. |
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The girl hadn't fared much better. The butcher had obviously been attracted to her eyes. Consequently, she stared back at me with hollow and empty sockets, a futile, pleading look on her young face. |
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I shuddered and stepped back. |
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Madden gave me a long critical appraisal, folded his huge arms over his massive chest and leaned back against the car. "I know you'd be disappointed if I didn't ask you where you were last night." |
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The question surprised me, and yet it didn't. "I suppose you have to ask everybody," I admitted, "but, for the record, I was right there in the motel, room number eight." |
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