One of the officers that’d checked me in earlier was in pieces on the floor, and I’m not talking about being some kind of emotional wreck. He was literally in pieces: body parts torn away and strewn carelessly about the floor while dark red blood marred the walls in long, jagged streaks. A young guy, still fit and trim and sporting the last remnants of late teenage acne. A look of shock permanently carved into his features—his eyes too wide, his mouth contorted in an unending scream. Messy. Ugly. Terrible. For a moment I forgot I was surrounded by a bunch of cops who had me under arrest, and thought me a crazed serial killer. For a moment I was just among a bunch of people—all card-carrying members of the human race—good people, who were trying to do right in the world, trying to make a difference. For a moment I wasn’t an outsider with secret powers and hidden knowledge, I was just some guy looking on a stomach retching scene of unspeakable violence.
What do You think about Cold Hearted: A Yancy Lazarus Novel (Episode Two)?
