One look at the scene should have told anyone how useless that would be. She was pumping, though, breathing into wherever the mouth had been and yelling as if with just her own will she could force life back into the stiff, mutilated figure that hung off the edge of her foldout couch. He made it over to her in three steps. "Chris, stop," he commanded, pulling her away. "There's nothing you can do." She struggled to get free, her eyes wild, her hands and clothes thick with old blood. "No! Damn it, I did this to her!" Which was just about when the first reporter elected to show up. From that moment, it was a madhouse. Mac didn't have nearly enough men to control the scene. Ray Sullins pulled up hoping to be interviewed, and Weird Allen almost got into a fistfight with a sound man from CNN. Neighbors gathered and traffic stopped to see what all the commotion was for. Inside, the air was thick with the distinctive stench of disaster, and Chris was curled up into a chair out in the kitchen, her hands clenched in her lap, her head down, ignoring Victor's attempts to get her attention through the window.
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