Look at the tires, under the hood, on the seats, just as he’d done last night with other officers present. There was no sign of tampering except for a small spot of blood where Mouse Cop had been. Was it feline or human blood? The lab would let him know today. Last night, Comrade Bin’s bloody rib had ripped into Sam’s memories again--or was he simply crazy? Memory and nightmare had swirled together like tea leaves and ditch water. Bone became steel that sliced out of Comrade Bin’s body. Sambath tumbled into the foundation of an old building where a tangle of bodies cushioned his fall, and a volley of screams tore at his eardrums. Comrade Bin stood at the edge of the pit, splashing gasoline on his victims below and lighting a match. Sambath frantically shielded his father from the flames. “Save yourself! You’re not my son!” Father screamed. Sam sipped on his coffee as he arrived at the station, ten thousand miles from his dreams.
