“Unlocking Secrets: What Lies Within Carrie Mac’s Mysterious Three Envelopes?”
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The woman’s face is sticky with short, bloodied white hair. She gums a set of broken false teeth, askew and undulating against her tongue. I pull out the dentures and set them aside. Her glasses are caked with bits of bone and viscera from her left eye, which is a thick soup in the socket—a piece of grass, several small pebbles, her pupil dilated, staring. A cop pulls up and jogs over. I follow the crease of his pants up to see a man with a turban and a tidy beard.
“How is she still alive?” He pulls off his sunglasses. “What the hell is with your partner? Is he okay? Have you got back-up coming? What do you need? Oh, no way man. That’s brains.”
