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and plates. There were knives and forks on the floor. Glass shakers of salt and pepper, parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes. And bodies. So many bodies. |
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He tried not to see the kids. He only glanced briefly at the male adults. None was stocky and red-haired. Two of the men, blood mixed with the black of their skin and clothes, must have been assailants from outside. |
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One of the dead women was also black. |
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Of the other females, one was obese. She lay on her back with a wedge of pizza still in her mouth and a wedge of glass in her throat. One, facedown, looked tall and slender like Maureen, but had blonde hair. One, curled on her side with her arms around a small boy, was pregnant. |
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Trev squeezed his eyes shut. |
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I've gotta get out of here. |
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But he couldn't leave, not without knowing. |
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One female, head out of sight under a table, wore a denim skirt that was rucked up around her waist. She had heavy legs. She wasn't Maureen. |
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That left a slim, long-legged female sprawled on her back across the top of the last table before the order counter. Trev knew that he'd found Maureen. He couldn't see her face or the color of her hair. The way her head hung over the far end of the table, only the underside of her chin was in sight. But he knew. |
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And he knew that they'd done more than murder her. |
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It was obvious. Because she was so beautiful. Her |
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