"Fucking bitch!"I rolled more, over my shoulder and onto my feet. I stood and glanced around. The Painter was done raping Madeline. He squatted – hi... veiny dick hung loose – with Madeline between his legs and pulled the belt tight. She was shuddering, convulsing, turning blue. With such small hands, she tried to get her fingers between the belt and her crushed throat. It was useless.Sara wasn't moving at all. There was a lot of blood."What's happening?" I heard the Professor ask.The Mechanic. As she stepped off the bus 2 blocks from the address (cue menacing revenge music here), he focus was laser-like. There are fewer more determined people than pissed-off menial labor workers with menstrual cramps. To Olga, the walk from the bus stop took as long as the bus ride – every step as if in molasses, every breath a background symphony of ferocity, each tick of her Rolex a countdown to vengeance! He couldn’t believe what he was reading on the screen – just a week ago he was a god of. More

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