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Just how long Scott lies faint on the floor in a pool of his own piss he
is not sure. Suffice it to say that by the time he finally comes round,
his clothes have become so steeped in urine that the ammoniac smell
almost makes him gag. What does make him gag is the sight of
Astra, still bound to the chair, surrounded by a pool of blood far larger
than Scott's own liquid lake. Her skin is now uncannily pale, and her
neck gapes open like a second mouth, laughing mirthlessly. Of her killer there is no sign. At first paralised by fear and revulsion, Scott is unable to stand. Eventually he finds the strength to do so, as he does pulling out a piss-dampened handkerchief from the pocket of his piss-soaked pants and attempting as best he can to wipe the vomit from his shirt front. Once he has fully realised the futility of his efforts he decides that the best plan of action is
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11/13/2006 4:03:11 AM
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