Chapter 6
Oh, God, he killed him. He actually killed him. In my apartment. Did the neighbors hear? God, I hope so. Mr. Curran, if ever there was a time for you to be paranoid about noise in the building, this is it.
Jarrett couldn’t control his terrified thoughts, though he was having better luck over his body. His stomach roiled at the image seared on his brain of pieces of Baptiste splashed over his wall like some kind of sick Jackson Pollock, and while his gullet burned, he managed to keep from losing it all over Sandora’s shoes. Something told him Sandora wouldn’t take it very well if he did.
“What now?” Did his voice really sound that calm? Impossible. His insides were running around like a bunch of five-year-olds getting attacked by bees.
“You’re going to take me to Locke. And do
