A Circle of Vultures Chapter Three - Interruption

The sound of the doorbell followed by an authoritative pounding on her front door, at least that's what she thought it sounded like, was enough to cut through the mind-numbing agony. It was also enough to get Van Nostrand to stop laughing. All the pain in the world had taken up residence in what was left of Janelle Townsend's right wrist, courtesy of the person who still held her arm fast, the person who looked like Morgan Clarke but was the furthest thing from her once you got below the skin. The rotten old man in the operating room she'd been taken to less than twenty-four hours ago, the one with the horrible smell and even worse stare, somehow some way he was the one in her condo unit now, not her close, very dead friend.

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