Chapter 7
Iwan
Whitman was dead. His suffering had lasted five hours. What was left of him could no longer be identified as Judge Whitman. f**k! You couldn't even identify it as human. I had really let off steam on him. The last minutes had been a race against time. To mutilate him as badly as possible, before his heart gave up the fight for life. I was covered from head to toe with blood and other things. Whitman's screams were still echoing in my head. The bastard had gotten what he deserved. And he would rot here in this cellar. There would be no funeral for him. Throwing a last glance at the bloody mass on the chair, I turned away and climbed up the stairs to the barn. It was done. The only thing there was to do now was a quick shower with the hose to wash at least the worst away fro
