She just about shits her mind, screams, and her eyebrows are crazy.
“I think you should stop touching her, Epstein!” Dr. Awesome stands like the nomad he is, trumping the card of the father, the god.
I’m petrified my daughter may be a vampire, but she doesn’t have the look of bloodlust or the skanky gums. This is what a zombie looks like.
You got to stab a zombie in the head with a piece of metal as sharp as can be.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to say to her and the doctor. I stuff my hands in my pockets.
I can hear the rats in the walls, the trouble in my heart.
Sylvia lets out another blood-curdling yodel. I cover my ears and Dr. Awesome simply stares dumbstruck at my daughter, but has ordered up a hypodermic needle—either for her or for me, but maybe, finally, for himself.
This is a mom
