Thirty – SevenVong lived. A dark fluid, blood-like but not blood, poured from nine bullet wounds in her chest and abdomen, six of them impressively grouped above her left breast. Moaning in pain, reeling, she reached above her head, clutched the metal cage protecting the light bulb, and steadied herself. She gritted her teeth with a wild look in her green eyes.
Then reality vanished as Erin was dragged into a world of foreign legend and superstition.
Vong flexed her arm and howled as she seemed suddenly to grow taller. A moment passed and the stunned detective saw it for the illusion it was. Vong wasn't growing, her abdomen was stretching, stretching, then tearing. In seconds, beyond all reason, she had ripped herself in two at the waist. The screaming head and bullet-ridden torso dangle
