Chapter Thirty-ThreeFor the second time in under an hour, Clare retched. This time there was nothing left to come up. The torn boiler suit spilled more body parts to the floor. Two hands, one still attached to an arm, ears, a small foot, broken bones and sinew tied in a knot. Clare couldn't look away. She had no energy to move.
The ARC agents didn't suffer from the same affliction, leaping forward to take hold of the janitor's arms, wrenching them behind his back as they shoved him up against the door to the morgue. He didn't appear to care. The whole time they manhandled him his eyes fixed on her. It was the steely gaze of a predator, not the defeated visage of a doomed man. Another hand had caught in his zip and hung there until gravity claimed it and the hunk of flesh dropped atop the
