A DIM LIGHT INSIDE REVEALED A CUBICLE ABOUT THE SIZE OF my bathroom. The walls were covered with art—some kind of textured work. Collages? The floor was covered with Victor.
His legs were splayed; his head remained in shadows. I knelt beside him, vaguely noticing the garbage bags lining the floor. I felt his throat and found a pulse.
“Victor,” I kept saying, “wake up. Please wake up.”
He didn’t stir. His face was masked with blood. Don’t move him, I remembered. Go get help. I turned to go, but stopped. What was that form huddled in the shadows? Was someone lying there, not moving? I dreaded what I’d see, but I made myself look closer. Angela lay on a foam mattress, tied up, motionless, unconscious or dead.