Rachael’s mouth ached. She wore a beard of dried blood that extended down her front, expanding into a ragged bib, an artifact of the previous night’s violence. It was her own fault, of course. She knew better than to interrupt Boy’s Night, but it was Valentine’s Day and she couldn’t wait to share the good news.
She tiptoed up the stairs. There was doubtless a mess in need of cleaning. Best to just get it over with. Rachael straightened up, tossing beer bottles, emptying overfilled ashtrays and righting an obstacle course of overturned chairs. Then she turned her attention to the bodies. What was left of them.
The kitchen was littered with limbs and viscera that had been torn apart and cast asunder such that if she hadn’t previously seen them in working order, she’d have no idea they represented the remains of only three men. Rachael set to cleaning again. When she’d finished, she showered and then hauled the remaining trash—double bagged—to the curb. That done, she started for home. Her belly rumbled. Rachael was mildly shocked, considering what a pig she’d made of herself last night, but then again, she was eating for two.