She was soaked in it. So was the bed beneath her. Her shirt was open, revealing a black athletic bra and a long wound that ran the width of her stomach, just below her belly button. Slick grey-red ropy loops protruded slightly from the wound. My stomach twisted, and I looked away. “Goodness,” Miss Gard said, her voice quiet and rough, her face pale. “You’d think you never saw anyone disemboweled before.” “Just relieved,” I said. I forced myself to face her. “First time today I’ve run into someone who looks worse than me.”
