Continued…

Okay. That’s not exactly true. I’ve had to deal with more than my fair share of nasty go-to-the-emergency-department kind of nosebleeds. We’re talking gushers. The kind that soak a handkerchief and cover your whole hand with blood in a few seconds. It’s too graphic to describe any further than that.

This current situation was totally different. A person could reasonably apply their imagination to prepare for this type of scenario. Perhaps watch countless detective shows about serial killers and such. Get pointers on what to do and what to expect.

I’d never understood the fascination before. Did that mean I’d become a fledging in the darkness surrounding devilish deeds? No, couldn’t be. If I was some diehard, cold-blooded killer, would I even bother with wearing sunglasses? Wouldn’t I want to see all of the gory details? Revel in my murderous artistry?

Damn. My brand-new happy-heart ball cap had blood splattered all over it. Better not leave that behind. My genetic material would be all over it. Nice catch. I’d already begun thinking like a forensic department professional.

Well, at least I’d discovered that I didn’t faint at the sight of blood. I’d been quite preoccupied with that thought—sort of fixated on that particular problem.

Can you imagine a killer who fainted at the sight of blood? No, no, no. I couldn’t be weak or ineffective in anything I did. Not anymore.