Dirty, dark, and sinister eyes watch his every move—scrutinizing every part of his body for even the most imperceptible sign of weakness and boring into the essence of his being for the slightest tinge of fear.
Danny Doucette has just finished killing his parents—carving out their hearts and eyeballs and eating them for dinner and cooking them rotisserie-style over a fire. Their bodies are bagged up behind him and their heads are in a black backpack he stole from a supply store when he was fourteen—killing the clerk and six people to get away.
These were scraggily men, rough men, men who’d seen a lot of hell and weren’t fazed by anything, nothing my practical mind could conceive, anyway. It was then Capt. Stalley placed an arm around my shoulder and walked me up the ramp. When we got to the center of the ship, he made an announcement.