- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
Windy let herself out of the penthouse sometime after midnight and hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. She had obliterated any sign of their having been there and stuffed his clothes and what remained of Harry into the overnight bag she carried with her.
This she planned to throw in the dumpster she had spotted behind the hotel, where, if the bag happened to be found at all, the rest of Harry would probably be thought to be one of those African voodoo things you could buy in the curio shops along Yonge Street--something some guy had bought and his wife had told him to throw out. The shriveled and desiccated little husk certainly wouldn't be identified as what was left of Harry Somers.
It continually amazed Windy how much of the human body was liquid.
She nodded at the chambermaid, turned to watch the tiny girl pass by the door of the penthouse, and waited for the elevator door to open.
She'd been right, she thought, as she licked the last dried drops of Harry from her full lips. She'd told him right at the start that he looked good enough to eat.
Oh, it would have happened anyway. The choice of Harry Somers was far from accidental; he had to be ... removed.
But it was an added bonus that he'd been more than what she'd said.
In fact, Harry Somers had proved immensely satisfying.
It should be days, Windy thought, before the craving came over her again.