In Sheep's Clothing

Softness is the first thing eaten.

Animals had gotten to the corpse, tearing the flesh off the skeleton and exposing the bone. The man standing over the body, his green-blue gaze the same shade as Caribbean waters if they ever froze, stared into the empty eye sockets of his former employee. Bloody, torn flesh, ribboned by some bird, hung down the dead man's cheeks.

A breeze stirred the pine trees, their needles tapping against each other, whispering in a private conversation. Robert Maxim sca...