Doing the Rounds (extract)

The room stank.  The victim knelt in the centre, facing a computer screen with magazines strewn across the floor of the small room.  The screen showed a naked woman, legs agape as she straddled a man beneath her.  The magazines were also pornographic.  The man’s trousers were unfastened and his purple fist clenched his shrivelled and blood-crusted penis, abused well beyond the stage of physical damage.  For some strange reason, Norman noticed the most shocking detail last of all.  The man’s head had exploded.  There was nothing above the neckline except for a lonely strand of gristle.  Brain matter and bloodspray had smeared the wall in an obscene band, the spray extending upwards to the ceiling.  Asmodeus, he thought.  Lust. 

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