Room nine's light was on, and the door hung open two inches, which never happened at the Dustline.
Corrie had worked six years of nights, and that door was never open.
She pushed it with two fingers and the smell came out at her, blood and beer and something warmer underneath.
Corrie: Martin?
Martin Kase sat against the bed frame with his legs out like a man taking a rest, and his cut was still on him.
His throat was open from ear to ear.
Blood had run down his vest and gone black in the carpet, and his eyes were still open.
One hand was up by his neck, fingers curled, like he had tried to hold himself shut.
She knew she should have called somebody, but his cut was right there, and her hand was already moving.
Her fingers touched the wet leather.
The room went away.
A red helmet, close enough to touch.
A woman's hand in a black glove, and a short flat knife in it.
The blade went in at the corner of his throat and pulled, slow and hard, all the way across.
Martin made a wet sound like a cough that could not get out.
Blood hit the carpet in a rope.
His eyes stayed on the red helmet, and he was still looking at it when the light went out of them.
Corrie came back on her hands and knees with her palm red to the wrist, and she heard boots in the gravel outside.
More than one man.
Garrick: Get the fuck away from him.
Garrick filled the doorway, scarred jaw, black cut, and a face gone flat and cold.
He took her hand, the bloody one, and his grip closed until the bones in her fingers ground together.
It hurt. It was meant to.
Corrie: I didn't. I found him like this.
Garrick: You're wearing him, so shut your mouth.
He shoved her back into the doorframe and her spine hit the wood and knocked the wind out of her.
Then his hand was on her chest, holding her there, hard enough to leave a mark.
Garrick: I don't know what kind of stupid this is, but you're going to tell me the truth.
Garrick: Or I'll dig you a hole next to him and nobody will ask.
She believed him. That was the worst part, that she believed him and her heart was still slamming at the heat of his hand.
Corrie: When I touched him I saw it. A woman in a red helmet. She cut him.
Garrick: Say that again.
His grip stayed where it was, but his eyes changed.
He looked at her like she had finally said something true, and nobody had ever looked at her like that.
A boot crunched on the gravel behind him, and Garrick moved so his body hid her from the door.
Garrick: Not one fucking word to them. Not yet.
She could not tell if he was saving her or taking her.