What kind of person sawed up another person? Was the woman dead when he started, or did he just knock her unconscious and turn on the chain saw? Did she wake up when he was sawing at her waist? Did she look down and see her bottom half fall away? Wendy exhaled noisily, well aware that there was no one to hear her. She didn’t know why she was so fascinated, but she felt connected to the drifting dead woman somehow.

Perfume. Grasse. Chanel.

Wendy pumped more hand serum into her palms and rubbed the excess on her neck, which could use all the help it could get. Why couldn’t she concentrate? Why had she been so fixated on getting this job and moving to New York when it was clear to her now that it was not what she wanted at all?