I clenched my stomach and took photos. When I stepped back, I realized I’d planted my foot in blood and imprinted a Nike swoosh on the floor. I took the sneaker off and washed it in the sink, then wet my hands and hurried back to the stain, effacing it with my fingers. The blood browned and pulverized on my hands. I rinsed them off, water pattering on the empty sacks in the sink. White residue curled down the drain.

I wheeled the screen back in place then crossed to the rear of the room, where the fluorescent tubes had been unscrewed from the fixtures overhead. I found a standing lamp, and when I switched it on, I saw the holes.

There were three of them, dug in the concrete floor. One was still covered by an antique wooden door, the paint peeling, the knobs brass, but the doors to the others were swung open on their hinges. The holes were maybe seven feet long, two feet wide, and deep. I could see pale worms in the earth below.

That’s when I should’ve left. I’d already seen enough. But at that moment, the camera in my hands, I needed to know everything, ball it all up and unfold it in the story.

I pulled on the handle of the door over the covered hole. It met resistance. I pulled again and saw it was locked. I slid the bolt and yanked the handle.

There was a body. Naked, hairless, white. Black nylon wrapped around the man’s ankles and bound his arms to his torso. He was blindfolded, but blood had soaked through the fabric. His stomach looked like some misshapen pregnancy. Pink growths had burst through his fingernails and split his hands open, the shocking white of raw knuckles. His testicles had bloated pink and broken through the skin. He wore that chewed-up smile, the face half skull.

Even as the reek of waste escaped in waves, I didn’t look away. But I must’ve said something, like “Jesus” or “Fuck” or “No,” because the body responded, his mouth opened with a burp, blood sputtered on his chin. Gobs of plastic fell and hung and he made wet sounds, bubbling air, his brow furrowing and wringing more blood from his eyes.

I ran for the door, bursting out into tatters of smoke just in time to see the purple truck arriving.

I locked eyes with Dr. Kriss. Rainer was already getting out. I broke across the field. Though I was dizzy, purple dots swarming in my eyes, for a moment it seemed like I could make it to the woods, but Rainer tackled me, I hit the ground, the wind shot from my lungs. He straddled me, I tried bucking him off, and he gave just enough for me to turn over and catch sight of the gun in his hand, the butt held high before it swooped.

7.