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The Apartment #125

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Tracey had time for only one image to burn itself into her mind before shock overwhelmed her, her vision blackened, and she collapsed unconscious to the floor.
Rick's bloodied hands held a dripping hammer.
And one leftover nail.
He wore a smile. Islands of blood spattered his face and chest.
Behind him, nailed to the wall, the dead body of her son.
Crucified.
The nails through his palms tore his flesh and displaced bone to a succulent and crackling accompaniment as the weight of his body pulled itself away from the wall.
Tracey was unconscious when it hit the floor.

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