Sylvan Cheney's eyes were bloodshot, the bloodstains on the ground piercing his vision.
The bone-chilling cold kept invading his body repeatedly as his blood flowed in reverse, filled with murderous intent.
His heart felt as if it were being gouged by a knife; the pain was intolerable.
She was so afraid of pain, with so much blood, could she endure it?
"What did they do, speak!" Charles Mcintosh was also anxious.
"Mr., Mr. Mcintosh, I-I'll say, they-they fired a shot at Miss Yale..."
A shot fired.
Sylvan Cheney felt as if he were about to split apart.
It was like thunder clapping in his ears.
Sylvan Cheney clenched his fist, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.
"How is Miss Yale? Damn it, tell me everything, where did they go!" If not for Tomer being elderly, Charles Mcintosh might have already acted.
