She zooms in for a close-up of the compound skull fracture, the bleeding inside the outer layers of the brain. “With partial avulsion of the left cerebellar hemisphere.” Saying, It’s the most common sequela of massive head trauma. “Subarachnoid hemorrhage,” Sister Vigilante says, her words recorded as she pans the camera over the body. Now Sister Vigilante used the camera spotlight, with its rechargeable batteries, to find her way up and down the stairs before dawn, and after dark. Whittier had used a flashlight, but now the old batteries were as dead as him and Lady Baglady. Sister Vigilante, she had the video camera. The royalties to our story split one less way. One side of his face is stomped flat, the hair pasted down in every direction with blood. The pink plastic wheel is between his hands. There, in the video camera’s little viewing screen, the Duke of Vandals’s stretched out at the foot of the lobby stairs, his fringed buckskin shirttails hanging out, his blond hair fanned out, facedown on the blue carpet. She’s coming down the lobby stairs, from the first-balcony foyer, from turning on the lights in the projection booth, when she stumbles over Miss America’s pink exercise wheel gripped between two dead-white hands. It’s Sister Vigilante who finds the body.
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