Reaching for a document, his fingers brushed against something undeniably organic, yet terrifyingly unfamiliar. With a growing dread that turned the summer air to ice, he unzipped the case fully. There, nestled amongst his pristine shirts and neatly folded ties, was a severed limb. Not human, not precisely. It was too perfectly preserved, too unnervingly lifelike, a hand-and-forearm, eerily resembling a primate's, yet possessing an uncanny, almost grotesque elegance, as if sculpted from petrified flesh. Its texture was wrong, its very presence an impossible, macabre intrusion.
Panic, cold and absolute, seized Jonathan. He couldn't go to the police; the optics were disastrous, the truth unbelievable. His only recourse: Lizzy.
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