The old man vibrated over to the stretcher and looked down. The girl twisted in pain, throwing her head back, spilling her hair over the head of the stretcher.
"Rigor mortis," Doc Candle diagnosed, with a wink to Collins.
"No, Doc! She needs a doctor, blood transfusions…."
"Nonsense," Candle snapped. "I'll take her in my black wagon up to my place, put her in the tiled basement. I'll pump out all her blood and flush it down the commode. Then I'll feed in Formaldi-Forever Number Zero. Formaldi-Forever, for the Blush of Death. 'When you think of a Pretty Girl, think of Formaldi-Forever, the Way to Preserve that Beauty.' Then I'll take a needle and some silk thread and just a few stitches on the eyelids and around the mouth…."
"Doc, will you…?" Michaels said faintly.
"Of course. I just wanted to show Sam how foolish he was in saying the Beloved was still alive."
Nancy kicked one leg off the stretcher and Candle picked it up and tucked it back in.
"Ed, if you'd just turn around and look." Collins said.
"I don't want to have to look at your face, you murdering son. You make me, you say one more word, and I'll turn around and shoot you between the eyes."