"Nesbit," I said, holding up my hands to show I had nothing else to hurt him with. "I can explain."

"Do you want to explain this fucking hole in my arm? Fuck!" He gripped his wound, blood seeping between his fingers and dripping to the floor with thick, wet splats. He lurched toward me in a burst of rage, the ice pick in his other hand raised.

I leaped to the side and ran for the double doors, but my heel hit a puddle of blood slicking the floor. I went sprawling. ...