but they were all wrong the woman lying on the compacted mud floor , yes , the smell of burning outside , her eyes cursing him as the knife came down again and the woman , already a corpse , pressed against a wall with one hand while the other carves in , her blood running down his arm beneath his sleeve , coating his teeth as it sprays and blood staining the clean white sheets beneath her as it rains outside , the stink of the city rising up as the violent storm washes them from the gutters and the knife grates as it slips from her outstretched hand and calls sparks from the pavement down by the river and in the back of the car , thinking she was there for something else , his shoulder and head pressed awkwardly against the roof as he tries to swing his arm back and forth , back again and others .