Waita minute! He sat bolt upright in the bed and memories from the previousnight flooded his waking mind. Handcuffs! That explained his inability tomo...e freely, but nothing could explain the appearance of his hands.Long nails had been expertly attached to each finger and painted in apale shade of pink.Spying a small dressing table with mirror on the other side of theotherwise spartan room, he leapt out of bed to confirm his fears; nearlylosing his balance as the slick leather soles of his. The house next door had at last been sold to a family with a seventeen-year-old son named Cong.In 1953 Cong’s grandfather had fled North Korea as the war reached its end. He had deserted the army and sought refuge in the south. Since he’d worked in intelligence he was welcomed by the U.S. brass.He eventually made his way to the United States and married a young American woman. They had several children, and when Cong was born to one of them, he was named after his grandfather.He was what is. More

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