That settled it. Something just told me that this was where it started. This was where she forgot who she was, what her name was. I had to see this through.

He picked up a prostitute, and took her to his house. “What’s your name, dear?” he asked her.

“Most folks call me Jenny,” she replied, “but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You hear that, my dear,” he said. “Jenny. Short form of Jennifer. Derived from Gwenhwyfar. Like I said. Special, just for you.”

Jenny started looking nervous. “Um, who are you talking to?”

“Oh, just a silent observer to my fun.” Almost faster than the eye could follow, he lashed out at her. She flinched, but he missed.

At least, I thought he did.

She started to gag. Blood started streaming from the deep gash in her throat. “Don’t bother screaming, love,” she said, and almost sexual tone in his voice. “All you’ll do is gurgle.”

Right there, in the middle of the floor, he spent the next three hours slowly dismantling her body.

“Special. Just for you, my dear Gwenhwyfar.”