“It was a dark and stormy night.” The young man said it with a rote detachment, eyes glassy, lost in infinity.

The men in black suits conferred once more, then the smallish one with the wiry mustache asked, “Look, got it. Dark. Stormy. But where’s the body?”

The young man’s eyes stayed vacant and unfixed, not once straying to the mud and blood caked on his grubby jeans and otherwise delicate hands, “It was a dark and stormy night.”

The larger man in a suit, the one losing his hair and patience slammed a heavy fist on the metal table, “You little mental case!” His fellows pulled him back, though his outburst had no effect on the young man, his face an expressionless mask of resignation. His work was done. There was nothing left to do.

The smaller man in a suit crouched beside and implored, “Look, it may seem like there’s no wiggling your fate, but there are levels, options, things we can help with. You’ll wish you had…”

The young man had smirked, but only said, “It was a dark and stormy night.”