Andy drove Damien home in bitter silence. He didn’t think he’d ever speak to him again. He couldn’t believe he’d been stabbed in the heart like that. He dropped Damien off and drove back to his place, radio off, his head buzzing like a wasps’ nest.

He went to his computer and jiggled the mouse to kill the screensaver. An icon indicated he had mail.

It was from FunEgal.

He almost didn’t open it. What kind of sick fuck taunted his victims like this? But, he realized, there might be a clue, something he could take to the police. So he opened it.

“What the FUCK is WRONG with you? Jesus H. Christ, I SWEAR to GOD , I’ve been to BANGKOK in the Merchant Marine and I have NEVER in my goddamn LIFE seen SHIT like this. FUCK ! MY EYES ! I don’t even WANT it in my HOUSE . I’d BURN it but I don’t want to TOUCH it anymore than I have to. It’ll be in the dumpster behind Hal’s after 6pm. You need PROFESSIONAL HELP . Is this crap even LEGAL in the U.S?!?!”

Honestly, Andy wasn’t sure how to feel about this latest development.