My head spins as I follow James into the alley back to the girl. There she was, laying still in the trash. It looked as though she moved, if only a little, before she succumbed to her wounds and died.

  “So Will, seeing as you did so much with the Miller bitch, why don’t you help make my motif more interesting?”

  This left me confused, mostly in part to the alcohol.

  “What do you mean? She’s dead, James.”

  “I know that, but Will, that’s ALL she is. I usually just kill them and dump them, but after seeing what you did with that family, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I was inspired!”

  He smiles. He rubs the back of his head in an attempt to seem genuine. One day, James, you won’t have to feel the need to pretend with me.

  I shake the thoughts from my head and meet James’s eyes.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He smiles.

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  “Whatever you want.”

  I smile back.

  This is different. It’s more intimate. These corpses, dolls, that I find during my work. They’re strangers. I didn’t know them. What were they to me?

  But this is not like those countless experiences. I am here. I am in this moment now. Me. Her fate is mine to decide.

  How will the world remember you?

  “What was her name?”

  “Why do you care, Will? She’s dead.”

  “I want to know who I’m playing with.”

  James says nothing at this.

  Silence.

  “Sarah. Her name was Sarah,” he says, a slight smile on his face.

  “Hi Sarah, I’m Will.”

  I hear James laugh in the background, but right now, I am with Sarah. I need to make sure she is well taken care of.

  “Can I borrow the knife?”

  James, in a dramatic fashion, bows down to me while presenting the blade in both of his hands, almost like a king knighting a servant.

  I graciously accept the blade. It’s heavy in my hand, my palm sticky with the dried blood.

  I strip her clothes off, leaving her naked on the ground. With James watching, I begin slowly sawing into her face, cutting around her mouth. I am careful as I dislocate her jaw. It makes an audible crunch as I slowly put pressure on it with my left hand, the right I use to cut the muscle.

  “Where did you put her left breast?” I ask.

  “By the dumpster somewhere.” James’s excitement seems to grow with each passing second.

  “Eh, I’ll use the right one.”

  I begin sawing into her right breast, the fatty flesh spitting at me as I saw into it. James’s eyes watch not the blade, but my face.