Lee left the meat to brown and cook and found a few peppers---one red, one green, and one yellow. As he pulled out a wooden cutting board, he glanced back at Squirrel. The kid looked as if he hadn't eaten in days. "You know, I'd ask what you do to go on, but I don't think I need to."

He could see it. He'd seen it often enough, too, and it was getting to be an epidemic. Kids too prideful to go for help, find a place to live, too adapted to go back to a family or home. And those creeps that actually accepted favors from the kids, grown men, sometimes even women, that even considered. Perverts!

Lee slammed the knife down, and blinked. He hadn't realized he'd cut the red pepper into strips and went on to the green one. He'd sliced the thing in half when he brought down the knife, as if he were severing the head from the rest of the body. It took a lot of force and a heavy, very sharp knife. Never as easy as they made it look in movies. Sighing, he cut the green and yellow pepper quickly and took out the three thin steaks and laid them down, putting the three cut peppers into the pan. They sizzled like a thunderous applause as Lee rolled the finished meat in several seasonings, then sliced them thin.

While he manipulated the peppers, he glanced back to the boy. "If I did let you go, what would you do? Go back to whatever you had? What's that?" He was being rather cruel, but Lee was always cruel. This, he considered, was nice as far as he was concerned. "I've seen plenty of kids like you. Some younger than you, even. Met them on the street and offered help. They turned it down, then were dead a week later. Seems every day you see a homeless kid killed, abused, dead in some way and violated horribly. I don't want to see that anymore. And I don't, necessarily, want to hold you hostage." He brought out two flat plates and laid a couple portions of the finished meat on it, allowing one to have more than the other, and scooped the peppers out onto the top. Turning the burner off, Lee set the skillet beside the sink and retrieved two glasses, filling them with water. "I never thought I was such a bad guy." He added as he delivered the water, then went to grab a couple forks, a loaf of bread, and the plates. The one with more he gave to Squirrel, and sat. "I just take care of the bad the only way I can. The only acceptable way. Then people call me the monster." He chuckled, opening the loaf of bread and offering a couple slices to the boy.

Squirrel was relieved that he didn't have to explain the kinds of things he had to do on a daily basis. He didn't like to think about them, let alone talk about them. As the food was set before him, he wolfed it down, ignoring how it burnt his tongue and fingers. It tasted amazing. He accepted the slices of bread and ripped them apart, eating every piece.
When Lee interrogated him again, Squirrel slowed down his scarfing. He stared off into the distance, wondering the answer to the questions. What would he do if he was let go? Go back to suffering on the streets? Go back to doing anything for a piece of bread and a drink of water? Go back to staying awake all night wondering if that night was his last?
Part of him wanted to stay here. At least he had shelter, food and a clean supply of water. He could even wash his hair and body daily, like the rich people did. He imagined a life of luxury, of being able to watch tv and sleep on a bed. A life where he never went hungry and never had to do favours for strangers. He could even learn how to read and write. He could get a job. He could have a life.
But something inside of him didn't want this. He hated to be inside. He felt closed in and suffocated. He was used to sleeping on the streets, something he had done for 7 years. He also couldn't handle human company. Even if Lee had been a normal man, not a murderer, he'd still have difficulties staying. He hated people. He couldn't trust any of them. He had been hurt way too much to do that.
Sighing heavily, Squirrel shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea how to tell Lee how he felt. He finished his meal and slouched over the table, resting his head on his hands.

Lee rested his elbow on the edge of the table, lifted a slice of yellow bell pepper, and studied it. He still saw the kid's silent debate, ending with a simple shrug. "It's hard to adapt." He muttered. "I hate, for example, people in general. They lie. They hurt for no reason. For fun, even. Humans are true evil. But I can put on a smile and interact with them, even while I'm screaming at them on the inside. I adapt. That's what you're supposed to do."

He fell silent for a while to organize the red peppers from the green, and ate them according to color. "I simply can't let you go for now. Not at all. I don't like this situation---I don't like talking. And having someone else around that I'm obligated not to harm or kill is difficult. He leaned forward. "I've never given anyone a chance to prove they're someone to appreciate. To not automatically hate. And giving them a place to stay? Ridiculous in every aspect. But I'm doing it now. If you want to go back out in the heat, and humiliate yourself for a few bucks, or a scrap of food, be my guest. Besides..." He studied the end of the fork he used. "Even if you went to the police about me, I doubt they'd listen to a street kid. Probably some druggie, they'll think. Looking for the reward they're offering to get more cocaine or heroin." He shrugged, and leaned back.

He didn't play mind games with the innocents, unless it was to act like a normal human being and erase suspicion. It was true. People turned in others for the sake of reward money if there were to be anything given, and the police certainly wouldn't listen to a dirty-looking corner boy.

Squirrel knew what Lee had said was true. That's why he had never bothered with the police before. The first time he had been taken advantage of, he was told to stop making stories else he'd be arrested. He had never bothered since then. No one cared about the poor, dirty boy who had never had a place to call his home. It frustrated him that many of the rich people sent money overseas to starving black children, when there were many of their own children dying on the streets. He watched Lee carefully. It seemed that the man felt the same way about people as he did. Did that make him like Lee? He was scared to think he could be capable of murder.
"I never did drugs. They screw you up more than taking favours," Squirrel said, knowing that Lee wouldn't care and possibly wouldn't believe him. He didn't know why he was bothering to prove that he wasn't some drug slut that would do anything for a bit of coke. It's not like Lee cared and he didn't either. He supposed it was because he didn't want to end up like his friend. The only person he could stand to be around. He taught Squirrel everything he knew now. He taught him all the tricks to get food and money, even how to break into the rich people's houses. Turned out, his friend was a coke addict. He'd become more and more desperate, to the point he'd purposely hurt himself just for a sniff. He went missing for a week, and Squirrel found his cold, beaten body in a ditch by the rail road tracks. Squirrel knew that he was supposed to feel sad. He knew he was supposed to cry for his dead friend. But all he felt was anger. Anger for the world that was so cruel to kids like him. Sometimes he wished he was black and overseas. At least then, rich white people would care about him.
"I guess I will have to stay. You don't give me any choice. But listen, I do not want to see or hear about anything you do to these people. And if you hurt me... I will find a way to run and tell the police." Squirrel had no idea why he was threatening a man with more power than him.

Lee stood slowly and leaned over the table, planting his hands on the ashy-toned wood. "You will, will you?" He asked lowly. "Will you really? Is your skull so thick you haven't heard a word I said? I don't harm the young. I don't harm the innocent, the ones on the receiving end of the abuse." He bent down, and his hair fell forward. "I harm the ones that dare harm their fellow man, or their children, or the ones that are supposed to look up to them and trust and rely on them. The people who would go to a kid like you to satisfy their sick needs or wants, rather than go see some doctor before they snap. I don't hurt the innocent. Only those who do. And if you do threaten me like that, threaten my work, the only damn thing I LIVE for, I'll do well to chain you up in the corner of my killing room to avoid that. Which I hope is something I don't ever, ever have to do."

He straightened up quickly and brushed his hair back. Gathering the plates, he took everything to the sink and set the items in. "Anyway," he said lightly, "bedroom on the right isn't mine, you can have it. Key's here." He took a key from his pocket, taped with blue duct tape above the teeth. "That'll unlock the door. At night everything's locked up, most places of exit double-locked. Windows are barred, like most around this area. Extra protection because a few decades ago the area had a lot of trouble with break-ins---then they became a style. Don't come in my room if it's ever unlocked without knocking, I sleep very light and with a gun." Running water, he rinsed the plates and silverware off, setting them aside for later. Then he turned back to the kid. "You understand so far?"

Shaking slightly from rage at his own stupidity, Squirrel nodded to show he understood. He really was dumb. Threatening him when he meant no harm to him. He supposed he'd have to try and trust this man if they were going to exist together under one roof. Without any further word, he snatched the key from its place and went to the room Lee had described. He unlocked the door, pushing hard as it got stuck as if it hadn't been opened in a long time.
The room was small, with an old looking mattress, a spindly bed stand and a grimy, barred window. Feeling like his head was going to split in two, Squirrel flopped onto the mattress. He sneezed at the dust and mould that swirled through the air. So this is it, he thought with a pang of sadness. This is where my life ends.

Lee placed the newly-clean dishes in their cupboard, and looked at the clock on his wall. Roy should be coming 'round right about now. Going into the living room, he pulled a pair of large headphones from beneath the table and walked into the room Squirrel had entered. "Going downstairs." He said. "The floors aren't soundproofed, so you might want these." Tossing them on the bed, he turned and pulled the door to where it was almost closed. Before unlocking the basement door, he went to the one he'd barred with the pipe and, with a bit of effort, twisted it hard and forced it to bend around the hooks. It wouldn't move when he tried to force it.

With that, Lee went downstairs. He didn't bother closing the door, he never unhooked the target until they were more or less dead. Roy was, indeed, moving when he turned the light on, and the man blinked hard to adjust to his surroundings. The chains rattled as he moved his arms, trying to move them enough to reach his face and mouth. He couldn't. Lee stepped forward, and as he did, Roy's eyes widened quickly. When Lee pulled the vise off his forehead and the gag from his mouth, Roy coughed hard and spat. "What the hell are you doing to me!?" He demanded harshly, struggling with the arm shackles and kicking his legs. "Why'm I here!?"

"Calm down, boy." Lee said, pulling a small tape from the shelf nearby and a camera. Roy's face fell, and he started visibly shaking. "This is to tape your confession." Lee said, inserting the tape and pulling a tripod from the corner and setting it up.

"C-confession!?" Roy laughed as if what Lee said was ludicrous. "Confess about what!?"

"What you do behind closed doors, at your home. How you torment and harm your wife for your own amusement."

The man's already-pale face became ever paler. Like a sheet, he almost glowed under the light above. "I... You... You follow us...? S-stalk us?"

"Only for good reason. When I found out how abusive you are."

"I'm... sorry! I'll ch-change! I---Just let me go, I'll go back to her, pr-promise not to raise a hand to her again!"

"So you admit to your crime?" Lee put the camera on the tripod.

"Yes! Yes, I do! I'm sorry. I can make right. I promise."

"Promises are empty. Like most of your words. You just want to get away."

"No!"

"QUIET." Lee's voice echoed, and Roy almost choked on his words. "You will be quiet. When I ask you a question, you will, will answer me. Is this understood?"

"Yes..."

Squirrel started when Lee entered his room and stared at the headphones he was given. He considered putting them on, but threw them to aside. He wasn't a child. Part of him wanted to hear the man downstairs get hurt. He had reminded Squirrel of one of the bad strangers that had hurt him a lot. He curled up on the bed and stared blankly out the window. As he started to hear the man begging for his life, he dove for the headphones, realising that he couldn't listen to the torture.
With the headphones blocking out all sound, Squirrel once again curled up on the bed, facing the door. His head wasn't thumping as much as it had been, maybe not having any sound helped it.

Lee hit record and stood behind the camera's line of sight. He'd tested these videos with no one before he began recording confessions, and found that there could be no possible way to find a reflection, and if he altered his voice with an acidic pill he bit into and swallowed, he wouldn't sound like himself. When he spoke, it was rough and low: "What is your name?"

"M-my name is Roy Lebouf." He shook as he responded, rearranging himself where he sat on the cold floor.

"Your age."

"Thirty-fo-four..."

"For what have you been convicted?"

"Um... Abuse... of my-my wife... I forced her... to marry me. Ha-have kids... by me... when she didn't want any. I---" He coughed, sniffing as he tried not to burst into tears.

"Would you have continued to do this?" Roy didn't answer. He breathed hard, whimpering a bit as his resolve weakened. "Roy. Answer me."

"Yes." Now he was trembling so hard the chains rattled against themselves. Lee turned off the camera, faced it toward the ceiling, and went around to the corner again, where he got the tripod.

"I don't have time to screw around with you for a few days." He said, voice still distorted as he retrieved a bat from the group of 'tools'. "I'll take care of you quickly, unfortunately."

Roy's mouth wouldn't work, and he stumbled over his words as Lee approached. Instead of going for the head, Lee focused on the feet. Lifting the bat, he brought it down. Roy's cry was piercing, and only grew as the bat crunched through bone, shoe leather, breaking Roy's thinner bones, then working up to his knees. Lee had to focus so he didn't get carried away, focus hard on where, precisely, to hit and gain the most pain in a short amount of time. Then he went for the pelvis, using more strength, pausing every time he struck. It was most unfortunate that he couldn't use his drill, barbed wire, boiling water technique, or ice picks. If it weren't so hands-off, he'd probably invest in some medieval torture devices. He loved the Rack, and the Pear of Anguish was small and easy to pack up when finished. But he was content with more modern-day types of pain-inducing. Roy didn't seem to appreciate it, though, as he tried to pull his hands free, cutting his wrists and snapping the bone out of socket.

The bat's end was bloody as Lee, huffing a bit from the constant exertion of energy, and finally went for the shoulders. If he hit the bone enough to splinter it and put it into a major artery, it'd make him bleed internally. But before he let that happen, Lee took the bat to Roy's head, smashing the life out of him and silencing the screams.

Squirrel had grown weary of watching the door and found himself drifting into a premature sleep. He was escorted to a world that he could barely remember. His mother held him in her arms and sung him lullabies in a sweet voice. Squirrel wasn't sure if that was really what she had sounded like, or if his mind had invented how he wanted her to sound. He looked up into the blurred out face and wished he could see her. his father was there now, talking about his future and how he'd get to go to university and study to be whatever he wanted.
Squirrel opened his eyes, tears falling freely. The room was dark, the night had crept on as he had napped. He sniffed loudly and hugged himself, letting the tears fall. He had always wondered why they had stopped loving him. Why they had left him at that bus station and never returned. He ripped the headphones off his head and clutched his head, which was thumping again.

He got a little carried away. Using a weighted butcher knife, Lee had begun hacking through the legs of what used to be Roy Lebouf, only after gathering a white butcher apron. He cut through near the knee, the ankle, and separated what was left of his legs from his torso. Then he got to work on the arms, separating each link and piling it all up on the floor beside him. The torso he'd have to work on later, because it contained the most. With a huff, he lifted armfuls of body and limb and transported them to the cold area through the metal door, placing everything on the bolted table beside the bath tub. Before he was able to go for his dissection toolkit, realization hit that he'd not checked upstairs for a long time.

Leaping up the stairs, Lee didn't bother closing the basement door behind him. Going down the hallway, he paused for a moment. He'd not taken his apron off, and it was streaked with blood. Still, he went around the doorway and pushed it open. Squirrel was still there, holding his head. "Kid. Or, you know, Squirrel." Lee rolled his eyes at the name. "You got a headache?"

Squirrel jumped in fright, almost falling off the bed in shock. He stared in horror at the blood on Lee's apron. He felt faint, and vomited over the side of the bed. Embarrassed and scared, he apologised quickly, hoping he wasn't going to get yelled at. He gulped down his fright and nodded slowly.
"It's... OK... I always get headaches... I'll... I'll clean the sick up... I'm sorry.... You gave me a fright..." he whimpered, shaking visibly.

Lee wrinkled his nose, but leaned on the door jamb. "Don't worry about it. Old rug, probably has dust mites in it. Roll it up and toss it outside, I'll take it to the dump tomorrow." He reached behind him, untying the apron and pulling it over his head. "I'll assume you're hemophobic." He noted, folding the apron so Roy's blood was on the inside.

"Come on, bring that rug with you. I'll unlock the door." For some reason, he trusted the kid enough to feel he wouldn't run off. Even so, Lee was tall. Quick. He might be able to catch even this kid, but it might be a long shot. Still, setting the apron on the sink, he untwisted the pipe and pushed the door open. Going back to the sink, he opened the cupboard above it and pulled a bottle out of it, shaking a couple white tablets into his hand. "Throw it beside the door and come take these." He called to Squirrel. "No need suffering through a headache when you don't need to."

A bit confused at what hemophobic meant, Squirrel stood and picked up the rug, rolling it up like he was instructed to. He followed the man to the door and watched as he opened it. Part of him thought how he could run for it, but he quickly stopped the thought. Lee was unusually strong and quick. He'd catch Squirrel without even trying, and then he'd tie him up in his torture chamber. He threw the soiled rug outside beside the door and stood in the doorway, breathing in the outside air. He turned his back to the street and walked back into the house, not believing he didn't at least try to run. A normal person would have done so. Squirrel, for some reason, wanted to trust this man.
He came over to Lee and peered at the white tablets, unsure about them. He had learnt the hard way about taking pills he didn't know about. "What are they?" he questioned cautiously, taking the glass of water and having a drink without taking the pills. The taste of the bitter vomit was washed down.

He looked around as Squirrel questioned him. "Generic headache medicine." He said simply, pulling a bag of non-name brand cookies from the cabinet next to the sink and opening it. "I always keep them around---I get a lot of headaches from the incessant screaming my targets insist on doing." Rolling his eyes as though they ought to have more decency, he put two vanilla wafers in his mouth and set the bag aside. "Mmh, I'm also impressed with you." he noted quickly. "While you could have run, you didn't. If you really, really wanted to go, you would have at least tried no matter how unlikely it is." He shrugged. "Never attempt and never fail, or try and fail and learn from your experience. I prefer the latter, you know. Trial and error taught me the correct dissection techniques, the best way to dispose of those I've taken care of. Trial and error teaches you if you can or can't do something, push the limits and get hurt, don't try it again."

He pulled the apron into the sink and ran water over it, washing the blood from its surface. The store room would keep Roy from starting to smell, at least too terribly. Lee had, over time, learned that if he didn't store the bodies in a cool enough place, it would only take a couple hours for it to begin stinking. Placing them in a near-refrigerated room, they'd stay decently-enough scented for at least twelve hours.

Still not really trusting Lee, he took the medicine anyway. He listened to him talk and wondered faintly why he was bothering to talk to him about these sorts of things. Glancing nervously over at the man, Squirrel took a biscuit and nibbled on it. He was quite fond of sweets, even though he rarely got to eat any.
"I didn't run because you'd catch me... Why would I put myself in that position?" he said through a mouthful of biscuit. He turned his back on Lee, trying to ignore the fact that the man was cleaning human blood from the apron and talking about killing real people. "Besides... I'd rather live here with a killer than risk being arrested or abused on the streets." He felt a lot more calm now he had taken those white pills, and his head wasn't hurting. He could think a bit clearer now.

"You don't know for a fact that I'd catch you." Lee replied, shaking out the apron, though it'd just get bloody again in an hour or two. "You have no idea how fast I am. I might have long legs, but I might be slow, stumbly, and unable to run for a long time." Of course, he could. Lee was very athletic. He'd always spent time climbing trees and running the hills of the fields outside his parents' house. "Anyway. At least I'm a killer now instead of a murderer." He chuckled. "Murderers kill the innocent. Random targets. I kill the ones that harm the innocent. There's a difference between the words, Squirrel. Get to know them and understand the difference."

As he spoke, he went around to the table and sat. "It's good to see you calmer. Thinking straight. Maybe if you get acquainted with more of my intentions, you can understand them a bit better. As I could understand yours, should you have any."

Squirrel sat at the table, across from Lee. He leant on it with his elbows and rest his head in his hands, again watching him closely. He took another biscuit from the bag he had carried over. "You say such weird things," he said finally, placing another biscuit in his mouth. "I'm only 13. I have never been to school. I don't even know what intention means."
He went silent again, studying Lee closely. He knew it could be asking for trouble, a lot of the strangers hit him whenever he did this. They didn't like his eyes piercing them, it was like he could see through them. He just liked watching people. He hadn't spent this long with one, besides his friend. He also found Lee interesting. The fact that the man hadn't tried to do anything with him wasn't something Squirrel was used to and his logic somehow made sense and obvious, as if killing people was completely fine - as long as that person was bad to begin with.
"If you do that to bad people... what does that make you?" he wondered, eating another biscuit.

Lee raised a brow at the low number. He'd never been good at guessing ages, maybe because his parents looked so young despite their age, and Lee himself certainly didn't look more than eighteen years old despite his height. But it only infuriated him more---how people could approach a kid, not much more than a child, and even consider what they did. The kind of person Lee caught. And he didn't know what 'intention' meant? Did this mean he couldn't read? And if he couldn't read, of course he couldn't write. Perhaps Lee could teach him.

Staring back evenly, Lee nodded thoughtfully. His own dull, dark eyes seemed to lie upon those he watched as a heavy weight, a burden to be carried, making it difficult for Lee to honestly look someone in the eye. "It makes me neither bad nor good." He said at last. "I do good in trying to help those that can't help themselves, or who are too afraid to act. But I'm considered bad in modern society because I make my own path, and kill these bad people in ways others would find 'inhumane', or, you know, wrong." He shook his head. "People got too soft, in my opinion, Squirrel. They want to treat prisoners good when they don't deserve a damn thing besides death. They want to try to understand the killers, as if they can profile all of them, figure out what makes them tick. My abductions seem random to most, but are carefully coordinated, planned over a long time. I overthink things, I see every possible outcome, reaction, and aftermath. I watch and I learn, and while I put on a mask to pretend to care and be nice, I'm judging everyone, trying to find their faults. So I might be considered bad, but it depends on who you ask."

"So... what do you think about me?" Squirrel answered him, blinking hard and looking away. He felt his stomach churning after all the food he had just eaten. He could get used to this. "What do you think about kids like me getting caught stealing or selling their bodies just to survive, only to be put behind bars or worse than that? Adults don't give a shit about us. Even my own parents didn't..." he cut himself short at the mention of his parents. He swallowed painfully, blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears forming in his eyes. No, don't think about them, he instructed himself angrily.

Lee raised his eyes and looked over Squirrel's head. What did he think about the kid? "I think it's despicable what you and the others have to subject yourselves to just to get through a day or two. And I blame the people that take advantage of your weaknesses and needs because you're easy targets at the time, they can overpower you if you say no, they can kill you and aren't afraid to say so if you step out of line in their sick, degenerate minds. I don't blame the kid, nor the man nor woman that has to stoop to humiliating, embarrassing situations like what you did, I blame the ones that approach you. I blame them, and find them when I can." He almost didn't realize the hand he'd rested on the table, his right one, had clenched to such a tight fist his nails pierced the skin of his palm. Looking down, he unballed it and looked at the pinpricks of blood forming in the gouges.

"If I could, I'd build a massive home for the kids and young adults subjected to the inhumanities of being homeless and desperate. So they could stay there. That's the only sympathy I feel for anyone. I feel sorry for those that have been, or are being, abused. The only way I can help is to take the abuser away entirely. The police won't do that. So I do." He leaned forward. "And I feel like I'm doing a damn good job." He tilted his head, as though to ask the kid. But he knew Squirrel wouldn't have an answer. He didn't even know Lee was a killer until he'd seen Roy's supposedly dead body.

Squirrel nodded slowly, not knowing what else to say. He was aware of the homeless shelters scattered throughout the city. He had never gone there because they were full of adults, all lying, all drunk or drug-fucked. They were worse than the strangers he had to deal with. At least the strangers usually gave him something in exchange for his services.
"It's really not that bad... Once you get used to it... A lot of them don't really want to with a kid, so I have to lie about my age," he said, trying to explain the situation. "Skye taught me that." He again went quiet, wondering why he brought up his friend to Lee. He shook his head and slouched on the table, burying his head in his crossed arms.

Lee rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter. You don't look like you're even near eighteen, and that's more than obvious, even to someone like me, who can't pick out ages. You're far too young, and it's evident. They still accepted, and that's enough for me. Trying to take up for them by saying you lied about your age, even if your... friend... taught you, still doesn't change what they did. What they decided."

He ran a hand over his face, then through his hair. Standing, he patted the kid. "I've got to clean up that blood before it stains the floor." He sighed. "If you do feel like you could come down, don't go near anything that isn't clean. And if you make a mess, use the hose on the wall to wash it down the drain." He turned, going downstairs. The smell of blood would soon be difficult to get out of the air. Near the stairwell, a green water hose was wrapped on the wall. Lee unrolled it, turned it on, and started the spray, letting it go over the wall, the floor, and moving in a circle as he washed the crimson sheets to the drain, watching it swirl before falling out of sight forever. He didn't allow himself to waste water---a high water bill would prove to be suspicious if someone came nosing around. Twisting the water flow off, he wrapped it back up and went into the chilled room, leaving the door open as he usually did. Hanging on the wall was another apron. Usually he would cut them or they would wear out quickly---he kept several in this room just in case. Pulling the black case that held his knives off the shelf near the door, he rolled it out on the bolted table and considered which small, scalpel-like knife he'd choose.

Squirrel remained at the table, with no interest to join him downstairs. He ate one more biscuit and got up from the table, wondering the house. He stopped by the door. He noticed that Lee hadn't moved the pipe back into place and that, while he was at work downstairs, Squirrel could run away. His heart beating so loud, he thought that Lee would be able to hear it. He slowly crept to the door and pushed it open with as little sound as possible.
Now that the door was open, Squirrel stood in the doorway, considering running. But why would he want to run? To go back to doing things he didn't like doing just to get some food? Glancing over his shoulder, he crept from the house. He wanted to just run and never look back. He stopped half way down the street and looked back.
The night had cooled the earth a little, but the concrete under his bare feet was still warm. The smell of cooking tar and road kill filled the air. The sounds of cars driving down the free way just down the way broke the stillness of the night. this was his home. But yet, he felt guilty he had run from Lee. Standing still, in the place he frequented, he stared back at the house. Sighing heavily, he turned and strolled down the alley, stopping by the trash bins. This was where he has slept for years, and where he had kept his stuff. He walked over to the wall behind the rubbish bins and squatted, looking for the lose block. He pulled it out from the wall to reveal his hiding place. From the hole he pulled out some pictures, what little money he owned and a small locket. Standing to his feet, he ran back to Lee's house, slowing down when he got to the door. He sat on the doorstep and stared up at the stars. He wanted Lee to find him there, so he could know he could trust him.

With the topmost layer of skin, fat, and muscle pushed aside in a standard Y-incision, as he'd learned from medical books in the library, Lee used a heavy butcher knife and his own strength to break the sternum, and lift off the protective covering of ribs. Roy's head watched from the corner of the table, the top of his head already cut open and his brain resting in the tub, soon to be joined by the heart, lungs, spleen, stomach, liver, colon, intestines, appendix, and a few other important organs. Cutting the rest of the torso allowed blood to continue its drainage, so Lee focused on what was left of the man's facial features.

Exchanging knives again, Lee focused on the limbs as the torso bled out. He skinned each section, then began a careful removal of meat from bone. He'd eventually boil the bones to get rid of the rest of the meat, then dry them quickly in the oven upstairs. It didn't take long, as Lee had perfected his technique over months of practice and trial and error situations. It took an hour to strip the meat from the bones, and deposit everything into the tub. Underneath the tub was an area dug out, making a fire pit type of thing, and a plugged hole he attached a hose to so the unnecessary liquid drained out and into the other room. But he decided to go back upstairs. Pausing this time to take off the apron, he hung it on the doorknob and washed his hands at the sink.

The door leading outside was open---he moved that way, and found Squirrel staring at the sky. But he looked to be breathing a bit heavily for someone just sitting. "Hope you enjoyed your little walk." He said, and leaned against the jamb, turning his own gaze to the stars.