But this seemed to upset the girl all the more. As I reached for Bennington’s dropped weapon I felt a stinging pain shoot through the back of my head. I knew what it was. I’d been there a thousand times before. The jigsaw girl had knocked me out.

I woke later in a pool of meat and blood.

My heart jumped. I sat up and pulled myself off the floor and out of the gore. My head pounded, and my tongue throbbed metallic. When my eyes finally focused I saw the blood.

Spattered on the ground below was Bennington, his head smashed open, his body bent like a rag-doll. Scratch marks and bullet holes covered what wasn’t torn.

But no jigsaw girl, Trisha, Jenny, Sally; whoever she was, was gone.

Behind me, I heard someone suck air.

“Hi, Brueger. What took you so long?”

Brueger came over and helped me to my feet. It was the first time she had touched me, and it felt pretty good. It felt real and alive.

“You did it.”

I glared at her. “I didn’t do anything but get my ass kicked.”

“I looked in the basement. There’s proof: photos, plans, everything.”

I turned and faced her. There were about ten thousand wise-cracks I could have thrown out, but I felt sick. I just nodded and started walking out of the house.

Brueger seemed confused at my lack of excitement. Then she looked around the room.

“Any luck finding the sixth body? It wasn’t in the basement.”

I saw the bloody footprints in the hallway, seeping into the plush white carpet, and leading to the stairs.

“Brueger, trust me on this one. You don’t want to know.”

EATER

I think it was a Tuesday. It didn’t really matter. I don’t exactly keep a nine-to-five schedule. I was lying face down on the floor, fully dressed, about three feet from my door when the phone woke me up. Each ring ripped through my spongy skull and drilled straight through to my brain like an electric charge.

Next to me was a puddle of vomit I didn’t even remember throwing up. At the moment I was just glad I wasn’t lying in it. I’ve been there before and it’s a nasty way to wake up.

I didn’t remember how I got home. I had been drinking at a bar; I’m not sure which bar it was. It was probably the Black Cat Club. It had become my favorite drinking hole for a couple reasons. One, it had the same name as the club I hung out at in D.C. Two, they let my tab run for six months without once asking me to pay. God bless the Black Cat Club.