“You’re late,” I said, “but it’s almost over.”

Wheatley looked down at the pile. “This it?”

“It was.”

The ghouls immediately started to disperse. Wheatley said he needed statements. I said I’d give one to him, and all but Mo’Lock disappeared into the night. I started walking back toward the aquarium. Wheatley followed, confused. Mo’Lock lingered.

“What do you mean, almost over?” Wheatley asked as we stepped through the broken window.

“It had someone helping it, a human.”

We stood in the empty area where the now-empty tank was. No sign of the guy in the lab coat but there was a clip-on employee ID on the floor. I picked it up. It read Cecil Gertch. The photo was bad and blurry, but it was the guy I saw talking to the creature.

I handed it to Wheatley. “Help me find this guy and it’ll be officially over.”

It took a little over a day to track down Cecil. Wheatley found out he had a little apartment in Long Beach near the aquarium. I made the drive again. Wheatley tagged along this time. I gunned the Nova on the freeway and gave him a scare. It was hilarious.

The apartment building had no security door or anything so we just walked in. Cecil’s place was on the second floor. We walked up and listened at the door. Nothing.

I moved to kick the door in and Wheatley stopped me. “We have a warrant.”

“We knock and he goes out a window, that’s on you.”

Wheatley knocked. We waited. Nothing.

I looked at him. He nodded. I kicked in the door.

Inside it was dark and it stunk to high heaven, like rotten eggs, old milk, and farts. The walls were lined with shelves and on those shelves were more than two dozen small and large aquariums. Inside were small versions of creatures like the one we’d killed.

We both had our guns at the ready as we entered, and both of us stepped in piles of slop on the floor.

“Cecil Gertch! This is the police! Come out with your hands up,” Wheatley yelled.

It was a small place. The kitchen was right off the living room. There was no bedroom, so all we had to clear was the bathroom. The door was closed. I signaled to Wheatley. I’d lead, he’d back me up. I kicked in the bathroom door. The flimsy thing flew off its hinges.

We found Cecil in the bathtub. He wasn’t dead. He was almost transformed. His arms and legs were shriveled. His head huge, gill slits on his throat. When he saw us he hissed and tried to lunge but we were both ready and fired. He took about six slugs in him before he slumped in the water and died.

Wheatley and I stood there looking down. Somehow the whole thing seemed sad. Who knew why this man did what he did?