It was happening again. The thing that had been done to the person that cannot be named was happening once more… to me. It seeped into the bedroom as I drank, racing over the case files and running up my legs. It came as a facade, making me believe that it was all a trick of my mind. I reeled from it, the hands crawling up my flesh and into my heart. It pulsed against the fast beat, then squeezed firm to warn me of its power. I held my breath, let the hand know that I would not be fooled in the same way, but it pressed again, the blood around my heart coating its flesh in liquid remnants of what would inevitably remain of me. I screamed against it, writhed as I tried to reach inside my chest and pull it out, but it was of no use. That’s when it began to cut off the airway that gave my heart oxygen. I fumbled in my study, desperate to save myself. Everything knocked over. The documents covered in the blood which came from my cough. My glass, which held a husky bourbon that I should not have consumed, shattered at my bare feet. I reached for the letter opener, the item to which would incur my downfall, and stabbed it into my heart, slicing up until the choking hand could touch neither place again. That’s when the figure appeared from the shadows, and with this, I had finally discovered my killer.