I hesitated, wondering if running back up to the room was still a viable option.

"You can come in now," Randall said after a few seconds.

Gritting my teeth I pushed the door open, doing my best to keep my eyes off the floor.

Randall didn't turn around, instead, he just continued to admire the far wall of the office. He was leaning against the table for support.

"So what did he do?" I asked, and he finally looked over his shoulder at me.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

I nodded my head towards the man sprawled across the hardwood.

He merely twitched his shoulders and strolled over to where the man laid, "Technically there wasn't much to kill in the first place, see?"

He used the toe of his well-shined shoe to kick the glasses off of the man's upturned face. They skittered across the floor, their absence revealing a set of empty eye sockets.

"It's only a vessel, unable to rationalize or be bargained with."

I curled a lip, "How'd you even manage that?"

He walked back over to the desk and began tapping his fingers on it, like he was trying to think of the best way to put it into words.

"It's kind of like a soda bottle, you just pop off the top and dump out everything inside."

"You know that's not how you drink soda right?"

He chuckled, "Yes, but if I said gulp it down you would have gotten the wrong idea."

"So you don't, consume them, or whatever?"

"Oh I do, I just don't prefer that mental imagine." He sighed, sitting down in his leather desk chair, "Why else would I sit out in the middle of the woods with a bunch of boys of that wasn't the goal?"

"What about the women?"

"They were just for entertainment." He winked and I tried to hold in my retch.

"How come you didn't use them for this?" I pointed to the man on the floor.

"I've always had a soft spot for the last folk, what can I say."

"But not children, interesting priorities."

He leans back in the chair, "The children were an experiment."

"A failed one."

He nodded, "Yeah, that could have gone better. It turns out, although children are easier to empty, they're also a lot more open," he put his hands up at his aides to emphasize his point, "easier for things to get inside."

When my brain clicked with what he'd said the word, "Peter." Slipped out of my mouth.

"Yeah, although I don't know if it's really worth it to call him that anymore."

"Why not?"

"I mean that's not really its name, in the same way that Randall isn't really my name."

"But it's his name."

He gave me a look that bordered sympathy, "Peter, as a person at least, doesn't really exist anymore."

I laughed at him, hoping that the hint of fear didn't show in my eyes, "No, I've been talking to him, I think I'd know."

He sighed again and stood back up, "The most you're seeing if it isn't just a trick that is, is an imprint. A muscle memory that the body is using to fill in the blank spaces. The boy as been gone for a long time, all you're seeing is the echo of a dying mind."

Tears stung my eyes but I pushed them down. I didn't want him to know that he was getting to me. Why would I even believe him? He'd do anything to break me down.

"You don't believe me," Looking humored he crossed around to my side of the table and leaned against it, "Think what you want, but I was the one who killed him. I watched that little boy trickle out of that body one cut at a time. He's been gone a long time."