He said, "Mother have a seat so we can talk. This is not the first time we've discussed this. Do you realize how much money you have been spending? ...You're about to burn through the entire trust in less than 4 years since Dad died. You can't keep doing this, it has to stop." "Oh, I know I spend quite a bit, but why can't your Mother have nice things." He gasped, exasperated, "Mother, you are just so spoiled! I can't let you waste my father's money like that! This has to stop, and it stops. He didn’t want to leave marks, anything that they could use to track him later. But the temptation had been there, oh, so heavily pounding in his brain, the need to tear flesh, to feel the hot weight of it against his tongue, to taste it’s sweetness. He resealed the bag, carefully expelling as much air as he could. He closed the file, and placed it, along with all his evidence bags back into the plastic box, firmly closing the lid. The box was set on top of a stack of shelves, carefully placed. More

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