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Blood was everywhere.
Al wiped a tear from his cheek, covered his mouth with his hand.
Sam sat in the darkest corner of the room, staring at but not seeing the carnage, divorced from the grotesque tableau he had created. He was catatonic, just like the last time. When he awoke, he would flee the scene: in horror, denial.
Al thought of the monster in the Waiting Room. Ziggy had compared the transference to Oswald. But this was worse, much worse.
Every day, the monster grew stronger, and Sam slipped further away: rotting in the body of Jack the Ripper.