It's important to separate the body parts. I've heard some people say on the dark web that

scattering body parts across the city actually increases your risk of exposure, but I have to

disagree with that. Sure, if you're driving around like an idiot in the middle of the night,

chucking body parts out of the back of your car, while looking around all paranoid and shit,

you're likely to get caught.

But if you do it right, if you do it carefully, if you're methodical about it, you won't get caught.

I tell myself this every time I leave the house with a load of body parts to get rid of.

It makes me feel better, reminds me that I'm careful, methodical.

It reassures me that I won't get caught.

Right now I have just one part left to ditch.

It's a leg.

It once belonged to a man named Rupert Dearborn.

In fact, it was attached to Mr. Deerborn up until a few hours ago,

when I chopped it off with an electric saw of the kind medical examiners use.

A few hours before that, Rupert Dearborn was walking around on that leg.

Both legs, in fact, probably oblivious to the fact that I'd been watching him closely for several weeks. As I pull up to the dumpster behind a strip mall,

I recall how he died. He went out hard, crying, pleading, begging. I had my fun with him. But that

fun never seems to last long enough. It's always over

too soon. I get out of my late model SUV and walk around to the back hatch. I press the button

and step back as the hatch opens. I don't look around to see if anyone's watching me. I've

already used my mirrors and my peripheral vision to make sure no one's likely to be paying attention.

I don't rush.

...