The only real question I have i ever had, was why, in a building full of cops, all supposedly with a keen insight to the human soul, were you the only one who ever sensed something... off about me. I guess I have my answer now. You caught me. Body parts in garbage bags, right there on the dock.

As I toss the last bag into my boat, I hear your voice cut through the silence, calling my name. I stop, turning slowly. Of course, it’s you. It always had to be you. Your gun’s raised, pointed at me. The end of the line.

I raise my hands, following your instructions, calm, almost at peace.

"Yeah, I’m the Bay Harbor Butcher. Not my favorite name, though."