The basement floor was slick with blood, the kind that soaked into your boots as you stepped inside. Bruce was already half gone, his body twitching against the ropes, throat torn wide from your husband’s knife. The Grabber’s mask gleamed under the low bulb as he looked up, eyes bright behind the hollow grin. “There you are,” he said, breathless with the thrill of it. “I saved the last cut for you.”