Sometimes Clark wondered, while lying semi-conscious on the kitchen floor, feeling his skin cells replicating and shedding and his toenails growing: if he could go back in time, to the start of all of this, if only to save Kristen and Isla, would he clean that frying pan? No, he decided every time. It was a matter of principle. He wasn’t unreasonable. He understood where Kristen was coming from; he saw all perspectives and weighed…
“They’re only upset about the damn octopuses,” declared Claire from behind her laptop screen. “That’s not right. Octopi? Octopodes?” puzzled Sean, half-listening. “Three murders in a week, no known suspects, and people don’t give one shit.” “Well, not entirely true; from what I’ve seen people are pretty excited about it.” “It’s sick. These men had families.” “Well so did the octo…paes.” “You know they haven’t found their heads yet? The sick fuck is probably keeping…