I spotted the ramshackle farmhouse from the dirt road. The directions I'd been given were vague and the farmhouse wasn't marked, but I knew I had the right place. It was the kind of place I would have chosen.

Turning into the long driveway, I noticed three, tall figures standing shoulder to shoulder on the porch. That, I wasn't expecting. This was meant to be a one-on-one affair with no spectators. Alarm bells rang in my head, but there was no way I could turn tail for the hills. I had to see things through, no matter how bad they got--especially after the phone call.

"Cam, you have to meet me. You have to help me stop you. If you don't, people will die."

I'd recognized the voice immediately and knew I had no choice. There'd been too much killing over the years and if I could prevent any further bloodshed, then I would do my best. It was the least I could do, considering the amount of blood on my hands.

Pulling up in front of the farmhouse, I recognized the welcoming party waiting for me on the porch--Klein, my lawyer, Westerman, my doctor, and Trant, my professor. Except, these men weren't waiting. They were hanging from the porch rafters, strung up with clothesline, their hands tied behind them. From their contorted and discolored features, it was obvious their necks hadn't broken. They'd died from strangulation, a sign of a bad hangman, but I knew the hangman well and he was anything but incompetent. He'd wanted their deaths to be long and agonizing. The corpses swayed, slapping together like a human wind chime producing an off-key melody.

I slipped from my car and went up to my trinity to pay my respects. They were the ones who'd saved me from a guaranteed death sentence and gotten me my subsequent release from the state hospital. We'd corresponded for a year or so after the treatment had ended, but our lives had moved on and we'd lost touch. Obviously, I could always find out what was happening with Trant. His name and face were a regular feature in the headlines over the years, thanks to the famous "Trant method." I lingered in front of Professor Trant, my savior. Good old Trant. He'd convinced the world he had the answer to society's nightmares. He really believed he could save the human race from itself. Poor bastard, look where that thinking had gotten him.

"Professor, like Icarus, did you dare to fly too high?" I asked him and patted his leg.

I tried my best to ignore the stench. All three men had messed themselves, and an untidy cocktail of feces and urine was pooled at their feet. It was impossible to tell if fear or death had been the cause. At one time, the repugnant sight wouldn't have disturbed me. I suppose it just goes to show you what a good job Trant did on me.