He watched Frank walk away, wondering how long the string of sanity was that kept he and his brother from the brink. Both trying their best to cope, lost in their addictions. Frank using a pipe, inhaling a high that crested quickly and was over too soon. While he himself harbored another craving, more acceptable perhaps, but much more insidious. The fascination in unraveling damaged minds. The irresistible pull of dissecting a psychopath. He was compelled to taste and smell and touch the death that such turmoil created. Figuratively rolling in the insanity that he feared was waiting for him.