Kyler Polonik. You're here for a reason. My voice cuts through the air that hangs above him, the dust swirls as he lets out a choppy breath.

"Who are you? What do you want?" His accent taints his voice, along with panic his words are almost incoherent. "Where am I? What is this? Oh, my God." He breaths these words almost. I know this trick, the little mind game, whisper so I listen.

"Olivia Borden. Taylor Nelson. Mean anything to you?" This is fresh meat.

"I don't know what you're talking about! I don't know! Who are you?"

"You raped them wearing a Scream mask."

"You have the wrong man! I do not know what you're talking about!" The fear is like a wave that keeps sloshing over his words, draining them of meaning. His bindings looked more like an elaborate cake than anything, first layer: rope, second layer: duct tape, third layer: more rope (I know this seems excessive, but I couldn't have another Chino on my hands), fourth layer: plastic wrap, fifth layer: chocolate icing. "Get me out of these! I have money, I can pay you."

"I don't want your money." It's impossible to keep men like Kyler calm, they will struggle and squirm and swear and promise for a good hour before they admit to their Mr. Hyde. I brush a piece of scum off of his wet forehead, and he looks up as if this was the heat before the burn.

"What are you doing?!" His voice is booming, and the veins in his neck strain tremendously, like ivy.

"Calm down. Let's get back to it –"

"Fuck you! Get me out of here!"

"Don't interrupt me, Mr. Polonik. Olivia Borden, what do you know about her?"

"Nothing, nothing, okay? Please!" It's scary to see such a powerful person, powerless.

"Rack your brain."

"Nothing, there's nothing there about this woman!"

"Raped and killed by you? That's not hidden in your noggin?" I smile slightly, a look at our surroundings, like the inside of a giant plastic bag. Although I can't perform my ritual, my precautions remain stable, I won't screw up my great winning streak because of the fact that the Bay Harbor butcher is dead. Big, hollow areas of plastic surround me, and I've never felt this claustrophobic.

"I am the wrong man! I do not know what you are talking about!" I could watch Kyler squirm, it is one of my favorite parts about this ... duty, but I have to be at Rita's in one hour. I grab the cleaver and let the light gleam off of it. I hold it in front of his face.

"Do you remember now?" I move the cleaver closer to his face, so close he can probably smell the polish.

"No, no, no. Please. Don't hurt me! Please!"

"Let me know how it feels to be thumb-less." I saw, and advance to his hands.

"No! Wait! I can tell you what I know! A man I know, Jeremy Sumpter, he did it, he told me!"

"Jeremy Sumpter has been in jail for fourteen years. I know. I did the blood spatter report." Oops. The last part just kind of came out. Now, regardless of whether Kyler is the Scream, he has to die. Has to. "Pick your poison, and pour yourself a glass. Knife or Black Mamba venom?"

"What?! You're crazy! Jeremy is free, he is free, out there now, raping women, killing women!"

"Your semen was found at both crime scenes, you don't know them and you ejaculated in their houses?"

"I've been around, okay, that doesn't make me a murderer!" He yells this excuse, and it almost sounds plausible.

"Knife or Black Mamba venom, Mr. Polonik?"