The autopsy reveals that this 100%, without a doubt, a Doctor copycat.

Of course, I already knew that. Despite the visual sloppiness, the guy seemed to have some idea of what he was doing. He followed my standard procedure pretty well, just was far more aggressive. However, there are many more key differences. For one, Iris appears to have been basically tortured. She also appears to have been sexually assaulted, due to bruising in certain areas, as well as injuries in her... intimate areas. We did not find any DNA, which is rare in cases like this.

Obviously, that's not something I do either, and I've never been an emotional person. It's always been a chore to express myself in any way, and I've never felt things the way I should to begin with. For instance, I'm basically incapable of guilt. At least, I assume, since I've never felt it a single time in my life.

Except, I'm really fucking mad. It isn't even just because someone dared to try and mimic me, dared to make a mockery of what I do. It's also because of Iris. I want justice and peace for her, because she died one of the most brutal deaths imaginable—and I can imagine some pretty dark stuff—but also because she was such a good person. I've never had much drive in my life that came from a noble place, so this is new.

I hate this guy. A lot. I've never wanted to torture someone in my life, but the general, normal amount of bloodlust for me at the moment is much worse than usual. I want him in pain, and I know some pretty intricate ways to cause it.

When I finally get off work, it's about 6 in the morning. Kristy was right to have me bring the coffee, even if I am basically nocturnal. I don't know if four hours of sleep can count as anything, but that's what I've always considered it. I'm still tired by the time I'm arriving back at my apartment, not having time to go see Willow and far too tired to do so otherwise.

That said, I'm really not in the mood to put the kind of effort into existence that I usually do. I'm ready to walk through my front door, feed Fluffy, do some basic hygiene, possibly eat a snack and pass the fuck out. Unfortunately, that plan is interrupted right after step two—feeding Fluffy—when I hear someone knocking at my door.

I try not to groan too loud, not wanting whoever is at the door to hear my displeasure with their presence. I then walk to go answer it. Begrudgingly. When I find Decari on the other side, a feel a slight improvement in my mood.

When I catch the look on his face, that mood improvement disappears.

Dex's eyebrows are slightly furrowed, lowered as though he's feeling some sort of conflict. He isn't really looking at me, mostly to the side of my head, and his lips are pursed. I have never seen him exhibit this kind of demeanor before, and it puts me off.

To calm my spike in nerves, I speak. "Uh, did you want to talk about the autopsy? Or..."

Unfortunately, I did not think through my sentence, so I end up trailing off. What am I doing, anyway? I should not be suggesting an extended conversation, because that will likely end up occurring in my apartment. I need to try and keep him out of my apartment, both for my own sanity and for secrecy. We need to do these things at his place way more often, if it's going to happen at all.

"No, uh... can I just come in? I need to ask you about something."

Okay, okay. Good. If that's all he's here for, we can stay right here. "Okay, if it's just a question, go ahead and ask."

Decari does not appear to want to do that. I was aware it wasn't his preference, but now he's looking a bit uncomfortable. I wish I could read him, but unfortunately, I haven't known him long enough yet. At the moment he just seems mostly disappointed, but again, I'm not sure how reliable that is.

"Okay," Dex has lowered his voice. I can't help the strange way I'm looking at him, starting to suspect he's messing with me or something. That idea is absolutely destroyed when Dex speaks again. "I finally found time to go through the files and look for your sister."

Okay, yeah, maybe he was right. Alright. Shit. This is bad. What am I supposed to even say to that? I might as well just come clean, right? Well... about lying, at least. What could I possibly tell him for the real reason?

"I couldn't find a Jessica. Anywhere. I was wondering if you knew any other similar crime it might've been filed under instead? It looks like there was a mistake."

Except, he doesn't believe that. I can't read much on his face right now, but there's something in his eyes. People's eyes give a lot away, you just need to know what to look for. They're called the windows to the soul for a reason.

No, Dex knows I lied. Honestly, this lie would've been difficult to keep up anyway. Now I just need to figure out a cover story, and quick.

"I lied to you," I tell him plain and simple, trying to ignore this... strange emotion I get when his face falls. It feels like sadness, but I have no idea what could've caused that by the situation. It must be his disappointment, seeing him upset has caused me to feel upset. Strange, I've never sympathized with someone before.

"You were right, maybe we should do this inside."