DEA
Arthur arrived not long after I had barely managed to gather myself together. He told me that he just needed to go out to get some stuff. The sound of the door opening echoed through the small house, followed by the faint rustling of plastic bags.
I looked up from the couch just as Arthur stepped inside carrying several heavy bags in both hands. He set them down on the kitchen counter, his movements brisk and purposeful. There was a boyish excitement in the way he unpacked everything, like someone eager to surprise a loved one.
When I stepped into the kitchen, my eyes widened slightly. The counter was already filled with bags of raw meat, dark red juices seeping into the paper wraps.
Arthur looked unusually cheerful, almost boyish, as he began unloading everything. He carefully unw
