Thirty-Two:
Ransom Tanager
A rancid smell filled my nostrils. It was the first thing I became aware of as I woke up. That, and the dripping of water. “….I like it, I’m not gonna crack, I miss you, I’m not gonna crack, I love you, I’m not gonna crack, I killed you I’m not gonna crack…..” a mans voice was singing softly off in the distance. The kind of unhinged, off kilter singing that comes from madness.
I groaned, and my vision started to clear. I was somewhere in the sewers, I realized. There was a tall, big, muscled man off to the side rummaging through a bag of garbage. “Who-who are you?” I asked.
The man looked sharply at me. “You know who I am.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The Minitour?”
“Yes,” he said. “Most of the time, I can control him. I stay me. But so
