After so many years of looking I finally found him, he was strung out on dope and nearly dead but he was mine. Enough time had passed that I wouldn't be a suspect. I rolled up on him as if by chance, and made contact, he soon recognized who I was, and agreed to let me help him. He was desperate. I took him back to my house and set him up with a room. He was passed out on heroin by that evening. I handfuffed and shackled him and waited. Once he woke up he was pissed, and it took some convincing to get him into the basement. He was never one for fear, doesn't have much of it in him. I anally raped him with a cattle prod to gain compliance. Once he was in the basement I beat the fuck out of him starting with his feet. He would die in that basement. Once dead I disarticulated his body and froze it, then dissolved the pieces at my leisure. I'll never forget, he kept asking why I was doing what I did to him. I never told him. I figured it would be scarier for him if I didn't say anything. But I'll tell you. He was rude to me. Disrespectful. Not humble. One day he started telling me about how he raped the emo girl from class, simply because he found out I liked her. He wasn't lying either, he did rape her. Which is why what I did to him was so satisfying. I told him I'd be paying his sister, mother, and daughter a visit before his lights went out, just to fuck with him. He kind of freaked the fuck out after that and stopped responding. I broke him. I never did pay them a visit, but I wanted to, so he believed me. But I, unlike him, am and always have been capable of controlling my wants.