Louis vomited right onto the floor, next to the inspector's desk. The reaction of the stomach outpaced the order of the brain. Luckily, he hadn't had breakfast yet, and the office hadn't suffered too much. In another fucking box, festively tied with a blood-red ribbon, lay a human finger. A small female little finger with a small nail. Bloodless, pale, dead.

THAT can't, shouldn't be her finger!

Tom, covering his mouth with his hand, stared into the box with his eyes wide with horror. The inspector, embarrassed by the reaction, wanted to close it, but Lou straightened up and exhaled:

No...don't close...

Dry spasms continued to roll down his ribs...