Will Graham

A crime scene… a human heart… and a Valentine’s Day card addressed to William Graham. It was so… barbaric to admit to himself that he welcomed such perfidious gifts, because ultimately they gave his life meaning when he was allowed to penetrate the mind of a serial killer.

“You didn’t do it out of love for me, not out of barbaric desire or dark romance. For you, the heart is merely like an engine that keeps us alive. The card you chose is cheap, you probably bought it quickly at a gas station; it serves only its purpose and has nothing to do with your art or your statement. And yet you now expect a response. You didn’t send the heart to the police… or to the press, but to me. I was supposed to find it. You want to communicate with me. Apparently, you were never heard… your own heart was never recognized or noticed, and now you want to force me to see your innermost self. This heart belonged to someone else… but it’s just a metaphor. I understand you and I see you… I accept the invitation, and I will be the only one who can truly understand it.”