“You can’t have breakfast without maple syrup!” Jimmy giggled. His mother smiled and nodded as she slathered his pancakes in the savory nectar. They always had breakfast together. Every Sunday. At the same time. In this house… My house. My name is Jack, which is short for James, and the kid Jimmy is my son, you see, James Jr., or Jimmy. The spoiled little brat wouldn’t even take my name. Had to change it.
Anyway, where was I? Oh that’s right. They were eating breakfast. Just like they do every Sunday in my house. With My alimony footing the bill. Did I ever get a thank you? NO, of course not. I didn’t even get a Jack Jr. The Kid had to call himself Jimmy for Christ’s sake… So they’re in the kitchen, eating their damn breakfast, and I am in the hallway listening. Carol changed the locks a few times since they sent me away, but the locksmith, see, he was a friend of mine, and I got a key from him, because he owed me a favor because of this thing with the-
“Jack,” The court-ordered psychiatrist broke my train of thought… “Jack, what did you do with the bodies?”
“You can’t have breakfast without maple syrup…”