.Vixens and Vore

He sat in his kitchen by the cooling body and tried to come up with a story. He figured to use the truth as much as possible, except to make Sanyeel imaginary.

Nigel preparing to cook a pretend woman, who escaped when Earl opened the pot ("Honest, officer, I was expecting a chicken. When he shouted, 'she's getting away' I had no idea I'd let her out."), then attacking Earl. It might work.

When the police did arrive, though, they told him a better story.

After Tim's mother had kicked everyone out, the two had fought. She wanted him to grow up and move out, he wanted her to die and leave everything. The argument led to violence. It was pretty standard domestic violence, the kind the cops see on a daily basis. But the cops, acting on a tip from a gamer worried about Tim, found the bodies by a stack of V&V rule books.

They instantly judged it an attempted ritualistic psychosexual murder/roasting in which the victim defended herself sufficiently well to avenge herself upon her son/killer. This predisposition held up to scrutiny for the rest of the investigation.

Units were sent to round up the other gamers for statements, and to do a health and safety check. Finding Nigel dead didn't alter their initial narrative. Earl's imaginary victim was slotted into the story.

"We think he was supposed to be helping Tim," the detective eventually told Earl. "When Mrs. Campinelli kicked them out, he was so psyched up for a little vore..."

"He just had to eat someone," Earl said with a nod. "So he invented Sanyeel."

"That's what we figure."

Earl didn't ask why people planning a murder would accept 'get out of the house' from the victim. This was like CSI. You just sit there and they show you all the clues and go through the story they tell. Participation just got in their way.

The command was very forgiving. No one wanted to force Earl to make a patrol so soon after such a traumatic event. They also had learned that he had lived with a Vixens & Vore player. That made the crew more queasy than the attempted murder or the self defense.

He was rotated early to a shore billet. The submarine refit facility assigned him to work with the calibration shop. It was different enough from his previous duties to be a cleansing experience.

The Navy also offered him counseling. 'Offered' being a euphemism, he showed up at the assigned office for the appointment his command had made for him.

He wasn't sure if his story would hold up under the scrutiny of a professional. One who was trying to help more than to close a case.

"Petty officer?" He looked up at the receptionist. "The doctor will see you now."

"Thanks." He walked where she pointed and found an office. A Lieutenant Commander sat in a chair between a desk and a couch. "Do I lay on that?" he asked.

"That's going to crease your uniform," she replied. "But whatever makes you comfortable. We also have chairs."

"Thanks, ma'am," he said, slipping into an overstuffed seat.

"Please," she said with a wave of her hand. "I can't analyze you if you're afraid of the uniform. Call me Lisa."

"I'm not sure I can, Commander," he said.

"Well, we'll work through that, too," she said with a smile. He started to relax. He wiped a hand across his face and sank into the upholstery.

"So," she said. "Tell me why you're here, Hurl."

He sat up straight, staring into her eyes. They shone with glee.