A story about... An Animal c. 1999/2000 Dan Biemer, Damon Diehl, Rachel Rosenberg, Jack Welch	DAN	DAMON	RACHEL & JACK
				JACK & RACHEL
			RACHEL	DAN & JACK
				JACK & DAN
			JACK	DAN & RACHEL
				RACHEL & DAN

He stared into the bathroom mirror, a severed end of dental floss in each hand. Cheap drugstore brand. He picked up the case and absently flexed his fingers. It fell apart in slivers. Better trim those nails. At least he could trim the nails. It might keep her off track until... 

He shredded another toothbrush on his incisors. This was getting expensive. Perhaps he should just eat something crunchy, or gnaw on a bone like the other predators did. 

He lathered his face and began to scrape. After just a few strokes the blade caught and pulled, dulled. Shaving was getting harder, too. Nothing was easy. 

Except rending flesh. That was getting easier. 

When Jessica arrived at work the next morning, she reluctantly checked her slot in the mail room. If Harlan was true to form, there would be reams of pink while-you-were-out notes with desperate pleas for her to see him for "emergency counseling" first thing on Monday morning. Strangely, there were only a few messages, and none from Harlan. 

Jessica's pager showed her office number. She assumed that Harlan had arrived half an hour before the office technically opened as he often did. She would make him wait this time. Giving in and seeing him only reinforced his delusional need to seek safety with her, and rewarded his lack of compulsion inhibition. This time was worse than usual since not only did he show up early, a clear violation of their understanding from last month, but he hadn't even had the organization this time to phone ahead and make an appointment. She pulled out her cell phone and listened to the office phone ring and ring. She thought to herself that Helga must have her hands full dealing with Harlan, and walked over to the coffee bar for a cappuccino and scone.

* * *

From outside her office, she saw a flash of light -- someone was taking photos. The smell of ozone struck her. There was a mechanical sound, a whoosing, clunking and shifting. The xerox machine was running off a big project. Odd, since she had just submitted her Federal Grant...what was Helga doing?

Confusion. Panic.

Helga was duct-taped to a movable office partition, spread eagle, with one limb to each corner. She had flipped the partition such that it fell slant-wise on an IBM selectric typewriter and was tittering. There were parallel red slashes across her face and blouse. She did not struggle. A dagger was sunk into her skull and transfixed a yellow legal pad.

Across the room, Harlan lay on top of the copier. He wore spotted leotards, pointy ears and a springy, coiled tail. His face was smushed into the platten glass, and his eyes stared blankly into the strobing light. One hand still laid on the copy button; the other hung over the edge of the copier. His legs lay across the sorting and mailing modules. He had lashed himself to the copier with duct tape.

Jessica read the pad. In red (blood?) letters, was scratched "Now see my change. I show you. Proof."

A bottle of insecticide lay on the floor, not far from where Harlan had dropped it.

The xerox machine's luminescent display read:

        SELECTED: 100,000

        COPIES PROCESSED: 5 COPIES

        INTERNAL JAM CODE J0051

        CALL KEY OPERATOR

Jessica noticed several pieces of accordioned paper in the copier's collection bin, where Harlan's foot had impeded their exit from the machine. The first four were black as night. On the fifth, there was a picture of a ... what? Could those be eyes?

Jessica picked up her phone. "Hello. I'd like to report a copy cat crime..."