"Like, how?" Because Aiden is scooting even closer, pushing his hair out of his face and puffing on the joint like it might as well be a cigarette.

He's picturing it, now--Heather's dad, though faceless since he can't decide what he'd look like. There's blood everywhere--spattering the walls, even--and the head is lolled to the side. Lifeless.

Deserved.