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York entered his apartment carrying the still unconscious Adelaide. He gingerly laid her on his bed and returned Bob to the tank. Good lord, he had to pee. He had to pee so bad it felt like Niagara Falls had been poured into a sausage casing. He rushed to the bathroom, emptied said sausage casing, stood on the Fisher Price stool in front of the sink and neurotically washed his hands several times. He studied his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

"Perfect", he said aloud, "And now it's time to awaken our slumbering guest".

He emerged from the loo and was greeted by the sight of Adelaide, naked and sprawled on the wet hardwood floor near the tank, legs spread in a "V" with toes pointed daintily towards the ceiling. Bob was on top of her, his tentacles everywhere - - fondling both of Adelaide's breasts, more running up and down the inside of her thighs, her tongue wrestling with another, one around her neck and gentling nuzzling an earlobe. They were underneath her, behind her, and on the floor all around her, propelling his purple and yellow spotted body up and down and up and down as he humped her mercilessly, penetrating her with yet another tentacle. Judging by her look of unparalleled ecstasy, Adelaide was not at all opposed to any of this.

York fetched his handgun, blew Adelaide's head clean off, fired thirteen shots into Bob and his betraying tentacles, put the gun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.

And then Adelaide woke up. She was in a bedroom with the same layout as her own, yet with different furniture. Where was she? And what a strange dream she'd just had.