For a moment, suicide crossed his mind, but with a dry laugh he banished the thought. "He wouldn't let me." It was a statement, not a question. Then he shook his head, fists clenching tightly. "So what, this means I'm his?" His face twisted in disgust. "Like hell."
He shook his head again, another dry laugh escaping him. "I remember Loomis telling me once that this church group thought I did my murders for a Satanic cult." He laughed again, this time a long, low laugh that held more than a note of hysteria. "I should call them up and correct them. 'No, see, I wasn't a cultist until a few days ago. Satan? Nah. Azathoth. Oh, by the way, tell Nettie I'll be seeing her soon, okay?'" After that he couldn't hold it in any more and he leaned his head back, mouth dropping open as peals of hysterical laughter tore through him. He laughed until his sides hurt, and continued until the laughs bled into sobs, and then he was quiet again.
He looked over at Del again, this time looking exhausted but at least slightly more coherent. "I guess I can't just stab him in the face, can I?"