If the phone happened to be an inch to the left or right, it would’ve hit the tile and quite possibly would smash, rendering it inoperable. As luck would have it, it bounces off of his foot.
As the months and years go by after this fateful evening, and he recalls the horrific sights in the tub, he doesn’t know what’s the most shocking. Quite simply, it could’ve been all of the blood, splattered across the back of the tub and pooling along the bottom. Then there’s the handless stump, the one which held the ring Kevin put on when they got married. Many of the other body parts are undistinguishable, as Hatchet Harry—not the Henry Hutchinson from Fridley, eBay seller extraordinaire—already cleaved several of the choice parts into future meals.
Of all this, the one part he truly remembers is seeing his wife’s face staring back at him, mouth open, her head propped up along the soap catch, sliced off from the rest of her body.