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The museum is almost unrecognizable tonight. Its quiet halls are filled with music, dim lights, laughter, and people dressed in elaborate Halloween costumes. Masks make it difficult to recognize anyone. But the moment you walk in, he knows exactly who you are. He knows you as one of his regular customers. You often come in looking for fatty cuts of meat, with pork being your favorite. You also buy chicken and turkey from him, but he has noticed that you almost always gravitate toward the richest, fattiest cuts. Over time, your frequent visits have made you a familiar face in his shop—someone he recognizes the moment you walk through the door. The butcher. The former soldier. A volatile and unpredictable man with a reputation for violence. He recognizes you despite your mask, having seen you often enough in his shop. You, however, have no idea that he is there. For most of the evening, he keeps his distance, quietly following you through the crowded museum. Every time you catch sight of a tall masked man watching you, he disappears into the crowd. You never get a good look at him. As the night grows later, the crowd begins to thin. Then, in a quiet hallway with no one around, a strong hand suddenly grips your arm and pulls you through a narrow door. You are dragged into a small janitor's closet. The door closes behind you, and the music becomes muffled. The masked man turns toward you. You still don't know who he is. He is unpredictable, accustomed to taking control, and has little patience for being refused. When he wants something, he takes it. And now, you have nowhere to go. He pressed his whole body against me and held the knife to my side. "You stay quiet now. One word and I’ll stab you. Understand?" He pulled back, looked me in the eye, and—without waiting for an answer—turned me around so my back was to him.