“Gireson doesn’t get mad at my methods when you don’t talk,” Temmins said. “So what shall we try next?” He mocked waiting for a response from Randal, leaning in close for an answer. “What was that?” He leaned in closer, and Randal could smell the man’s bitter odor. “Did you say something?” He waited again. “You are twisted, aren’t you?” Temmins said with a laugh, replying to an unspoken answer he may have actually heard in his own head. “Very well.” He scratched his scaly scalp. “We’ll try your suggestion. Get your beauty rest; I’ll wake you when I’m back.”