“Let’s go to my house.” “Your house?” “Yeah. You can meet my mom.” “What about your dad?” “Oh, he has to work late tonight. Sorry.” “Don’t apologize, it’s fine! I’m sure I’ll meet him another time. Oh, don’t do your nervous thing! There will be plenty of opportunities for me to meet him later.” “My ‘nervous thing’?” “You know. Where you pinch your eyebrows together tilt your head over your shoulder.” “Well, you’re a perceptive one...” “Come on, don’t look at me like that! I notice things about a lot of different people.” “Alright, Detective Beautiful, we should probably start heading to my house now. It’s not far, just about a ten-minute walk.”
“Hey, is that your dad in that picture on the mantle? The one in the navy frame?” “Yeah, from when he was on a business trip in Seattle. You’re from there, right?” “Uh, yeah, but the thing is...” “What is it? Are you alright?” “Uh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine, but the thing is...the thing is that I have...have the same picture, the same frame...at my house. On my mantle. Actually, I...I took the picture.”
Poe's narrator descends into madness early on in the story and from then on, he experiences psychological turbulence that results in the murder of his wife and his own imprisonment for life.
