I can't stop myself. I am compelled to fondle the rest of his underwear.

You start with the bra. It has a smooth cup, is trimmed in lace and is lightly padded.

You tell yourself that you have to inspect it very carefully, in case there are other hidden messages or maybe secret symbols embroidered into it.

But, in truth, you are just thrilled to touch it and to feel the feminine fabrics, the straps, the soft inner cups, on your fingers. You hold the cup up to your face and nuzzle the inside of it.

To be honest, you haven't had much experience with women. You don't have any sisters, just two asshole older brothers. You've been on some dates, sure, and you lost your virginity (finally!) late in college, but you're too shy and you've never had a steady girlfriend.

It doesn't help that you're in a testosterone-infused work environment. The women seem to immediately ignore you when one of the lawyers enters the room. And when you get home all you do is play video games.

And so, feeling the bra is a delicious experience for you. You know it was last worn by a dead man, but it is still a bra, and you can't help yourself. You just know that you will steal it and take it home with you. After all, Mr. Hewitt is dead, he won't mind, right?

What's this, are there other messages embroidered into the cups?