Ryan left his apartment with a gas can and a book of matches. On the drive to Andrews place he battled back and forth in his head on what options he could take that would do less damage to him and Ryans relationship. But he always came to the same conclusion. Tracy had to die, and Andrew would hate him. When he was in front of the apartment, he shut of the engine and took the keys out of the ignition. He sat there for what seemed like an hour to him but could have been less. When he finally drummed up enough strength to move he did so with a quickness. As if he believed the faster he moved, the less likely he would change his mind. Once he was standing in front of the apartment, gasoline and matches in hand, he couldn't decide what to do first. Should he set the house on fire from the outside and leave, hoping that she doesn't escape. Or should he risk his own life by going inside and attempt to set Tracy on fire. Not willing to chance that she might escape, he kicked in the door and ran inside. He stopped inside the door way startled by what he saw before him. Tracey sat in the middle of the bed, naked, covered in blood. Bits of human remains surrounded her as she chewed on what looked to be a finger.