As the sun rises and falls, so does Compton's spirits until him descending in to the depths of a murderous brooding. Spitting bile and sarcasm with the odd tirade at the expense of any number of unrelated parties. Eventually he grabs the old handset in the library hooked up to Pa Bell, the line already ringing through to 1-800-Go-Fed-Ex without any dialing, the tracking number printed out by the Raven dot-matrix in the corner.