Rachel draws her weapon and rises to her feet. She presses the pistol into James’ forehead hissing “pow” over his ear. James desperately tries to maneuver his head away from the gun’s point blank aim. Petrified shock stretches over his face. There’s a small red circle on his forehead from the gun— like the remnant of a promise to kill him.

James falls sideways in his seat, incapacitated with fear, and then everything shrinks, goes black, and shuts down.

Rachel sprays a white haired woman of ninety years old with James’ pulverized brain matter. Panick swirls with frantic limbs and howling cries as people scamper for the door. Rachel remains calm. She pulls out her pocket mirror and inspects her face. One drop of blood rests on each of her porcelin white cheeks. She rubs them in like they are splotches of mahogony makeup and clamly walks away.

James is senselessly drifting through death’s impervious darkness…