The first bullet entered Jamus’s arm through his upraised elbow. Rory had only shot a gun once, and that was a long time ago. The room was tiny, and the gun’s shot consumed the room with light, a bad aroma, and silence.
Watching Jamus’s arm contort backwards from the shot going limp with the rest of Jamus’s body, and all of his senses consumed with that one bullet fired at close range, the scene became dizzying real.
“What the fuck!” Jamus writhed on between his desk and chair, shaking.
Rory knew he was supposed to finish the job, kill this person. Kill Jamus. Why was that? His mind felt very heavy and he laid down on the bed, was he sick? He didn’t feel sick, but he was so dizzy.
There was something else he was supposed to do now. He had the worst headache now. He would need to find relief somehow, didn’t he have some pills on him? He remembered putting them somewhere, they were… oh right, in his waistband. Well, now he was holding the container.
The second bullet waited…