Justin stood in the dark room. The single window in the dimly lit room had boards pushed across it so only cracks of light caught the air. Justin sat his thumb on the hammer of the Silverballer and stared into the man's eyes.

With no warning he grabbed the back of the man's head and slammed it into the desk next to him. The chair rocked as Justin let the man go, so he steadied it with his hand. The blood flowed quickly over the man's face, over the bruises and cuts and the broken lip. It fell into his lap, down his hands and mingled with a knife cut along his forearm. It pooled in his palms and soaked into the carpet with sullen intensity.

His arms ground at the thick ropes and blood oozed out from under the twisted knots. The hitman watched the struggles, bemused, and tapped the muzzle of the gun against the prisoner's bare shoulder.

"It's not often that I enjoy this sort of thing. I do it, but only as a matter of course." His feet moved softly across the floor. "But you were fun." A moan sounded from behind him and he half rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. The girl lay sprawled on the floor, her nightie exposing her thighs and butt. Her wrists were tied with thick rope that had rubbed her pearl-white skin red raw. Cold brown eyes imagined they were boring into her but Justin didn't turn to face her. He held the gun up so it glinted in the light. He knew where her eyes were, he knew he had blinded her for just a moment. The moan stopped.

"I liked the way I had to work to make you scream. And that even now you are trying not to make a noise. I don't care about noises. I don't care about blood. I just like death." He had put the gun back against the man's jaw and now he ran it seductively over his throat and up to his temple. The man shivered. "Do you know what my name means?" There was no silencer on the gun. It fired loudly. As the echoes died away Justin spoke. "It means Justice. I am Justice." He pushed the gun up into the soft flesh of the now-bloody chin and looked mournfully into the glazed eyes. "I think it is a joke."

Time settled around them like dust. The dead man's skin grew a little colder.

The girl's wrists were still tied but she was sitting up now. He had opened the shutters so the sunlight danced through the cracked glass like candle light. He noticed her sharp hips for just moment before he realized how pure and soft her face seemed, though grimy, in the gentle light. She needed to be fed, and he needed food but not yet. A slither or guilt settled on him for leaving her there. Then he noticed the Silverballer, uncleaned, sitting on the small table. He took a corner of his dress shirt and rubbed away the blood that was mostly already dried on the muzzle of the hitman's gun.

The girl let out a little noise, not a moan, not a sigh. He glanced at her; her wrists were still tied. He stiffened as she shrank away from him and for a moment he felt like the living dead, but then he flicked out a knife and freed her wrists.

"Sorry," he said as she rubbed her wrists. Her thick, tangled hair fell over her eyes when she lifted her head.

"Yes," was all he heard and her voice was dry but beautiful and sweet. It was a voice he instinctively wanted to curl up with and protect. Hearing her voice Justin felt his heart sink.

"What is your name?"

"Abigail. Abi." He felt himself begin to smile but he stopped himself in time. A smile on his face now would be frozen in her mind, juxtaposed with a dead man and a silver gun. But he liked her name.

"Abigail, Abi, I am sorry. I should not have kept you in this room. I should not have let you, no, have made you, see that. I wish I could change that back." She seemed confused by his apology so Justin turned his back to her. "There is a room down the hall. You may stay there for the night. I will be here if you need me. I will keep an eye on you for tonight. In the morning, you will be free to go."

Abigail stood and pulled her nightie down. Her feet had blood on them, he noticed, and she didn't look at his face, only at the floor.

When the door clicked closed after her Justin sighed, leaning against the wall. Shoving one hand in his jeans' pocket Justin hung his head and breathed slowly. The gun was a comforting weight in his hand but he could see the blood stains on the carpet. The mess didn't matter, it would be taken care of but the girl, the gun, the man. The room was too small so he straightened himself to go outside. His shirt was covered in blood but he ignored it, and while still holding the Silverballer in his hand went to stand outside.

It seemed to be midday but really it was sunset. The balcony was right over a cliff looking down onto the huddled city and the wind blew. It looked as though it was meant to be warm but he shivered and then he shivered again. It was beautiful but he could feel that he was distanced from it. He felt emotionless and broken, like a sheet of glass smashed against a rock and then the shards gathered together, someone saying yes, yes, you are real. But he knew he was not. He felt like broken glass frozen in place by ice. One moment so very strong. The next, shattered once again.

He did not know how long he stood there but when Abi opened the door and joined him she was clean and her hair was wet. The clouds had changed from a light brown to a musky blue. The sun had gone. She only had her short nightie to wear and as the wind brushed past her still-damp skin she shivered. Justin noticed but did not think to offer his coat. When she spoke he was not ready, her voice startled him even though he knew she was standing there.

"I am sorry, is there something to eat?" He wondered why she was apologizing. Feeling hollow and fragile he turned to face her. Abigail's small, scared eyes burned into his heart and he felt the unfamiliar need to bundle her in his arms.

"No there is not," Justin's voice was harsher than he intended but his face was unpracticed at looking apologetic. "In the morning I can take you to a diner but now there is no food. I never eat after..." He stopped as he realized he was not alone. He was too used to being alone and too often he spoke his ideas aloud. Abi didn't smile or flinch at the mistaken reminder of the dead man, she simply shivered. "Sorry," he said.

"What are you going to do with the body?" Justin started at her voice.

"He will be taken care of." He replied after a moment. It was his standard response to anything, when he had somebody to talk to. More often than not, he was alone.

"You've done this before," Abi said bluntly. Justin suddenly felt inherently evil, and he could feel it grabbing down his throat into his stomach and crushing his soul. He didn't want to answer, so he didn't.

"Go inside," he tossed his head towards the door as he said this, and his hair flicked up in front of his face. The girl stood firm.

"You always in control?" Justin frowned, his emotions changing rapidly from anger to sadness to cruel rage. He said nothing as they settled down to his normal, unfeeling self. She waited for some reaction, afraid to her depths of this man with the silver gun, but Justin did nothing and so Abi did as he said. The door shut quietly behind her. Justin breathed out loudly. His control of his actions and even his thoughts was excellent, but he also gave in much too often to his desires. That girl was a temptation, and the gun in his hand was already loaded.

Continued.