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My life didn’t flash before my eyes. All I could see was the gun. No past, no future. It was hard to look away from the dull metal, even for a moment. I had this irrational fear (if any gun fear can be irrational) that it would strike of its own accord, like a snake, if I took my eyes from it. Still, my gaze was drawn to Deacon from time to time. I have on occasion inspired true loathing in a person or two or a few, so I’ve learned to recognize it. I got a good enough look at Deacon’s face to see how much he loathed me, that he really wanted to kill me, and he was going to. Even surrounded by all those nice, credible law enforcement-type witnesses, Deacon was going to kill me. Consequences be damned. And he was going to enjoy every moment.
My peripheral vision was gone. The world shra
