The HeadlineA domed city split by four rivers, an island at its center. In the southeast quadrant, a white mansion stood on 192nd street in a heavy downpour. On the second story, a folded newspaper lay atop a tea-table.
I sat at the tea-table gazing at the curtain of water formed by the rain as it passed over the eaves. Thunder cracked, whip-like, as lightning flashed. Black clouds hung in the early morning sky.
Seven days ago, the gentleman investigator Blaze Rainbow and I rescued twelve-year-old David Bryce from his kidnappers. Could I ever forget the sound of blood dripping, the gore splattered on white walls, the screams and moans of dying men?
This past week in my sickbed, I had ample time to consider this matter. The men I killed had friends, families, people who loved them. Could
