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“Just went out to punch some trees, did you? Box a few rounds with a buddy at the gym?” “No.” “So what, then?” “I can’t tell you.” “Why?” “Because I can’t have you hate me. It would end me if you hated me. I can handle anything but that.” I stare at him, so calm and handsome, so odd and enigmatic, and so obviously dangerous it permeates the air all around him, and realize that this man standing in front of me is capable of anything. Including extreme violence. I knew it before, but now I know it in a different way. Not only is he capable of violence, he goes out and looks for it. He walks around with it in the darkness, holding its hand. He prepares for it, evidenced by that case with its ominous smear and whatever tools of mayhem it contains. And, if I’m not mistaken, there’s a p
- Writer
