We’re in a room with a man.

We don’t know him.

She smiles at me.

I smile at her.

She goes.

Eyes and hair and lips and arms and tits and legs and pussy and ass.

I look into his eyes—green iris, the white bloodshot, the pupil mad. It’s bad.

I need to urinate.

“Hey, mate,” I say. “I gotta take a piss.”

He smiles a toothless smile.

“Sure,” he says. “Come along,” he motions to the hallway with a black, snub nose .38 in his right hand.

I’m his prisoner, it seems.

He follows me down the hall.

The door is jammed.

I ram it with my shoulder.

It opens.

Her body’s in the tub.

Her head in the toilet.

There is a lot of blood.

And an explosion.

And blinding light.

And nothingness.

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