@perfectsonnetsâ for mattÂ
Here in Hellâs Kitchen heâs not exactly spoiled for choice, and after hours of poring over pictures of lifeless girls and their lifeless eyes and listening to Jack float dead end theory after dead end theory Willâs trigger finger is itching.Â
So this isnât the same person, at least not technically, but itâs the same type of person, and thatâs good enough. A rose by any other name and all that. Will presses the muzzle of his gun between the manâs eyes, anticipating the hot spray of blood across his face like a benediction, and that piece of human filth is stammering something stupid about how he really did lose a dog named Candy, but itâs not Willâs first rodeo. He might have bought it years ago, might have settled for some half measure and gone home with that itch still unsatisfied, but now--
âYouâre going to admit what you are,â he says quietly, cocking the hammer back, and the tune changes. Now it was a mistake, now itâs heâll never touch another kid again, now heâll leave town and never come back. Easy, clean, just like itâs been countless times, except this time theyâre not alone. Will curses silently under his breath, turns to aim his gun into the darkness behind them instead.
âWalk away.âÂ











