She thought I would go away.
But I waited
Many times, either by chance or strategy
luck or design
She would escape like a rat down a sewer.
Of course I was pleased to witness her death and destruction at long last.
It was the only good thing to come out of that day on Terminal.
Yet, I still felt a pang of disappointment. I had made a silent vow back on that dark night on Sarran.
A vow to him, that I would get her myself.
It was instinctive, it was family.
It happened about eighteen months after the events on Terminal. I was on Ceros with Tarrant and had gone out to get some supplies.
She was heavily disguised, but I recognized her instantly.
I was shocked for a moment, but then completely unsurprised.
There was a perverse kind of logic to it, as Avon would say.
After all, she always did have nine lives. Like the dirty, scheming alley cat she was.
Not this time.
I didn't use a gun.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the knife that I always carried with me.
Tarrant was forever telling me that we were free now, there was no need to go out armed all the time. But after the life we'd led up until then, I refused to take any chances.
That fear in your eyes . . .
How does it feel?
Now you know exactly what he experienced.
I drove the blade in straight and deep . . . into the region where the heart is . . . not something that would apply to her, of course.
Have you ever tried to cut raw chicken? A thick piece, like a chicken breast?
Skin has less resistance than you'd think, but flesh has a fair amount of density. Stabbing is far easier than slicing.
Your very last moment . . . your final breath.
I can still see her blood flowing
Her dress, underwear, the floor, walls, furniture were all soaked with her blood.
If you have been trained in combat as I have, you will know the difference between the two types of blood.
The blood spray at first was a brighter shade of red. This was arterial blood, oxygenated and spewed out by a still-beating heart.
The dark red blood from the veins had less oxygen and was under less pressure from the heart. This blood oozed out of her veins, forming red pools on the floor.
"I like the ancient weapons . . .
"I like the ancient weapons . . . the spear,
"I like the ancient weapons . . . the spear, the sword,
"I like the ancient weapons . . . the spear, the sword, the knife.
"I like the ancient weapons . . . the spear, the sword, the knife. They demand more skill.
"I like the ancient weapons . . . the spear, the sword, the knife. They demand more skill. When you fight with them conflict becomes more personal . . .
"I like the ancient weapons . . . the spear, the sword, the knife. They demand more skill. When you fight with them conflict becomes more personal . . . More exciting."
Now he can finally find peace.
And hopefully, so can I.