“Oh, wow,” Hayes said, standing erect with the blade covered in my blood. “‘Pater, in manus tuas commendo spiritum meum’? Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit? You know, I was a Catholic once, Detective Snow.” He made the Sign of the Cross, then gave a dismissive shrug. “Maybe I’ll look into it again when they anoint one of them purple niggahs from Nigeria pope. But you? You think you’re all innocence and light being sacrificed on an altar of evil miscreants.” He leaned into me and began carving an M into my left pectoral. “Let this be the weight of your cross, my son.”

As I dissolved in the hydrochloric acid of pain-induced memory, I saw each of my sins. Clearly. Precisely. Horrifically. None worse than killing that boy in Afghanistan.

Perhaps this moment was my payment.

My due.

“Still with me?” Hayes said. He was wiping his hands with a rag.

I may have been mumbling the Lord’s Prayer in Latin.

“You know your greatest sin, Detective Snow?” Hayes began. He slapped my cheek several times. “Hey! Stay with me, sunshine! Your greatest sin is pride. You think you’re better than everybody else. More—noble. As if sanctioned by God to be His example on earth to man. Don’t shrinks call that a messiah complex?” He pulled a Ruger 9mm from a shoulder harness. “Let’s see how much of a messiah you truly are. Tune-up be damned—I’m ready to empty a clip in you, wait around for three days and see if you come back for my ass.” He chambered a bullet and pressed the cold barrel to my forehead. “Ready?”

“Stop!”

A voice behind me.

A woman’s voice.

Tatina.

His eyes cut away from me for a split second. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m with him—” she said.

“And I’m his godmother.”

Elena?

I tried to look over my shoulder to see them. To make sure my mind wasn’t beginning to spiral into delusional wish fulfillment, searching for a moment’s comfort before slipping weightless into the great black expanse.

“Ladies,” Hayes said, spreading his arms out to his sides. “We were just having a little fun’s all! Can’t ya see? We’re just having one helluva good time!”

The crack of a 9mm pistol unleashing a supersonic bullet.

The bullet hit his right shoulder, spinning him. He yelped and dropped to a knee.

“Not very sporting of you,” he growled, blood pouring from his shoulder wound. He struggled to his feet. “Ah, well—fuck all y’all bitches!” He raised his weapon toward me. Before he could get a shot off, he was met with a volley of six shots from behind me.

He collapsed to the floor.

Dead.

A woman stood over me.

My head wobbled up to see her.

My angel.

Tatina.

“Hi, honey,” I said, my words slurring. “I’m not—you know—feeling too good.”