#10 Ten
Each bullet lay on the desk, neatly in rows, labelled one to ten. Even as they stared her in the face she could scarcely believe it. How could you hate someone enough to fill them with not one, not two, not even five but TEN bullets? From a handgun! The intensity of antipathy that took was beyond her comprehension. When was one violent kiss of death - a bullet to the head - not enough? Was it a point being made to the world or was it a viscous outpouring of pent up aggression?
The swish of the lab doors opening cut through her thoughts, a heavy hand slammed on the desk and one by one the bullets rattled their way off the table. With fire in her eyes she looked up at Boyd, and thought maybe she understood how the feeling started.