Cold sunlight refracts through the roof making his dark eyes squint. He watches the madman stumble down the stairs, before untying the rope he had wound about his hand. A cruel shock makes him suddenly shake with nausea. Two little fingers fall away with the rope, and he nearly faints. The knife lies at his feet, glinting harshly up at his pain. He gazes in horror at this power which so casually bit through his flesh, tore his muscles, gnawed at his bones, cut his fingers clean off…a shudder runs through his body, and he falls, falls into waiting arms, sees a gold-framed face, hears and angel cry, "Oh, Will, your hand, your poor hand!" and everything fades, except for that soft voice…
