"I assume you haven't killed anyone yet."

He nodded, sitting down on the wall at the edge of the terrace beside Knox and wondering how far he would fall if he leaned back too wide.

"Ever killed an animal?"

Insects and sometimes snails, he wrote, right under his answer to Knox's offer. Looking at it once again still sent a slight tremor through him.

Knox gave a derisive snort. "What a champion. High time we change that score."

He felt how his forehead knit into a frown all by itself. Had Knox ever killed anyone? Somehow, that bastard didn't look like it. He might be wrong, but Knox wasn't a killing type. Knox was one who let others do the dirty work.

What a crazy thing, accepting that offer. What madness. This was not a good idea, definitely not. Those adventures he was looking for wouldn't be of the pleasant sort.

What a crazy thing, having come here in the first place.

Suddenly and unnaturally loud in the quietude of the night, Knox's cell phone rang. Knox answered it after glancing at the display: "Vivian? Yeah, I'm on the terrace with the boy." There was a pause. "Right, we're coming." Pocketing it again, Knox nodded it him. "Come on. He's there. Your victim."

Reluctant to leave the nightly scene, he descended after Knox into the light, blinking because his eyes were used to the darkness now.

My victim.

So his time had come.

But what if he couldn't do it? What if he stood in front of that man and simply couldn't?

No. He could do it. He knew he could. He would show that arrogant bastard Knox, that show-off who kept calling him a boy, how much anger, how much rage, how much hatred he harboured inside.

He remembered how often he had wished to kill someone. Now when he seemed to get the chance, he wasn't that sure about it anymore.

Knox led him back the way they had come, but shortly before the entrance waved him into a dimly lit room off to the side. When he entered it, he realized that it actually was larger than he had expected, and there were monitors on the far wall, though currently turned off. And right opposite him stood the ugliest fellow he had ever seen in his life. As the stranger was porky and had small, pig-like eyes, he wouldn't have been surprised if the guy had grunted at him. Besides, that man had obviously never heard of shaving, and there were at least three warts nicely arranged in his face. The intelligence written on his brow equalled about that of a mountain troll.

"He always makes me sick", Knox whispered behind him. "That's why I picked him to get killed. Good riddance, don't you think?"

He nodded. To that he could certainly agree. However, how should he exactly kill the man? Walk up to him and thrust a knife through his chest? He didn't even have a knife!

"Springfield", said Vivian, sitting off to the side in the shadows so he hadn't noticed her yet, "this is the boy. Want some information on him?"

As the fellow addressed as Springfield grunted in response, he had a hard time not to grin. Swine, he thought. Big, fat swine. You don't deserve to live.

But that it was just him who had to put out the miserable little flame of life inside that bloke… It wasn't a comfortable feeling. If Knox handed him a gun now, it would be easy. He would just pull the trigger. That couldn't be difficult, just moving your finger a tiny bit.

"He's an orphan", Vivian informed Springfield, "obviously of Romanian origin. That's over in Europe, just for your information. Where Count Dracula comes from. Lost his parents under mysterious circumstances, seemingly in a fire. Hasn't spoken a single word since, as I've heard. You shouldn't underestimate him, he's quicker and stronger than he looks. Are you accepting the challenge?"

Another grunt was the answer, sounding like "yeah".

"Anthony, do you accept?"

"He does", Knox answered for him.

Watching Springfield advance on him, he let the black shirt glide from his shoulders and threw it over a chair nearby. It would only be in the way.

"Skinny bit of a fella", growled Springfield, beginning to circle him. "And pale. You sure he's not a vampire himself, boss?" Laughing at his own joke, he prodded him in the chest. "You sure you wanna do that?"

He drew a deep breath and then looked the man straight in the eyes, forcing all his contempt and hatred into his gaze. In the meantime, he was thinking hard. Springfield was shorter than him, but a lot heavier. Without a weapon, how should he deal with him? How should he even kill him? Back at the tavern, he had had chairs at hand, and he hadn't planned on killing anyone, just stopping them attacking him. Now, when Knox wanted him to kill, there was nothing at hand.

"I guess he's disturbed", Springfield sneered. "Just look at that face of his. And not speaking anymore since your parents' death? How much did your precious mommy mean to you, baby? Or was it you who set fire to them, eh?"

It happened all by itself. His fist hit Springfield right on the already flat nose, making him tumble backwards. Before the man had caught himself again, he had already kicked him in the stomach, which sent Springfield crashing into the wall and then fold up like a thrown-away doll. Teeth bared, he glared down at him, his chest heaving heavily, trying to get a grip on himself.

Scored a point. Definitely.

"Man…" Springfield was getting up again, clutching his stomach with one hand, rubbing his face with the other. "Hasn't anyone bothered to teach you manners yet?"

Don't let that swine get an advantage! He kicked again, aiming for Springfield's face but hitting his forehead instead. The effect was the same, however: With a groan, the man fell over once more. What a pity he wasn't wearing his boots! That might have hurt even more. But he compensated it by letting a kick into the lying man's side follow.

How did you kill a man without weapons? Strangle him? Probably quite difficult when the victim was still fighting back. Kick the bones of his nose into his brain? That certainly required some skill. Step on his neck and crush his windpipe? Good idea!

He launched himself at the still sprawling man once more, ready to ram his heel into Springfield's throat – just get it done, get the whole damn business done! – and kicked into thin air as Springfield rolled over, then lost his balance and fell as Springfield tripped him. He hadn't expected the ground to be that hard; the air was knocked out of his lungs, tiny bright dots swirled before his eyes.

Seeing the stars, am I?

Get up, man, get up, God damn it!

And then the dots won some intensity as a boot crashed into his ribs. "Take this, you son of a bitch!" roared Springfield. "And this! And this!" The pain rushed through him in waves, made him curl up and try to roll away, twitch his legs weakly in defence-

"Ow!" Springfield howled, backing away rubbing his kneecap, and he realized that he must have hit him by mere accident, which helped a lot easing the pain.

This is your chance! Get up!

Groaning, he raised himself to his hands and knees, overcome by drowsiness. Two fights in such a short time obviously were too much. He forced his aching muscles to move, but already Springfield was coming at him again, he would never be able to dodge…

"Stop right here!" It was Vivian. "Over here, Springfield. Anthony, get up and join Eric."

Surprised and equally relieved to have at least a little bit of time to catch his breath again, he trotted over to Knox as Vivian had told him. With some disappointment written on his beastly visage, Springfield came to Vivian's side.

"That's my boy", said Knox brightly. "Getting the idea of how the brute fights?"

He nodded. The next time, he would watch out for dirty tricks.

"Feeling okay?"

He massaged his side, imagining the bruises building up, and shrugged. After all, it could have been worse, he thought. The shiny dots had gone, and he was steady on his feet again.

If only they'd let him go to the bathroom now! That would improve his situation a lot.

"You managed to give him a nosebleed, did you notice?"

Surprised at himself, he shook his head. No, actually he hadn't.

"Well, you weren't bad, really", Knox stated. "Only that you went down for that stupid trick of his… Pity. But now you're warned, aren't you?"

He nodded with determination. Indeed.

"So… It's time to enter a more interesting stage of combat now." Grinning like one of those devils from medieval paintings of hell, Knox produced a knife with a black handle and a thin, curved blade. "I'll let you use mine. Lucky weapon. I like to carry it around with me. It has never yet tasted blood, though."

He accepted the knife from Knox, nodding his thanks, and ran his thumb along the blade. It was sharper than he would have guessed. Unusual for such a small thing, he thought. That one was made for decoration, not for combat. The blade is only about as long as my forefinger. Why does Knox keep it that sharp? Probably he gets his kicks from such things.

And I'm going to kill with his precious toy…

There was an uneasy feeling down in his stomach, apart from the pressure in his bladder, but he tried to ignore it. He would not think now. He would just act. He would just stab that ugly swine as quickly as possible.

Yes, but where? Through the chest? Was the blade long enough to pierce his heart? He assumed so. But was there any better way? Slit the stomach? No, way too messy.

"Listen", Knox spoke again, this time in nothing but a rough whisper. "You just go and do him, right? As quickly and efficiently as possible. And be careful not to lose the knife! I'll have to stop Springfield before he does something to you – but only because Morgan made me promise, mind you! – yet I will take my time if you are stupid enough to let him get his dirty paws on my favourite knife. Understand?"

He nodded, mentally thanking Benji for taking care of him.

"Let's get started, then."

Springfield was already expecting him, and below his nose his face was really smeared with red. "You dare, little Mr Dracula- Hey, wait! He's got a knife!"

"Yeah, and this knife is mine and I gave it to him", he heard Knox answer from behind him, and there was a nasty, but fascinating tone of evil anticipation in his voice. "He is meant to have one."

Turning to Vivian, Springfield protested: "You didn't mention that! You merely said-"

"That you were to fight a lad", Knox cut in. "For my entertainment and to teach said lad a lesson. A special honour reserved for you. That was all. Sure, there was no mentioning of weapons in what my partner told you. But there was no mentioning of none, either."

Springfield's forehead crumpled up in the effort to understand this. "I'll call the police", he finally came up with.

"No good idea. Definitely. Remember poor old Clarke? It was you who slew him, wasn't it?"

Again Springfield grunted, having nothing else to say.

"Moreover", Vivian added, "you're believed to be on the dole. Nobody knows you work for Eric. That will be several years' taxes, no matter if they can prove you killed Clarke or not That trouble you find yourself in might not be as big as Eric says, but big enough, don't you think?"

There was another grunt.

"Do you agree, then?" Knox asked sharply.

Springfield nodded sheepishly.

"Then meet my promising new assassin, Springfield. You have the honour of being his first victim. Anthony, get at him. And don't be scrupulous."

He attacked in a run, eager to finish this bloody task as quickly as possible. As he charged, he saw panic cross Springfield's expression, saw fear of death in those dull little eyes. He brought the knife down, just aiming at Springfield's torso-

No, he couldn't. He couldn't just stab the man.

Springfield had no problems with blocking his weak attempt. "Get off me, Dracula!" he bellowed, pushing him away and now in his turn attacking.

Mentally cursing, he dodged a punch. Why did Knox have to tell him? Now Springfield knew he was fighting for his life, which would make him desperate. Which, in turn, would make the swine harder to defeat.

That was your big chance right now, and you spoiled it. Only because of your sentimentality.

Clenching his teeth, he let the blade descend into Springfield's arm, making the man howl with pain. Interesting, there was a bit of resistance as the blade was plunged into the flesh, just like with pork…

Go on, that man is pork. Treat him like part of your dinner.

Meat pie, I'm coming!

Again he stabbed at him, this time merely wounding Springfield's hand held up in defence, then he hit the man's shoulder, then his arm once more. As he pulled the blade out again, some blood was splattered onto the wall.

Roaring with helpless rage, Springfield threw himself at him, almost throwing him off his feet but accidentally ramming the knife into his own stomach with full force at the same time. With a terrible howl, Springfield retreated, clutching himself.

Shelob, he thought, remembering the giant spider from The Lord of the Rings. She just does the same thing, throwing herself at Sam and thereby ramming his little sword into her soft underside.

There was a bit of blood on his right hand.

"Go ahead, finish him", Vivian said coldly.

"Yeah, finish him!" Knox sounded just like a spectator at a football match.

Summoning all the wrath and hatred he carried within, he stepped forth, grabbed the man by the shoulder-

Their eyes met.

Remember Ceausescu.

Remember that officer.

Remember your parents.

And you have a pig's eyes, Meat Pie!

But still… is this approaching Death, mirrored in his eyes?

Can he see what I cannot see now?

What lies Beyond?

The moment elongated into an eternity…

… and then suddenly was over. Grasping the knife tightly, he thrust it into Springfield's throat. As the blade met its target, he closed his eyes. There was an ugly sound, quite similar to that of a knife cutting through carton, a gurgle… And then something warm and wet ran over his fingers, splashed over them as he withdrew the blade.

He opened his eyes. Before him, Springfield was slumping to the ground slowly, staring at him with wide, expressionless eyes, blood spurting out from a slash all over his throat. Fingers grasped at his knee, all strength gone from them, flinched uncontrollably, clutched thin air. Springfield tried to say something, but no words came. Instead, a bubble of blood built up between his trembling lips, exploded and soiled his face. A cough shook the dying man, making more blood follow, thick, dark blood like slime. And still he stared at him with those empty eyes, and still his lips moved, and still he drew mouthfuls of rattling breath although it was pointless…

Can't you die, man? Can't you just die right now?

Springfield gurgled, spraying his sneakers with blood.

God damn it, die!

I've killed him. I've actually killed him. Ye gods, I've killed the man.

And still he's looking at me like that…

He thrust the blade into the man's neck once more to end it all, and again, and again, and those damn eyes were still looking at him, and again, and the man's head hit the ground finally, and again, and there was a little stream of blood from his mouth…

There, beside a burnt-down caravan, lay Cornel Lanu, a trail of blood leading from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and Ioan Dinescu beside him, his hair still burning with small, hungry flames, and a bit off to the side Liviu, the young man who had once been his friend, his eyes still open and glassily staring into nothingness…

He dropped the knife in disgust and turned away from Springfield's body that moved no more now. His right hand and forearm were bathed in blood.

"Anthony", Vivian purred, "you're magnificent."