"How's he?" Vivian asked when they all were assembled around a little table, having a glass of soda together.

"Oh, he's perfectly alright." Knox grinned broadly.

"What took you that long? Was he sick or what? I think that happened to Morgan."

"He? Nah! He merely needed a piss." Still grinning, Knox boxed him in the arm. "He's of the tough sort, it seems."

Feeling very much Knox's equal now, he grinned back. And Benji had been sick! Yes, he was tough, he was the toughest. He had been made the toughest fellow he himself knew.

But at great pain.

On this terrible day when his whole world had collapsed around him, his path had been laid out before him. Suffering had made him what he was now. Pain had formed him, made him ready for what lay ahead.

He took another swig from his glass, savouring those thoughts and at the same time cringing inwardly at the memories locked inside him, never to be formed into words.

When Vivian's hand touched his, he almost flinched.

"What is it you are thinking about?" she asked gently. "What makes your expression so dark, your eyes so fierce?"

"Oh, come on, Vivian! He's just killed somebody! Do you expect him to laugh merrily? I've never met anybody who would."

"No, it's something else. Isn't it, Anthony?"

Before he could think about it, he nodded, but regretted it immediately.

"Now where did we leave that notepad?"

"I have it", said Knox. "But I don't feel like having serious discussions right now."

Grateful, he nodded as affirmatively as he could. No, this was none of Vivian's business, even though he felt somehow drawn to her. This matter was his, and his alone.

"You see", Knox added, "the lad agrees with me."

"Oh, men." Vivian rolled her eyes at her partner.

"I suggest we go bowling instead."

"You jerk! Only nightclubs have open now."

"No, I was referring to our nice bowling facilities in the cellar. But we could also go to a nightclub, eh, kid? Leave Vivian here and spend the night partying?"

He smiled in response, not feeling like joking at all.

Vivian was answering in a similar manner, yet he didn't pay attention to their playful bickering. A look at his watch told him that it was well past one o'clock. His roommates would probably be asleep by now. Or maybe they would still be up talking, probably about him. Would it be very much in favour of him? Although he generally liked the boys sharing a dormitory with him, he strongly doubted it. They were just colleagues, or, especially in the case of Jake, comrades. Nothing more. There was no real friend among them. When he had looked into the broken gaze of Liviu's dead eyes, he had seen the last of friendship in this world.

Ye gods, Liviu! How he had adored the young man! When they had first met – it had been in the last days of 1980 in Vienna, just after having succeeded in leaving the East behind… He shivered even in his warm winter jacket as the cold wind whipped at him. The air was dry and as icy as he imagined the North Pole, and snow was falling in tender flocks, dancing on the wind… He clearly recalled how happy his parents had been to be finally out of all Communist dictators' reach, in the freedom only the West offered. He himself, he had not quite known what to think of it. He had been afraid of what was to come, yet still hungry for all the new and exciting lying before him. When they had arrived, another family had awaited them: the Dinescu family, Liviu's family. Liviu had been a lad of almost seventeen years then, to him, not even five at that time, a grown-up. And this tall young man knelt down before him and patted his head. "Hello, little one. I'm Liviu. I'll be your playmate until you find someone better." He beamed at the child, and his brown eyes shone, and a curl of light brown hair hung over his brow…

The days following had been jolly days. They had seen the whole of Vienna, and Liviu had been like a brother to him, playing with him, looking after him, carrying him when he was tired of walking. And on Sylvester Night, as the sky outside was alight with the brightly coloured sparks of the fireworks of celebration, Liviu had sworn eternal friendship to him, never to forsake him, always to be his brother…

"…until the cold hand of Death stays my heart."

He smiled inwardly at the memory. When he now looked back on it, it had been just another game; Liviu had not been quite serious. But back in those days, it had meant very much to him.

And all those he had loved now lived no more…

"You listening, Tony boy? We've come to a decision."

Raising his eyebrows at Knox, he wondered if he had missed anything.

"I actually planned on having a high time, you know, opening a bottle of champagne and pick a fight among my employees, then go watch a movie on the big screen or something like that-"

"Yes, yes", Vivian interrupted, "that's about his concept of social life when he has a guest."

"You don't understand, Viv", Knox retorted. "That's boys' talk."

"Oh yeah? To me it's just a damn lot of silliness."

"Ignore her, Tony", Knox counselled. "She always tries to spoil the fun."

I'm Tony to you? That's interesting. I don't recall allowing you to call me so…

"You wanted to sum up the result of our discussion, Eric", she reminded him.

"Yeah, right. I was coming to that. In the end, we decided that we're going to bed now."

Sounds like a good idea, he thought, I could need some rest. While he mentally still was widely awake, his limbs were beginning to feel heavy as lead. Moreover, now his attention wasn't occupied with something else, it seemed that every muscle in his body was aching. Two brutal fights on one evening… That was just too much.

"Where is he going to sleep?" Vivian asked. "Did that ever occur to you? I wouldn't place him in the staff's quarters; those guys can be rather rough with the new boys. I suppose at least Paulie and Mikey might be arriving early in the morning tomorrow."

"He's not sleeping in your bed, either", Knox snapped.

Vivian rolled her eyes at him. "I'll tell you something, stupid: He sleeps in your room, you sleep in mine."

"And you sleep in yours, too", Knox added, careful to make sure of that.

"Jealous, are we?" Vivian mocked him.

"You're not going to fall for the assassin", Knox said firmly.

The assassin. Yes, that's me. The dark and evil assassin.

He felt like growing several inches at this thought.

"I think you should really go to bed now, Eric. You're talking nonsense." With these words, Vivian rose from her seat and beckoned him to follow her. Hastily he drained his glass, then jumped to his feet. "I'll show you your quarters", Vivian said.

"I'm coming along", Knox informed her immediately.

"I don't mind."

The rooms belonging to Knox and Vivian were in the tower, right below the roof. He had expected Knox's room to be a lot larger, yet it turned out to be nothing but a small chamber with a bed in it and an old cupboard in a corner. There was a radio on a little bedside table, but that was all. From what the room looked like, it was easy to deduce that Knox didn't normally live here, or if he was staying here, that he spent his time somewhere else.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, he threw off the shirt Knox had borrowed him and in the dim light of a little lamp had another look at his forearm. No, it appeared to be quite clean. No traces of blood to be discovered. And when he sniffed it, it merely smelled of that horrible grey soap.

Why don't you just stop it, you jerk? You're really acting like Lady Macbeth!

And pick up that shirt, idiot. It's not yours.

He hung Knox's shirt over the end of the bed, then started pacing the room a bit. But since there wasn't much space to do so, he rather quickly gave it up and sat down on the bed, resting his head in his hands. It had been quite a night. First that tavern swordfight Benji had insisted on, then being taken away and questioned by a woman he didn't know, confronted with a man he didn't know who could offer him a job he didn't know anything about, then doing several pointless things, from running up and down a slope to tavern-brawling, for some unknown reason… Uncertainties everywhere. And then, finally, Knox's announcement on the dark terrace – and after that, it now seemed to him that everything had happened all by itself. He accepted and almost immediately killed his first man. And that about was it, now it was bedtime for him. Having achieved what Knox had wanted him to do, it was enough for the day.

It had been clever to launch him at Springfield so soon after his agreeing to Knox's offer, he now recognized, for it had given him very little time to consider what he was actually doing.

And now he was in it, there was no way out. This realization dawned on him with brutal force. He moaned, pressing his fists to his temples; he cursed his own recklessness and folly. Now he was dependent on Knox. One wrong action, and Knox might well be finding a way of bringing him to justice.

Never before had the idea occurred to him that there might be any reason of bringing himself to justice. The justice he had craved for was revenge – justice for those he had loved. And now…

You are not better than them. You dare to accuse them, yet the hand with which you point at them is bathed in blood just as well.

I am, he shot back at himself. Damn it, I am! I was the one who was wronged in the first place. When I was weak, there was nobody who would stand up for me. Now my time has come, and I am strong. Now the world shall pay for all that pain inflicted on me. Wounds for wounds, blood for blood, death for death.

Yes, it was you, World, who made me what I am. If you make my life hell, I will become the fiend to live in it.

Satisfied with his conclusion, he decided to give the whole matter no more thought now. Time to sleep. Not a bad idea after all. He started taking off his clothes, but already when untying his shoelaces he stopped. There were dark red blots on his sneakers. Blood. Springfield's blood. He spat on one of his shoes and industriously tried to rub the stains off, but it wouldn't quite work. The bloodstains stayed where they were, only a very slight bit paler than before.

Oh, damn it all, he told himself. There was time enough for cleaning up tomorrow. Taking off the rest of his clothes, he turned off the light and then crawled into bed in his boxers and wrapped the blanket around him tightly. The bedding was still cold, and he curled up like a dog, trying to keep himself warm, trying to ignore his still aching body. After some time, warmth crept into sheet and blanket, and he relaxed a bit. Just close your eyes. Sleep. You're tired. He rolled around a bit until he found a comfortable position, lying on his stomach with his left arm hugging the pillow, his face buried in it, and pulled the blanket around him. Again he was surrounded by the same warm, comfortable darkness of which he was part, protecting him from unfriendly eyes, guarding him while he was alone. Soon he fell asleep.