Two shots rang out. Thomas registered that the sound should be loud enough to alert others in the area. Why risk it? The mugger couldn't expect to get enough money off of him to be worth a murder charge, surely. A fraction of a second was long enough for him to consider all this and more. He hadn't even hit the ground yet as he saw Martha's pearl necklace snapping.
A strange assortment of thoughts flittered through his mind before the pain fully registered. He wondered what motives could be behind the mugger breaking the very thing he meant to steal. He wondered if the shot had been fatal, or merely wounded Martha. He thought of the dinner Alfred had prepared for them that would be going cold. He thought of his son, frozen in horror. He thought of the parent teacher meeting he had missed on Tuesday. He thought of picnics in May.
Thud.
He registered some of the pain now, growing like a hot glass shattering and splintering. It seemed as though his entire body was pulling its heat into that blistering spot, inviting the cold into his numb limbs. Thomas was dead seconds within hitting the ground, but to him it felt like all the time in the world. Every stray thought was given ample time. There was no rush. He had the rest of his life to consider whatever he liked.
He knew he was in shock. He knew he wanted to speak, to act, to change things.
But he only had the rest of his life to do that.